Once he had gone, Lisa drew close to Poppy and spoke softly enough that the girls wouldn’t overhear. “We figured it’s better if we steer clear of each other as much as we can without being obvious,” she said.

“Did you talk anything through last night? Resolve anything?”

“No, except for a pact to keep it civil for the girls. I told him we need to talk when we get back home. Really talk. Get serious about making some decisions.”

“How’d he respond?”

“He agreed,” Lisa said.

“At least you can agree on that.”

Lisa reached behind her neck to tighten the knot on her bikini, a red one today. It seemed Lisa had a new bikini for every six hours. This one was particularly sexy, with a gold hoop at her sternum that connected the bra cups. She was beach-ready, sunglasses holding her hair out of her face, cheeks already gleaming with sunscreen, a white see-through cover-up skirt high on her waist. Bright red lipstick to match the bikini. Poppy felt like a schlub in the same navy one-piece they had all seen before, the only swimsuit she owned, her hair still wet from the shower but rapidly expanding with frizz as it dried.

Lisa moved across the room to wipe down the kitchen table with Windex. “Can you believe tomorrow is our last full day?”

From the living room, Kimmy wailed, “I never want to leave!” She turned to Rae. “This is the best place we’ve ever been. Don’t you think so?”

Rae shrugged. “Every place I’ve ever been is pretty much the same.” What she meant by this was, I feel pretty much the same way every place I go. No matter where she was, the world always refused to give Rae what she felt she was owed.

Poppy said, “Are you guys done with your breakfast? Let’s get our butts down to the beach.”

Kimmy leapt to her feet, puzzle pieces scattering to the floor.

Poppy finished loading the dishwasher while Lisa massaged sunscreen into Kimmy’s back. Then she stepped onto the patio, where Ryan was still hard at work on the crossword. “You ready to hit the surf?”

“Let’s do it.” Ryan folded up the newspaper and squinted into the sky behind Poppy, his pupils instantly shrinking to specks, his dark brown irises red and green and gold in the direct sun.

John and Alex were having much better luck today. After only an hour casting off the pier, they had gotten dozens of bites, and John had already pulled in two midsized speckled trout and a flounder, while Alex snagged a pinfish. John had come optimistically prepared once again with a cooler full of ice. He was pleased that he’d have a few fillets to take back for Poppy to fry up. The pinfish would be measly, but the trout would probably provide six ounces apiece. Enough for everyone in the house to have at least a little.

As was John’s practice, once he had removed the hook from the ensnared fish, he bopped the fish on the head with a mallet, hard enough to kill it instantly, before throwing it on ice. Alex, as always, watched this process unflinchingly, but she did not ask to participate.