Everyone helped clean up the meal when they had finished, loading the dishwasher, corn cobs and fatty edges of pork to the garbage, a quick Windex wipe-down of the table.

The entire group played a few hands of Crazy Eights, then Poppy went to get some fresh air on the patio.

The sky was hazy, a gorgeous, dreamy shade of pink.

Poppy poked her head back inside. “Anyone wanna walk up the path toward the golf course through that jungly part before it gets dark? Might see some wildlife, dusk’s the best time.”

Ryan said, “I’m in.”

All the others quickly agreed to join as well.

Poppy led the way, using a little map from the pamphlet provided at the house. “We’ll cross the road up there,” she pointed, “then take the footpath, and when the trail forks we’re gonna go left into the woods instead of right to the golf course. Our path will lead through some marshy bits. There should be a wooden bridge for us to cross. Supposed to be a pretty lagoon up the way.”

“What sort of animals?” Kimmy said. She tossed a small shell up and down in her hand, and when she dropped it on the ground, she gave it a kick.

Poppy read from the pamphlet. “Says here we’re likely to see herons, loons, pelicans, turtles, deer, raccoons, and . . .” She paused dramatically and swooped her face down, near to Kimmy’s. “Gators,” she snarled.

Kimmy said, “I’m not even that scared. I’ve already seen some gators here, they just lay around and don’t do anything. Right? They wouldn’t eat a person. Well, maybe like a baby if you dropped it right on top of them, but it wouldn’t just up and eat a person person. Right?”

Alex turned to her brother. “What do gators eat?”

Ryan said, “Worms when they’re little, move on to bigger stuff as they grow. Fish and turtles and birds. Squirrels. Whatever they can catch.”

Lisa said, “Nobody on Fripp Island has ever been killed by a gator. I looked it up before we came.”

Poppy said. “Seriously?”

Lisa nodded.

Of course she did, Poppy thought. Lisa studied the local sex offender registry in the weeks leading up to the vacation, for Christ’s sake, so why wouldn’t she look up deaths-by-gator?

Poppy stuffed the map into the back pocket of her denim shorts.

Kimmy and Alex ran ahead of the adults with a burst of spastic energy. Poppy and John were next, followed by Scott, who walked with his hands looped behind him, like a maître d’ sent to check on everyone’s meal. Lisa had engaged Ryan in further conversation about wildlife on the island; she claimed a particular interest in birds of prey.

Rae brought up the rear of the group, and she observed all the others before her. Poppy and John were holding hands. Poppy was half the size of her husband. Maybe a third of him. Rae wondered how sex worked for a couple like that. Poppy on his lap and bouncing like a Pomeranian was the only way Rae could picture it.