“I concur,” Poppy said. She rinsed her wine glass. “Do you want to come back to the beach?”

“Not just yet,” Lisa said. “I’m going to have another glass of wine, maybe lie in bed for a few minutes. You go on ahead.”

Everyone had reconvened at the beach umbrella by the time Poppy returned, except for Scott, who was out in the water. It appeared that he, or someone, had filled in the grave he’d dug while she was gone. Rae had returned from her long walk. John, Ryan, Alex, Rae, and Kimmy were playing a rousing game of Twenty Questions.

Poppy fanned her greasy face with both hands. The shade of the umbrella was wonderful after the sweltering walk from the house.

She was relieved to observe that Kimmy seemed entirely unaffected by her father’s mood. As usual, Rae wore a slightly sour and indecipherable expression, and Poppy expected that she too was oblivious to her parents’ troubles.

Poppy said, “I’m gonna go for a quick dip.”

Rae said, “Where’s my mom at?”

“She’s having a quick rest at the house,” Poppy explained. “She wanted to get out of the sun for a few minutes.”

Rae said, “I’m gonna go in for a little bit too.”

Poppy didn’t see much use in trying to talk Rae out of this; it would only draw attention to the situation if she objected to Rae going in. “OK, hon, but I think your mom might be taking a nap in her room. I’d let her sleep if you can, she seemed really tuckered out.”

Rae looked mildly insulted by the suggestion that she was going inside in order to spend time with her mother. “I just want to get out of the sun,” Rae said. “I don’t care if she’s sleeping.”

As Poppy approached the water, Scott was facing away, staring at the horizon, bobbing with the gentle rolling waves. She dunked and paddled out his way, and when she reached him, she said, “Glad to see you’re still with us.”

Scott turned. “Huh?”

Poppy nodded toward the shore. “When I saw the grave was all filled in I got worried.”

Scott pinched his nostrils.

“I’m joking,” Poppy said. “But . . . is everything alright?”

“What’s that?”

“It seemed like you were in such a mood when you got back from golfing. Then digging that hole and all.”

Scott reached up a hand to slick back his hair in a glamorous sort of gesture. Poppy’s eyes fell on a bubble of bright red the size of a pencil eraser at the base of his thumb. The blister.

“Just played a bad game,” Scott said. “That’s it. I hate to lose. I’m over it, though. There’s always tomorrow. Or the next day.”

“Tomorrow or the next day?”

“Sure,” Scott said, adjusting his sunglasses. “I’ll definitely want to play another round with those guys before we head home. Gotta redeem myself.”

Poppy reared back. “Oh, come on, you really think that’s a good idea?” she said. “Disappear for four hours and come back in such a funk you have to go for an hour-long swim before you can spend time with your family? And you’re gonna do it all again tomorrow or the next day?”