Lisa faced him. “Never heard me say something like what?”

“Never heard you say anything about conspiracies, period.”

“You’ve never asked what I thought about them.”

“Well, you’ve never shown an iota of interest, so why should I ask?”

Lisa offered a brief and unconvincingly apologetic look to John and Poppy, then turned back to Scott. “Some men ask their wives about things other than whether or not the dry-cleaning’s been picked up, ya know.”

Poppy ooohed tremulously and dipped her fingers into her sangria to draw out an ice cube, which she held to her forehead. “Let’s not fight,” she said.

Watching the drama unfold between Scott and Lisa this early in the vacation was making Poppy feel claustrophobic and unsettled. She couldn’t look away, but she didn’t like what she saw and certainly didn’t want to know it this intimately—it was like sharing sustained eye contact with a shitting animal.

“Let’s not,” Scott agreed. He polished off his glass of sangria, crunched on ice, and rose from his barstool. He slapped John on the back. “What do you say we get a round in this afternoon?”

John said, “I hope Poppy relayed that I’m not much of a golfer.”

Scott said, “I bet you’ll be a natural with those shoulders. Whaddaya say? Let the ladies get settled in, be back for dinner around five?” Irritated as he was with Lisa, Scott glanced briefly at her to confirm this plan.

Lisa said, “Sure, let’s grill tonight, plan on five.”

Scott said, “I’ve got clubs for both of us, and do you need golf shoes? We passed a rental place on the way in.”

“Sorry to say I’m stuck in these,” John said, pointing down at the ergonomic Brooks sneakers he wore. Last week, John had asked his doctor about golf, half hoping his doctor would forbid it so he would have a good excuse to avoid one-on-one time with Scott. But the doctor said golf would be fine as long as John did some stretching beforehand, didn’t get overzealous, and wore those Brooks sneakers rather than something with less support.

“Doctor’s orders,” John explained to Scott, and he offered a small, shy smile.

John had two dead teeth on the top left side of his mouth and a pinched-off smile that was trained to conceal them. Only when he and Poppy were alone did he laugh fully, allowing the muscles around his lips to relax, exposing those two brownish half-teeth without shame. Poppy had noticed over the years that the more comfortable John was with a person, the wider and more natural his smile became. Watching John now as he offered Scott and Lisa the grimmest, tightest smile she’d seen in years, Poppy was overcome by a swell of love for him that hit so hard, air locked in her throat for a moment. She gazed at John’s hands, large and red and textured with calluses, awkwardly clutching that small glass of sangria. She wished he’d talked her out of this vacation. She wished they were back at home.