After the chaos of the fireworks and the neighborhood picnic—during which we’d feigned surprise that Liz and her family weren’t there—we’d put the kids to bed upstairs, and Mark had gone to Jess’s house to sit around their firepit and try Del’s new Croatian liquor that had just arrived. He told me Tim had texted that he would meet up with the guys. I was surprised and wanted to ask more, but I simply told him my friends were coming over. I hoped that Tim would confide in the husbands, although it was doubtful. I didn’t tell Mark we were using the Ouija board, as I was worried he would try to talk me out of it, and it felt like our last hope.

Jess shoved the Jell-O shot tray nearly into my stomach, eyebrows raised.

“Question: Why didn’t you just use flavored gelatin?”

She shrugged. “I grabbed the wrong box and didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“Jess, I love you, but they noticed.” She lifted her eyebrows and moved the tray closer to me. “Sure. Why the hell not,” I said as I lifted one. I eyed it before popping it into my mouth. It tasted like vodka-flavored gelatin, which explained the disgusted faces I’d seen as people took them earlier in the night. I’d seen Mark spit his into his plastic cup of Coors Light. But I needed something to take the edge off, so I forced it down.

“All right,” I said as I lifted the back of my hand to keep the shot inside my body. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Should I put on the playlist I made?” Jess said. Her portable speaker swung from her belt loop. When we stared at her, she lifted her palms. “Guess not. Your loss.”

We poured glasses of red wine, picked up the Ouija board, and walked into the family room, where I had set up a blanket on the floor and candles all around the room. The candles weren’t just for effect; they were necessary. As was also Fourth of July tradition, the power was out. Without fail, every year one of the neighbors blew the electrical transformer setting off fireworks. Tim actually had done it last year, and this year the award went to Andrew Hacker. I think ComEd just put us in their calendar for every July like a standing meeting.

The air in the house was stifling, heavy like a wet blanket, like the few moments before it rains.

Melissa fanned herself with her hand and then grabbed an US Weekly off the coffee table and used that. I saw that her hand was trembling and knew how hard this must have been for her. “Why don’t you have power?”