Poppy stared at Kimmy and said, “What’s gotten into you?”

Kimmy shrugged helplessly, took a Kleenex, continued to cry.

Poppy said, “It’s OK, it’s been quite a day. It’s gonna be A-OK, girls,” and she offered comforting hugs to both of them.

The girls continued to cry for a bit longer, until the tears turned to laughter, and Kimmy reached for Alex’s hand again and they began to laugh really, really hard all of a sudden, and everything felt better, and OK.

Eventually, Poppy and Alex went to the bathroom to clean up. Alex was appalled at the blood and the mess, but Poppy said it was nothing—she’d bled more from a paper cut. Alex had had the presence of mind to grab fresh undies in her bedroom, so she got changed and freshened. Poppy showed her how to use a tampon. As Poppy walked Alex back to the bedroom, she leaned down and whispered, “I know you’re going to be just fine, but your roomie in there . . . Whaddaya reckon’s got her so wound up? Do you think it’s the deer?”

“Beats me,” Alex said. “Maybe she just really hates the sight of blood.”

13

POPPY WOKE AT five o’clock in the morning, instantly as bright and alert as if someone had crashed a cymbal at her face. She had slept soundly after the incident with Alex and Kimmy, and now felt strong and energetic as she moved from the bed to the other side of her room, where she plucked her running clothes from a pile of dirty laundry. She hadn’t wanted to commit herself to any more runs on the island after the humidity had given her such a hard time yesterday, but today she woke feeling so intensely good, she could hardly wait to get out there and work her muscles until she hurt. In the bathroom, she dumped John’s pills into her palm and counted them. Satisfied with the result, she returned them to the bottle. Even though it had been months at the same dose and not a single slip-up, every time she counted she feared the worst. She didn’t know why she was so convinced the world was out to get John.

In the kitchen, she boiled water and poured it into a mug with instant coffee. She stretched as she waited for the coffee to cool enough for her to guzzle it.

She double-knotted her shoes.

Outside, caffeine and early-morning adrenaline zoomed through Poppy. She took a left out of the driveway, planning to run the same route as yesterday, except today she wouldn’t stop at Gram’s Diner for a cigarette.

The air smelled wondrous. Sand crunched beneath her feet on the concrete sidewalk. The moon was still bright above her, white as cream against the navy sky. She started to sing Madonna’s “Thief of Hearts” quietly to herself. She felt zippy and strong. Today she might even do a few push-ups and crunches when she got back. Today she would make that pitcher of frozen margaritas she’d been talking about. Today would be a wonderful day.