All the women back home acted as if the goal was to find a husband—a good one—before they were all taken. Sherri’s mother raised her to believe that mating was a game of musical chairs, and Sherri didn’t want to be the last person standing, because that was how Muriel had ended up with Sherri’s dad. She’d described herself as having been an old maid when she landed in East Troy in her late twenties. Lane was the only bachelor in town. Sherri hated to think of her father as a last resort, but he was older than her mom by a good stretch, and he was bookish and solitary, more of a partner than a spouse. It was hard for her to imagine that any passion had ever existed between her parents. Sherri had overheard her mother describe her father to her friends, her tone drenched with defeat. “Oh, you know Lane. He wears well.” That was the most romantic sentiment Sherri had heard from her. There were worse marriages, like Roberta’s parents’. At least Sherri’s parents didn’t scream or fight. But Sherri often watched them eat dinner together without exchanging a word and she vowed that she would never, ever be stuck in a marriage like that. She wanted the kind of romance that tore people apart, made them insane with jealousy and desire.

Carmen said, “Mitch is the one who should worry about you, Sher. The season starts just after Memorial Day, and the men are going to come out of the woodwork, just watch. And when they do, you’ll need to be organized. Arrange to see them in shifts. Afternoon, dinner, night. Just do your best to keep their names straight. Organization is key.”

“Yeah,” said Rhonda, her tone acerbic and directed at Sherri for no reason Sherri could understand. Rhonda made Sherri feel seen for who she was becoming, and it hurt. “You’ll need to start keeping track of all the guys you sleep with.”

Sherri was already drunk but ordered a round of Baileys (Sherri thought cream drinks were a sophisticated choice) without giving a thought to the calories. Rod Stewart’s “Da Ya Think I’m Sexy” began to play. Carmen said she’d met Stewart last summer when he’d performed at Alpine Valley, and she’d even danced with him in that very bar. Another summer was coming, and with it, the promise of celebrities, musicians, endless parties, and multiple boyfriends. The impending peak resort season was like a wave seen from a distance, slowly approaching shore. Sherri couldn’t wait.