Ruth swiped away a tear, seeing the truth in her gaze. All the anticipation that had built up in her the last few days burst like an overinflated balloon. “I thought you were.”

“I’m not, honey.”

She suddenly felt foolish standing here now. So stupid, to let her imagination mingle with her need to know. “Sorry.”

“There is nothing to apologize for. When was the last time you spoke with your mother about this?”

“It’s been a while.”

“Talk to her again, Ruth. You’re older now, and she might give you more information.”

“Maybe.”

“Talk to her, Ruth.”

CARLOTTA

Most nights Carlotta slept well enough, but tonight, she lay awake staring at the ceiling. Old feelings she had pushed aside a long time ago had found her when she’d looked into Ruth’s eyes today. She wasn’t sure what she’d hoped to accomplish by this sojourn by the shore and now wondered if it had been a mistake. There certainly were livelier places where she could have gone and made more money.

She had never handled loss well, and when faced with it, she ran. “Better not to dwell. Keep looking forward.”

In the kitchen, she poured herself a whiskey and grabbed a packet of cigarettes and a lighter before heading to the sleeping porch. She sipped her whiskey and then, holding a cigarette between her lips, flicked the lighter until the flame flared. She held it to the tip and inhaled.

Carlotta stared out over the calm waters and blew the smoke out slowly. She didn’t smoke often, because too much irritated her voice, but there were some nights that warranted a whiskey and a smoke.

Her mind turned back to Edna’s and then Ruth’s visits today. For all the words, so much remained unspoken.

She could not really ease Ruth’s concerns, but she would handle Ann Manchester. She had learned to read couples, and though some were happy, most drifted into a no-man’s-land of obligation, children, debt, and work. The Manchesters were tied not by love but by spite and stubbornness. Easier for Ann to accuse hotel staff of stealing than admit to her husband she was too drunk to remember what she’d done with her jewelry.

As she stared through the smoke coiling around her head, she saw a man walking barefoot along the beach, his pants rolled up to his calves. A cigarette glowed from his right hand.

She thought for a moment it might be Mr. Manchester. His attention was never far from her when he was near. But as this man grew closer, she recognized his unhurried but purposeful pace and squared shoulders. Henry.