It was so clear to me now I didn’t know why I hadn’t realized it sooner. Jason was a monster. Maybe not a pedophile, maybe something worse. A predator of such miswired proportions that he remained indifferent to his beautiful young wife, while lasciviously cultivating terrible images of frightened young children.

I should’ve listened to Wayne. I should’ve told him where we were going, except I had never thought to ask. No, I trusted my husband, let him lead me straight to slaughter without pressing for a single detail. Me, the very person who spent her entire childhood learning you can’t trust anyone.

I sipped more champagne, moved the seared scallops around on my plate. I wondered what he would tell Ree when it was all over. There had been an accident, Mommy won’t be coming home anymore. So sorry, baby, so sorry.

I poured Jason a second glass of champagne. He wasn’t a big drinker. Maybe if I could get him drunk enough, he’d miss me and fall into the harbor himself. Wouldn’t that be fitting justice?

Jason finished eating. Ree, too. The black-vested waiter appeared, ready to whisk our plates away. He gazed down at me with great consternation.

“Was it not to your satisfaction? May I present you with another choice?”

I waved him off with vague excuses of having eaten a big lunch. Jason was watching me, but he didn’t comment on the lie. His dark hair had fallen across his forehead. He looked rakish, the open collar of his dress shirt, the rumpled waves of his thick hair, the deep impenetrable pools of his eyes. Other women were probably admiring him when they thought I wasn’t looking. Perhaps everyone was admiring us. Look at that beautiful family with that gorgeous little girl who is so well behaved.

Didn’t we make a pretty picture? A perfect little family, if only we survived the night.

Ree wanted ice cream for dessert. The waiter took her to the gelato case to pick out a flavor. I topped off Jason’s glass with the last of the champagne. He had barely touched his second glass. I thought that was grossly unfair of him.

“I propose a toast,” I declared, definitely tipsy now and feeling reckless.

He nodded, picked up his glass.

“To us,” I said. “For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health.”

I tossed back a quick hit. Watched my husband take a more conservative sip.

“So what else are we going to do on family vacation?” I wanted to know.

“I thought we’d visit the aquarium, maybe take the trolleys around town, check out Newbury Street. Or, if you’d prefer, we could do the museums, book a spa appointment or two.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“What do you mean?”