A pale woman in a turquoise sweatshirt stopped on the footbridge and made a phone call. Sarah heard nothing but “Fine”—loud, exasperated—before the woman continued into town. Sarah looked back toward the house again. Like a beacon, the outdoor lights switched on. She half expected a flash sequence, a message from Matthew: Get yourself back; get back. When they did flash, she was so startled she had to catch her breath, even though she knew it had to have been a wobbly circuit.

“I was just about to go get you,” said Matthew, as Sarah walked into the kitchen, where preparations for dinner were well underway. The two boys were playing some kind of game that involved yelling and eating Pirate’s Booty. Kiki was chopping tomatoes and onions. She looked up at Sarah with tears streaming from her bloodshot eyes.

“Let me take over for you!” Sarah insisted.

“No, it’s fine.” Kiki wiped her nose on the back of her hand.

“You’re weeping! She’s weeping!”

Kiki backed away from the onions, as if surrendering. “Why do I insist on doing things that I am clearly not meant to do? Will someone please explain this to me?”

“Drama queen.” Sarah smiled, taking the knife from her. “Maybe you’re punishing yourself?” She picked up the task where Kiki had left off.

“No, I don’t think so.” Kiki opened a beer. “I’m too selfish for that.”

“You’re the least selfish friend I ever had,” Sarah said matter-of-factly, not pausing the chopping, but when Kiki didn’t reply, Sarah stopped to glance up. Kiki looked surprised—presumably by Sarah’s intensity—but Sarah was ill-equipped, somehow, to make light of anything just then. “I mean it.”

Kiki placed the beer on the counter. Her face looked inscrutable.

Heather and Karim came into the kitchen freshly showered. She was wearing no other makeup but her lips were bright red. Her hair dripped all over the countertop as she began to count hot dogs. Karim offered Heather a beer and she shook her head. Before opening his own, he put the cold bottle against the back of her neck and she squealed, laughing a touch too hard. Then she held up the hot dogs and, with bizarre urgency, asked the room at large, “Do you think the boys will each have two?”

“Sarah,” asked Kiki, “do you want to go see your room?”

Did Kiki realize how annoying her friend was? Or had Matthew told Kiki everything when they were alone outside at that table and, now that Kiki knew that Sarah had lied, was having a hard time focusing on anything while Sarah was in the room?

“It’s fine,” said Sarah. “I can finish this.”

“Look down,” said Karim. “I’d say you’re finished. Are you a sous chef or something?”