Allison and Ted’s long-debated decision to have their dinner party on the back porch on this Indian-summer night would have been the right one if the Coxes hadn’t decided to throw a party as well. The Coxes were having a luau for goodness’ sake, complete with tiki torches and leis, a shindig so over the top it was a parody of itself.

“Cultural appropriation,” Jillian said, disapproving.

The Conways were at the Coxes’, and the Fensterheims, the mayor, and a wealth of other town residents, along with a whole crew of people Allison had never seen before. Nina wore a dress that was either black or a deep blue—it was hard to tell in the dark. It was sexy, with its fitted skirt and open back, sexier than Kaye’s grass skirt and bikini top. It was so warm out she didn’t even look cold. Nick wore a Hawaiian shirt. Allison caught glimpses of him twirling Kaye to the Beach Boys. She forced herself to pay attention to her own guests. She, Ted, Suzanne, and Grant sat around the table, the remains of their apple pie on their plates.

Ted frowned at the goings-on next door as though they were a personal affront. He put so much energy into hating Nick. Maybe all of his energy. Nothing had changed in the sex department. It made her feel lonely. She nudged him, to remind him to be social.

“You’re a lawyer, I hear?” Ted said, not taking his eyes off the Coxes’ party.

“Hm?” Grant’s attention seemed to be with the kids on the Coxes’ couch, watching a movie on the enormous screen. His body jerked every time something exploded.

Suzanne watched Adam appear and disappear in the floodlight as Jillian pushed him on the swing—the centerpiece of Allison and Ted’s yard. It hung from the forty-foot-high branch of a tulip poplar tree, and when you sat on it, you felt as though you were flying.

Suzanne’s expression was complicated. Yearning, perhaps. She’d barely eaten any chili and had hardly touched the wine. It was a pinot noir that Allison and Ted liked, but they were no connoisseurs. Maybe they should have splurged on something better. Or offered white. The ice cream slouched on Suzanne’s untouched apple pie. Allison kept an ear out for the kettle, on for tea.

“She usually disappears into her room when little kids come over,” Allison said, nodding toward Jillian.

“What?” Suzanne said.

The music was loud. It made Allison think of driving in convertibles on open highways, of sun and sand—things that had nothing to do with her own youth, in upstate New York. She raised her voice. “The kids seem to be hitting it off.”

“Adam wanted to bring his atlas, but I said no. He’s always surprised when no one wants to sit around and memorize foreign countries with him.”

“He reads?”

“Since he was four.”

“Bright kid.”