The cocktails were quite strong, and we’d seen Melanie’s husband help himself to seconds and maybe even thirds within the first half hour. So anything could have happened. Aperol, we learned that night, is no joke on its own, but especially when mixed with tequila.

We were all standing around the bar, still somewhat in shock, partly in awe, over what had just transpired with Sherri, when Melanie crossed the lawn and joined our group. “I need to get out of here,” said Melanie in a quavering voice. “But my car’s blocked in.” She had definitely been crying.

“Oh, sweetie,” we said. “We’re so sorry—tell us what happened.” But we were phoning it in. We were still thinking about Sherri. (Melanie does this sort of thing a lot.)

“Take my car,” said Rebecca. Rebecca always had more patience with Melanie’s drama than the rest of us did. “You know which one it is, Melanie. White Acura. Keys are in the console. If you’re okay to drive.”

“I only had three sips of my drink!” cried Melanie. “I’m okay to drive, I promise.” She swiped at her eyes and muttered, “I cannot believe this.”

Melanie ran out to the driveway.

No, she didn’t run. She was in strappy sandals with heels. She walked quickly.

The DJ ramped up the music. The bartender shook more cocktails. Then came the first cannonball. One of the husbands, obviously. We’d all worked too hard on our hair, or paid someone else to work hard, to ruin it at the beginning of the party. We couldn’t see which husband from where we were standing. It was a fairly big splash, so most likely Dawn’s or Jessica’s. (They had played football together at UNH long ago; Dawn’s husband had been a linebacker.)

You know what they say: the party doesn’t start until somebody jumps into the pool.

76.

Alexa

The frenzied end-of-summer feeling had invaded Haley’s too, and the place was buzzing like a beehive. Alexa and the girls had to wait in line. Alexa left Katie and Morgan perusing the menu and turned to scan the crowd, looking for unfamiliar men, scary men. When she turned back, Morgan and Katie were digging in their pockets for quarters for the gumball machine. Alexa gave them all the quarters she could muster from her wallet and told them to stay in line for a minute while she took a stroll by the booths to keep an eye on the comings and goings in the parking lot. Haley’s was decorated like a 1950s diner with a floor made of black-and-white checkerboard tiles and retro chairs and booths. The booths were all full of regular, non-scary combinations of parents and kids or clots of preteens and younger teens.