Poppy said, “Whatcha got there?”

“He’s got a fungus on him,” Ryan said. He held the crab closer to Poppy’s face, and she pinched her nose.

Ryan pointed out patches of gray-green fuzz on the crab.

Poppy said, “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” Ryan said. “Doesn’t quite look like Lagenidium callinectes.”

“What?”

“A fungus that grows on crustaceans sometimes, but I don’t think that’s what this is. I’m gonna try and figure it out. I brought some books along and some litmus paper and stuff.”

Poppy said, “I hope you’re not planning to take that thing into the house. It stinks.”

Ryan glanced at Lisa, as though she would have the final say in this.

Lisa waved a hand in the air. “Do whatever you want with that thing. Stick it in a martini glass in the fridge for all I care.”

Poppy shrugged, then said to Ryan, “If you’re going inside, put on some more sunscreen and bring me a string cheese, would you? They’re in my purse.”

Lisa said, “Cheese in your purse?”

“String cheese never goes bad.”

Ryan said, “I think you’re wrong about that. String cheese is still cheese. I think.”

Lisa said, “Yeah, Pop, that’s gross. We stocked up on real cheese and charcuterie anyway, it’s in the fridge. Bunch of different kinds.” She turned to Ryan. “Grab some of that instead,” she said.

Poppy whined, “I like my string cheese.”

Ryan draped his towel over his shoulders and headed in to the house, crab in hand. Lean brown muscles swelled in his calves as he made his way up the beach.

Poppy settled back to lie on her towel, and shortly she slipped into a sun-struck daydream, her thoughts going as loose and bland as old Jell-O.

This pleasant haze was interrupted a few minutes later when Lisa’s sharp intake of breath woke her. Poppy sat upright. Lisa was gazing down the beach. She didn’t lift her hand to point, but dipped her chin in the direction of a nicely built young man in swim trunks and a white T-shirt, walking a handsome chocolate Lab with a bright red collar along the water’s edge.

She said to Poppy in a low voice, “Is that him?”

Poppy stared at the man. “Keats Firestone?”

“Mm.”

It was hard to tell for sure from this distance and because he was in swim trunks versus the work clothes he had worn half an hour earlier, but that handsome, boyish face and something in the posture . . . “I think so.”

Lisa grabbed Rae’s binoculars, which were sitting on top of the cooler, looked through them, and whispered, “It’s like he’s rubbing it in our faces.”

“What, the fact that he exists?”

“The fact that he lives a ten-minute walk up the beach.”

Poppy said, “Chill. Put those binoculars away. Don’t make like we’re watching him. He hasn’t noticed you.”

Lisa ignored her and adjusted the focus on the binoculars. “You’re right, he is wearing a wedding ring.” She was silent for a bit, then whispered, “Do you think his wife knows?”