“I had a fight with him a few months ago and he ghosted me.”

“You’re a student?” she asked, unkindly.

Bitch. I still get carded.

“Grad school,” I admitted through gritted teeth. I might have looked young for my late twenties, but that’s still really old to a college sophomore. “I followed him today and saw the two of you together.”

“You got dumped,” she said with a casual shrug. When her shoulder dropped she was visibly more relaxed. She could deal with a crazy ex over a serial killer or a robber.

“There’s no pain like a broken heart. It can feel like it will last a lifetime and never heal,” I said.

I took my time. I acted like this was hard for me to admit, when in reality I was overwhelmed at the absurdity of what I was doing. There’s no guidebook on how to react when you find out your husband is cheating on you, but I’m used to forging new paths. I sat on her couch.

“You should leave,” she said.

I was relieved and willingly complied, for the moment. I slapped my palms on my knees and stood up. I moved toward the door, but I wanted to leave her with something to think about. Something that would impress her.

“He’s so smart,” I said with my back to her. “It’s one of the things I love most about him.”

I held my hand on the doorknob, waiting for her to speak.

“It’s a different kind of smart,” she said.

I turned to look at her with a knowing smile.

“Not that he could tell you everything about ancient Egypt,” I said. “But that he could create a whole world only for you. Like you were Cleopatra in another life, in his life.”

She swept her gaze to the floor, but she nodded.

I picked up a piece of junk mail by the door and found a pen.

“I’m not mad,” I said as I scribbled my phone number on the back of an envelope. “I was for a second, but it fizzled away. I wasn’t enough to keep him entertained. You probably are and I can help you.”

That night I checked Adam’s phone. There had been no contact between them after their fight. She was probably waiting for him to apologize. He was probably over the whole thing.

She texted me before midnight, asking if I’d seen him. I was in.

I had to convince her I wasn’t interested in a threesome or anything kinky. I imagined being her Cyrano de Bergerac. Then I had to explain Cyrano de Bergerac because she was only nineteen. I told her it was too late for me, but I could help her get him back. Two were better than one. After that, she shared every sweet thing he said and every perceived slight she wasn’t sure how to interpret. There had to have been part of me that dissociated from the fact that she was talking about my husband. Or maybe I liked the game of playing with both of them.

It went on longer than I ever expected. Both the affair and my involvement. Adam was not in love with her, I could tell. He lost interest every other day. It should have comforted me, but it made me angrier instead. It was so easy for me to know exactly what to say to get him to reengage with her. Compose a fun, sexy message. Compliment his sexual prowess. Every time he texted back, every time he met her on the corner of Lexington Avenue with a smile, I had the same rageful thought: I married someone better than this cliché of a man.

I told her not to sleep with him again. Not so soon. Make him wait, I said. That was for my benefit, protecting whatever was left of my dignity. She didn’t listen.

That’s when I lost it.

I went to the bar where I knew she waited tables. Adam and Ted were already there. I watched from a table a few feet away. You might think I was working up the courage to confront them, but I was actually trying to calm myself down. It didn’t work; I saw red the whole time. Finally I approached her while she waited for drinks at the bar. The worst part, in hindsight, was the smile on her face when she saw me. She probably thought I was going to congratulate her for winning Adam back.

Instead, I double-fisted two pints of beer from her tray and poured them over her head. Her mouth gaped open like her jaw was unhinged. I told her I’d drop much worse on her head if I ever, ever saw her near my husband again. Her face turned white, like she’d seen a ghost.

At the time, I felt a cool satisfaction as I walked out of the bar, even more so when Adam begged for my forgiveness and swore he’d never speak to her again. I thought I’d won. But now, as a mother of three girls, I feel ashamed for manipulating and blaming a vulnerable young woman for what should have stayed between me and Adam.

A mile away from Stars Harbor, the rain pours down from the gray sky without a warning. My running shoes refuse to grip the pavement and I’m forced to slow my pace. I decide that’s enough for today and loop back to the house.

