Before he was five minutes down the road, Scott began to steel himself against the inevitable temptation he knew would rise within him the moment he was in their presence. The disease. The urge to ride it out a little bit longer. Propose another round of golf or an hour of poker. Or even just a single hand. No. He wouldn’t do it. He pictured Lisa’s face, Rae’s, and Kimmy’s. No more, he commanded himself. Never again. This is where it ends.

16

SCOTT, JOHN, AND Alex all returned to the house around the same time, half past noon, as the sky was darkening to charcoal and everyone from the beach was rushing in, supplies in hand.

The storm hit with a violent crack, the sky split, warm rain pounded the house in sheets and bursts. Poppy got out the blender for frozen margaritas and started melting butter for the fillets John and Alex had returned with. Lisa set the table and assembled BLTs—“just in case there’s not enough of that fish to go around”—and she also sliced up some pears and tossed them in a bowl with berries and cream.

Alex and Kimmy raided the game cabinet and pulled out a floppy, falling-apart yellow box containing Guess Who? They set up the game on the coffee table in the main room, where Scott was watching a Jeopardy! rerun on TV.

John emerged from his bedroom in jeans and a clean T-shirt, hair freshly combed with a neat side part that was sunburned pink.

Poppy said, “Fish looks great, hon,” as she tossed the fillets into the butter. She had a lime-green, icy margarita mustache, and John kissed it and licked his lips. “How’s your back?” Poppy said.

“Seized up a little while I was cleaning the fish,” John said. “Doc said I’m fine to take an extra half-pill when it does that. I’m thinkin’ about it.”

Poppy said brightly, “Let’s not.”

John stared at her, annoyed at both her words and the chirpy tone. He gestured toward the hallway, and she followed him to their bedroom. He pulled the door shut behind him, spun to face her, and said, “We’ve been over this. It’s fine, I know what I’m doing, swear to God. Your paranoia is starting to get to me. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you counting my pills day in and day out for the past three months. You’re about to give me a complex.”

“Shit,” Poppy said. “I thought I was being sneaky.” She swallowed. “I know it seems like I go overboard, but we know too many people who’ve gone down that path. I get scared sometimes. Doesn’t mean I don’t trust you.”

“Interesting,” John said. “Can I trust you?” He paused for a few seconds, and when she didn’t respond, he said, “You think I didn’t smell cigarette on you when you got back from your run yesterday morning?”

Poppy’s eyes rounded with surprise, then went narrow, trapped and defensive. “You didn’t say anything,” she said. “You’re supposed to say something when you catch someone.”