Nina lifted her wineglass to her lips again. She could smell the sweet astringency of the contents of the glass and she felt like she could get lost in it. And then she had this image, suddenly, of her mother on the couch in front of the television. Her blood ran cold.

Nina put the glass down. “When he showed up here tonight, do you know what I thought?” she said.

“What?”

“I went, Oh fuck, now we have to do this whole song and dance?”

Tarine smiled. “But you do not.”

“No,” Nina said. “I don’t, do I?”

She didn’t have to do any of this. The victimization, the acceptance of bullshit, the leaving your heart in the hands of an asshole yet again. She could just decide not to.

Nina smiled. She had to sit with that one for a moment. It was almost too good to be true.

Jay dropped the photos back into the glove box and tried to pretend that he hadn’t seen them. That it hadn’t happened. That it wasn’t true. That his brother wouldn’t do that.

He must be misunderstanding the photos. He must be. Because he could not possibly believe that his brother was not only that much of an asshole but also that much of a liar.

He tried to put the thoughts out of his head by moving on top of Lara, by refocusing his attention on her. But as he put his hand up her skirt, as he unzipped his own pants, the thought just kept reverberating in his head, that he couldn’t possibly deny what he’d seen with his own two eyes.

Lara moved from under Jay and pushed him down onto the bench seat. He let her do whatever it was she wanted to do, lost in his own thoughts, hoping desperately she could take him somewhere else.

Lara climbed on top of him and began to move, her shirt lifted to expose her breasts, her skirt around her hips. The top of her head kept hitting the ceiling of the truck and Jay, trying so very hard to focus on Lara, couldn’t help but wonder if Hud had fucked Ashley in this truck, just like this. If Ashley’s head had also hit the ceiling.

When they were both done, Lara leaned off him, pulled down her shirt and her skirt, and said, “You’re nearly catatonic. What’s the matter?”

Jay looked at her as he sat up. “I think my brother is sleeping with my ex-girlfriend,” he said. “And lying about it. Earlier tonight, he sold me some bullshit about wanting to ask her out. And I said no. And now I find out he’s probably been fucking her this whole time.”

Lara sat up straighter, surprised. “I’m sorry,” she said, putting her hand on his back.

Jay’s anger raged inside his chest but Lara’s soothing hand helped calm him. “If I had to find out about this shit, I’m glad it’s with you,” he said.

Lara smiled but Jay noticed that it didn’t look very sincere. It was like the smile you give to the guy who bags your groceries.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he said. “About thinking I might love you.”

“Jay …” she said.

“I guess I’m saying that I do, love you. I love you.”

Jay was expecting Lara to smile or get a little weepy or blush. Women had pressured him to say it before and he never had. But now here he was, saying it. And he was excited for whatever would come next, however happy it would make her. But, instead, he watched as her eyes went blank and her smile stiffened.

“I … I don’t know that we feel the same way about each other,” she said.

Jay shook his head, confused. “Wait, what?”

“I’m sorry.”

Jay’s face hardened slowly but steadily, from a warm, languid pool to a glacier. “Wow,” he said, stunned.

“Jay, I really am sorry. I think I misunderstood what you were looking for.”

“I wasn’t looking for anything,” he said, moving away from her, putting his shoes back on. “But clearly you’re not the person I thought you were, so whatever.”

“Jay, that’s not—”

“No, I should have known,” he said as he opened the driver’s side door and hopped out of the truck. He stood with both feet on the ground, looking at Lara, who had not moved from her seat. “That’s why I didn’t tell anybody about us. Because I knew you were this kinda girl. I knew you weren’t the kind of girl you marry.”

Jay could think of no bigger insult and so he felt he’d reclaimed some sense of power after lobbing it at her. But she seemed unfazed.

“All right,” Lara said, putting her hand on the door handle.

“Get out of my brother’s car,” Jay said, his voice rising.

“Please be careful,” Lara said as she got up. “I’m worried about your heart.”

Jay narrowed his eyes and slammed the door shut.

“I guess I should go,” Lara said. They stood on either side of the truck looking at each other.

“I honestly don’t care what you do,” Jay said before walking away, swiftly at first, eager for distance. He slowed down when he got closer to the front door of the house. There were clothes all over the yard and people milling around, holding their drinks, smoking their cigarettes, all consumed with talking about something. But Jay wasn’t listening.

Just as he got to the front door, he turned around, to see if Lara was still there.

He saw her getting her car from the valet. She took her keys, got in the front seat, and began to drive off.

When she turned onto the road and out of sight, Jay thought he’d feel better, but he didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.

Mick took a right onto PCH off Chautauqua but he did not bother to use his blinker. Speeding up the highway, ocean to his left, mountains to his right, he turned his attention briefly to the invitation.

He found himself growing a tiny bit nervous, his heart beating an irregular rhythm.

He was preparing his apologies in his head, framing and reframing his past actions to create a story his kids would understand, one they could forgive. Now was the time for them all to run down to the ocean and baptize themselves in the sea and start again.

He was doing this for himself, yes. But he was doing this for them, too. What broken family—no matter how shattered or tattered or bruised beyond recognition—does not ache to be reunited? What child, no matter how lost or abandoned, does not ache to be loved?

Mick pulled up to the red stoplight at Heathercliff Road. And when it turned green, he turned left without his blinker.

Kit was standing in the outdoor bathroom staring at the stars. Ricky was sucking on her neck so hard she was pretty sure she was going to end up with a hickey.

She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t bear to. So she kept looking up at the night sky, trying to find the Big Dipper.

• • •

Ricky could not believe his good fortune. He was here, making out with Kit Riva, in an outdoor shower. Kit Riva. In an outdoor shower. He wanted to take her out on romantic dates to Italian restaurants, and buy her flowers, and go surfing with her, and just generally be in her presence all the time.

Ricky was so flabbergasted and ahead of himself, so enchanted and eager, that it was almost as if his excitement could sustain them both.

Almost.

Ricky was no Don Juan but he’d been with women before. He’d had a high school dalliance, a college girlfriend. He knew how it felt when a girl was as excited to be with you as you were to be with her. And Ricky was starting to worry—because of the way Kit wasn’t looking him in the eye, the way she kept freezing up when he touched her, the way she moved her pelvis farther from him—that she didn’t really want to be here.