“Take them off,” suggested another of the husbands. He was beefier than the other men (ex-football player?) but he was drinking one of the dainty cocktails, which made Sherri smile.

“You know what, I think I will,” she said. She crouched down to undo the tiny buckles on the shoes, well aware that she was treating the husbands to a generous view of her cleavage.

She straightened, shoes in hand, and said, “Isn’t anyone going swimming? Where I come from, we used to say that it’s not a party until somebody jumps in the pool.”

Some of the husbands looked nervous. The beefy one said, “Why not?” He put his dainty glass on one of the small tables scattered around the yard and tugged off his shirt, revealing a soft and surprisingly hairless midsection. “Big splash coming,” he said. “Just to warn you.” He nodded once, and ran with an unexpected amount of grace toward the deep end, cannonballing in. The splash was impressive, you could hear it even over the music, and Sherri stepped back to preserve her dress.

“Who’s next?” asked Sherri. The men shifted. The beefy husband’s head emerged from the deep end and he let out an exhilarative whoop. “This water rocks, man,” he said. “It’s like eighty degrees in here. You guys need to try it.”

“Who’s next?” Sherri cried, more sharply, and they all turned to look at her. That’s more like it, she thought.

75.

The Squad

And just like that, Sherri was gone. We thought we saw her gold back disappearing into the crowd, toward the pool. The sun was beginning to set, and the sky had taken on that lavender late-summer hue that seems particular to New England. It was that in-between light where your eyes can play tricks on you. The deep end of the pool was difficult to make out.

Most of us thought Rebecca’s mystery guest was very good-looking, sort of George Clooney-esque. He had kind eyes. It was always the kind ones who got cheated on, wasn’t it? According to what Gina said later, Veronica the Cheater had always been difficult anyway. We thought Gina was close with Veronica. But that was Gina for you: one thing to your face, another behind your back.

It must have been a little while after we all met the mystery man that the argument between Melanie and her husband heated up at the far end of the lawn. There was shouting. Names were called. Somebody said a drink was thrown in a face, but that was never 100 percent verified.

We didn’t know what had brought the argument on. Later there was talk that the argument had something to do with the summer nanny, who was from Argentina and had an accent that could make even the word hemorrhoids sound sexy, not that we’d ever heard her say that.