Rae interrupted Poppy’s thoughts. “It’s too cold,” she said. “I’m not going in any further.” Eyes still on Ryan, Rae struck a runway-model pose, arms behind her head, arched back. It looked like she aimed to keep it up for a while.

“Suit yourself,” Poppy said, diving in to dunk her head, then paddling out to the sandbar.

Lisa made her way over to Poppy. “Thanks for stepping in, with Rae. Sorry. I really just lost it for a minute —”

Poppy waved a hand in the air to end the apology. “It’s nothing.”

Lisa was still wearing her hat, but she removed it now, handing it to Poppy to hold while she dunked. Her long hair stretched and corrugated like seaweed in the current. She emerged from the water like a goddess, face soft and mild, red hair sleek, neck long and graceful, breasts full and textured with goosebumps. She looped her hair into a rope and squeezed water from it.

Poppy handed back her hat.

Lisa was quiet for a bit, then said, “You still don’t think we should tell anyone? About Keats?”

“You think we should? You don’t think chasing him and his dog off the beach will keep him away for the next few days?”

Lisa squeaked air in through one corner of her mouth. “I guess you’re right. When he looked at me there,” she said, “he definitely recognized me from yesterday at the house.”

“So then he knows that you know about the registry,” Poppy said. “At least I’d think that’s what he would assume every time a person gives him looks or, you know, chases him down the beach.”

“You’re probably right,” said Lisa. “That should be enough to keep him away.”

Poppy thought for a moment, then said, “And anyway, the way Rae told it, she whistled the dog over. It sounds like she approached him rather than the other way around.”

Lisa scooped water in her palms, a faraway look in her eyes.

Poppy said, “Lisa . . . Lisa?” She felt like she was calling to her friend through a tunnel. “Are you gonna make it?”

Lisa turned to her and said coolly, “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

10

POPPY HAD THE idea to make sandwiches for everyone and bring them down to the beach around one o’clock that afternoon, along with chips and beers and cookies and Capri Suns, sunscreen, ChapStick, magazines, Frisbees, dry towels . . . Everything imaginable, thereby eliminating the need for anyone else to go in the kitchen, so that Scott and Lisa would have privacy to hash things out when he returned. Lisa helped Poppy make the sandwiches and fill a cooler and a basket with all of these supplies, then Poppy returned to the beach and Lisa stayed in the house to await Scott’s return.

An hour passed with no sign of Scott. Restless, Lisa retrieved a cluster of green grapes from the refrigerator, ate a few, then picked up the phone and dialed her mother’s number. Might as well get this out of the way before she had to deal with Scott. As the phone rang, she danced her toe across the hardwood floor and picked at a shred of grape flesh stuck between her teeth, fighting the onset of nerves that always accompanied these calls.