When they topped the dune, they saw Mama speaking to the Manchesters. She had screwed on her keep-the-peace smile, but it was stiffer than usual. Mrs. Manchester’s face was beet red, while her husband’s was tight with anger.

“If you won’t serve me”—he stood with his feet braced, one fist clenched—“then we’ll move to another hotel that will.”

“We can help you move your belongings,” Mama said.

“Peter,” Mrs. Manchester said, pleading. “Let’s go back to our room. We can rest for a bit and then rethink moving. It’s too late tonight to do anything.”

“Ann, shut up.” Manchester ground out the words, along with a few unspoken ones that only the two of them heard.

Mrs. Manchester’s smile faltered. “Peter, please. You’re making a scene.” In her world fights happened behind closed doors, and disagreements, like dust, were swept under the rug.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” He grabbed his wife by the arm. She tried to twist free, but his fingers tightened.

“Peter, please let’s go back to the room. Please.”

Ruth moved toward her mother, her fingers clenched, until a steady hand halted her.

“Is there a problem here?” Henry’s voice was low, hardly loud enough to rise above the wind, but there was no missing the growl.

Mr. Manchester looked past the women to Henry, standing behind Ruth. His body was relaxed, as if he didn’t have a care, but he looked that way when he took his boat out into the worst storms to rescue sailors. Trouble, he’d once said, was an old friend.

Mama’s shoulders braced, but she didn’t even toss Henry a glance.

Mr. Manchester’s jaw tightened. “No problem.”

“You sure?” Henry’s smile reminded her of a rabid dog her daddy had once shot. “Sounded mighty tense to me.”

“It wasn’t.” Mrs. Manchester’s gaze rose to Henry’s.

In answer, Manchester took his wife by the arm and dragged her away. She hurried to catch up, stumbling several times as she tried to match his long strides.

Henry stood his ground, watching Peter Manchester.

Ruth, with Talley following, came up beside her mother, standing closer than normal as if she could siphon some of her strength. “He’s mad.”

“He’s drunk,” Mama said. “His wife knows he needs to sleep it off.”

When Henry and her daddy broke open a bottle of gin, they’d laugh and talk most of the night, and then Henry would fall asleep on the couch and Daddy would find his way to bed. When they woke up, both were grouchy and slow moving but were back to their old selves.

“He’ll really be all right in the morning?” Talley asked. “That might take some magic.”