I wish my shame was the reason I held back the details from Rini in my reading, but it was suspicion instead. I haven’t been able to shake the feeling of déjà vu when I look at her, but I also know I never forget a face, or a name as distinct as Rini. She said point-blank that we didn’t know each other, and yet I was compelled to creep around her cottage last night.

Before she returned from the Moon Men event, I had plenty of time to peer through the windows to her neatly made bed, her tiny kitchen, and the wall-mounted Murphy table with stacks of books. The art on the wall was all generic, no photos of siblings or lover’s kisses on cheeks. The whole cottage couldn’t be more than four hundred square feet.

Nothing inside sparked a connection to Rini, nor did it set my mind at ease. But it’s the last day, and if clarity hasn’t come by now, it must not be important. It’s nothing more than one of those gut feelings that never pans out, the fear that never materializes. As a mother, I know dread well.

With the slick wood and whipping wind, hopping the fence to return to Stars Harbor is trickier. As I jump, my sneaker slips and I land in a puddle. Pain shoots through my foot. I sit to inspect my throbbing ankle. It’s not swelling or bruising so I try to stand. It’s tender but stable. There’s nothing to do but walk it off.

I limp down the long driveway but as I turn the last kink in the path and the highest turret appears, I see someone holding on to the railing. Rini told us there was no access to the turrets, but the movements are unmistakable. There’s someone up there. I squint through the rain and the white fog; I see a woman with long dark hair looking out into the distance. Rini.

I consider calling out, but instead I want proof of her lie. I pull out my phone, zoom in, and snap a few shots. My ankle feels stronger already and I hurry inside the house. But when I open my camera to look at the pictures, there’s no one there. The turret is empty.

RINI

In the light of day, last night’s fears about this group turning things around on me seem unfounded. They wouldn’t pay to confront me about the past. They wouldn’t listen, rapt, to my astrological advice; they wouldn’t drink my smoothies; they wouldn’t confess their secrets the way they have over the last two days. But that doesn’t mean today is going to be easy. Mother Nature is on the scene with plans of her own.

On CNN, I watch the animated gray cyclone circle over Bermuda before it makes a sharp left turn toward the edge of Long Island and up the Connecticut coast. Fox News, the Weather Channel, ABC—they show the same thing. After all indications we’d escape with nothing more than a little rain, Tropical Storm Clementine is predicted to hit Greenport in less than two hours.

I walk from my cottage to the main house, hugging my cardigan tight around me in the wind. Ted, Rick and Joe pull their baseball caps down low while moving around one of their SUVs.

“Follow me, please,” I shout over the gale.

“We’ll all gather in the living room,” I say as the three men scrape their feet on the welcome mat. The door slams shut on its own behind them.

“Just the wind,” I say.

I ring my sound bowl and wait. I move around the room, closing windows. Aimee, Farah, Margot, Eden and Adam have shuffled down the stairs and take their places, the same ones from the first night. On the outside it would appear nothing has changed, and yet the shifts in alliances are palpable. Today, loyalties will be tested under pressure.

“I’ve got a bit of bad news. Tropical Storm Clementine took a sharp turn last night. She’s headed for us now. We’re smack in the center of her path.”

Adam and Farah slide their phones out of their pockets and the others stretch to see one of the two screens. I watch as they scroll and read.

“I could feel it brewing on my run,” Aimee says.

“Some of the guys were planning to leave early, but now I wonder if we should all leave now,” Margot says.

Rick stands and jingles his keys in his pocket. “I’m taking off. I can still shoot an eighty-one in this weather and I’ve got a tee time at Winged Foot,” he says.

“That’s dumb, dude,” Ted says. “Why wouldn’t you ride it out?”

“There’s no need. I’m not from LA, I can drive in the rain.”

“If you’re going, I’m still in. I want to get home to my boys,” Joe says.

“No one is going anywhere.” I hear the edge of panic in my voice and reel it in. “I won’t allow it. Even if I did, you’d be pulled over by Suffolk County police before you got to Riverhead,” I say with confidence.