It’s over, I think again. It hurts to swallow. I stop walking and press my hand to the space just below my ribs. Pain stabs at my side. I’m suddenly dizzy. I become aware that a lady with a stroller is trying to pass me on the path, but I’m blocking her somehow and can’t get my body to respond correctly to even the most basic of commands. I finally stagger to one side and sit down on a patch of short, sandy grass, trying to get my bearings.

That’s when I notice where I am.

The lagoon. More specifically, I’m sitting right in front of the rental shack for the lagoon.

Paddleboards, a sign reads in large letters on the back of the shack. Ten dollars per hour.

I choke on a laugh. It isn’t remotely funny, but I can’t help it. I panicked and ran for my life and somehow ended up practically in the line to rent a paddleboard—my plan all along. I laugh again, and then my laugh becomes a dry sob.

I put my hand over my mouth. Poor Pop. How could she do it?

I mean, seriously, how? Not just how could she cheat on her spectacularly smart and sweet and good-looking husband, but how could she bring some man back to the room she shares with us? How could she know we wouldn’t come back and catch her? How could she be so careless? Or does she even care if we find out?

My heartbeat picks up again. I have another thought, an important one.

Afton and Abby could be headed back to the room right now. My sisters might be about to walk in on Mom having sex.

I fumble in my pockets and find my phone in one of them. My hands shake as I make the call. The phone rings and rings, then goes to voice mail. I don’t know what else to do, so I try again. And again.

On the fourth time Afton picks up. “What’s up?” She sounds normal, almost cheerful. She doesn’t live in this world yet, the world where Mom is a cheater and everything we’ve been suspecting is true: Mom and Pop aren’t in love anymore. They’re done.

“Are you finished with hula? Where are you?” I ask between pants.

“Just wandering around.”

“Don’t go back to the room,” I say.

Her voice sharpens. “What? Why?”

“Abby’s with you, right?”

“Are you okay, Ada? Your voice sounds funny.”

“I’m fine.” I clear my throat. “Where are you? Come meet me for lunch somewhere.”

“They’re serving lunch free in the Promenade,” she reminds me.

I shudder. I do not want to go to the convention center, not with all those people who knew Mom. And maybe by now she’s done . . . doing that . . . what she was doing . . . and she will head back there, too.