Eventually Sherri managed to eat her meal, and the good meat and the good shrimp got to work soaking up the alcohol, and so by the time she was driving the Acura back across the causeway she felt almost normal. (Many of the ladies seemed to have carpooled, so it was a lonely business, climbing into the Acura all on her own, though she did manage a quick good-bye to her savior.) The moon, almost full, was winking above the salt marshes, and she lowered the window to take in the very particular briny smell of the summer evening. She began to feel almost peaceful, and when she parked in front of the half-house on Olive Street she was looking forward to telling Katie all about the restaurant. Maybe they could go there one evening soon and sit on the more casual side, near the bar, and share two of the small plates. (The flatbread had looked very good.)

She called Katie’s name as she unlocked the door and entered the house. Every light in the house was on, and the living room, where she thought Katie would be watching television, was empty. Her pulse started to race. She called Katie’s name again, then again, and she heard some reply—as quiet as the mewing of a kitten—from upstairs. The hall light was on too, and the lights in her bedroom and Katie’s as well.

“Katie-kins?” Instantly Sherri was 100 percent sober, with every hair, every pore and fiber of her body, on high alert. Katie was sitting cross-legged in the very corner of her very bright bedroom, her knees drawn up and into her chest. She had pulled the comforter from her bed to cover herself. Sherri rushed to Katie’s side.

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” said Katie. “I just got scared.”

We’ll have to get rid of her, came the fragment of memory, floating along on the summer evening, and Sherri felt all of her collective terror gather itself and sluice through her.

“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have gone out. I shouldn’t have left you alone. I shouldn’t—”

“Mommy,” said Katie. Sherri opened her arms and Katie uncurled her body and fell into them. Sherri felt her tears leak out into Katie’s beautiful hair and they stayed for some time, rocking back and forth in the too-bright room, with Katie’s sobs getting louder, until, without any warning, she threw up all over her comforter.

9.

Alexa

When Alexa woke up the next morning she was lying in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, under an unfamiliar comforter. She was alone. Ohgodohgodohgod. She was alone in a strange bed. On a chair next to the bed she saw her O’Neill dress folded neatly. Oh God. She lifted up the covers and peeked down, afraid she would find that she was naked. No. She was wearing a pair of sweatpants (Sweatpants! Surely this was a first.) and—she felt behind her neck—a hooded sweatshirt. She pulled the sweatshirt away from her body to examine it. It was purple, and it said knights on it in gold. Where had she just seen a sweatshirt with gold writing? Fragments from the night before began to filter back into her brain. She was drinking cranberry juice and vodka. She was angry with Tyler. She was looking at the moon. She was spinning.

There was a soft knocking at the door, and when she said, “Yes?” her voice cracked, as if it hadn’t been used in a long time. Into the room walked a boy, and the rest of the puzzle pieces clicked into place. She’d drunk two drinks on an empty stomach, and then she’d fallen onto this boy’s sweatshirt. She remembered him guiding her gently around the side of the house, and into a car.

“I’m Cameron,” he said. “Hartwell. Cam. In case you don’t remember. I brought you tea.” She noticed that before putting down the tea he laid down a coaster. There was a matching coaster un derneath a half-empty (half-full?) water glass, which triggered a memory of two Advils proffered to her.

“Is this your house?”

“Yup. This is the guest room. I slept in my room.” That grin again. “It was all very proper. You were shaking in that dress, so I gave you some clothes to put on. Which you did by yourself. In the bathroom.”

“Thanks,” she said warily. “But where are we?”

“Off Turkey Hill.”

Turkey Hill was the neighborhood on the other side of the highway from downtown, where many of the houses were bigger, newer, with yards and driveways and garages. Alexa never had reason to go out to Turkey Hill. Turkey Hill was exactly as far from Plum Island as you could get while still being in Newburyport. What the hell was she doing on Turkey Hill?

“Why were you at Zoe’s party?”

“Shelby wanted to go. My, um, girlfriend. You know Shelby?” Alexa nodded. “She and Zoe ran cross country together, they’re close.” He shrugged.

“What happened to Shelby last night?” Alexa wanted to know, and she also didn’t.

“She went home,” Cam said. (Was that a grin playing at the corners of his mouth?) “She got a ride with someone else.”

Most likely, thought Alexa, Shelby had to get to bed on time. She probably had the early shift handing out breakfast to homeless people in Lowell, or she was organizing a charity walk on Boston Common.

“She was mad,” added Cam.

“Mad?”

Now the grin was full-on. “She didn’t like it that I said I would take you home.”

“So why did you?”

“You looked like you could use the help.”