Lisa closed the door quickly behind him and locked it. She paused, then locked the deadbolt too.

Poppy said, “What the hell was that all about?”

Lisa spun, startled to find that Poppy had followed her back inside and witnessed the interaction.

“Nothing.” Lisa flapped a hand in the air.

Poppy dipped her chin. “Don’t lie to me, liar.”

Lisa said, “I need another drink.” But before making a move for the kitchen, she turned and stared out front to make sure he was actually leaving, then actually gone.

3

OUT ON THE golf course, they were only on the fifth hole, but Scott was already pleasantly drunk. He had brought a handle of Scotch with him, and they were drinking out of little wax paper cups. John had a surprisingly good midrange swing and was a decently skilled putter as well. Scott was tempted to try and twist John’s arm into playing for money, something small, a buck a hole, anything to raise the stakes, but he didn’t think John would go for that, even if Scott worked up some sort of handicap for himself to even things out. Nah, John didn’t seem the betting type. And Poppy would probably blow a gasket if John lost a single dime out on the golf course. Poppy was such a tyrant, she probably counted the cash in John’s wallet every time he came and went from the house. Probably counted the bills and the change. Scott chuckled to himself at the thought of this.

John was driving the golf cart across the range now, up and over the smooth manicured hills. A sweet sea breeze wafted through and seagulls soared overhead. The fairways were surrounded by thick, lush woods. Insects hissed and rasped, and woodpeckers hammered at the trees, which creaked in the wind like rusty hinges. These strange frequencies echoed over the course and gave the impression that a very different and wild world lay just beyond its borders.

John lifted his finger from the steering wheel to acknowledge another pair of men tooting by in a golf cart. Like Scott, both of them were wearing white linen shirts, pastel shorts, and aviator sunglasses. John was trying hard not to feel self-conscious about his tennis shoes and his secondhand polo shirt. Poppy had done some shopping for both of them at the Goodwill in Wheeling in anticipation of this trip, but John felt itchy and weird in this blue polo that was too tight around the neck and smelled of another man’s life.

Scott was also wearing a sharp white leather golf glove on his left hand. He fussed with it constantly, doing and undoing the Velcro strap over his wrist like it was a tic, stretching his fingers out to admire the glove, balling them into a fist to examine his knuckles.

Scott said, “Lisa reminded me you two celebrate your twentieth anniversary in a few weeks.”

John nodded. “Planning to get away for a night, go down to the Luray Caverns and have dinner at a Mexican joint. I guess that means your twentieth is coming up too, what, this fall?”