Poppy fanned her fingers in the air. “I’ll slow you up.”

“I’m a tortoise, not a hare,” Roxie said. “What are you, about a ten-minute mile?”

“Sure.”

“Come on,” Roxie urged her. “Running goes so much faster when you’ve got company, doesn’t it?”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Come on, then,” Roxie said, “come on,” gently taking Poppy’s elbow and guiding it so they were both facing south.

“OK, OK,” Poppy said. “But you set the pace. I do not want to slow you down.”

They started off together. Roxie smelled of apples and laundry detergent. Not a trace of body odor, even after eight miles—Poppy was amazed.

A seagull flapped onto the street near them and poked at a french fry flattened into the concrete. Poppy kicked at the bird when they got close—the gull didn’t give a shit. It stared at her like it wanted to fight.

Poppy said, “You’re never gonna guess what we saw last night.”

“Here on the island?”

Poppy nodded. “I’m not going to make you guess. We saw a gator maul a baby fawn at a lagoon just up the way.”

Roxie drew all her breath in. “Yikes.”

“We were all there,” Poppy said. “Kids too. All eight of us. Staring at this little fawn, I made a move to snag a picture, and then a gator flies up out of the water, gets the thing by its neck, and drags it into the water.”

“That must have been awful,” Roxie said. “I’ve seen them go after birds and squirrels, but never a deer. And just a baby . . . Fawns are so sweet. That sounds terrible. Blood everywhere? What happened?”

“My friend’s husband tried to save it,” Poppy snorted. “Went after the gator with a big old stick.”

“Did it work?”

“He scared off the gator,” Poppy said, “but not in time to save the deer. The rest of us left, and my husband stayed behind to help with the mercy kill.”

“Poor thing.”

“My husband hunts, so he’s used to the blood. Not used to seeing it on a baby animal, not used to having to kill a thing with his Swiss army knife, but so it goes.”

“And the kids?”

“They seemed fine,” Poppy said. “My kids are tough cookies. The other two . . . well, their older one’s a piece of work. She was being a real shit, giving her little sister a terrible time, making it much worse than she’d’ve had to. And their little one, she was the most traumatized, had a good long cry about it. But she was fine soon after.”

It was quiet for a bit, then Roxie said, “Where did you say you’re from again?”

“West Virginia,” said Poppy. “And lest it cause any confusion, my family’s vacationing with my best friend from childhood—they are the rich ones. They got some all-inclusive package, we’re just along for the ride. My family? We could never afford this. Vacation to us is All-You-Can-Eat Hotdog Day at the county fair.” Poppy lowered her voice as though the two of them were joined in conspiracy against everyone else on the island. “Rich people, though, yech! Right? All of ’em except for my best friend, of course. Lisa’s fine.” She slapped at a mosquito on her shoulder. “Anyway, you’re from up north, you said?”