She left Mr. C’s, and instead of walking down A1A back to the Seahorse Court, she turned and went behind Mr. C’s, down to the water.

She walked over the sand, past the beach towels and plastic shovels and colorful umbrellas and the people who were spread out everywhere. She went right down to the water.

She took off her flip-flops and put them on the sand. She was getting ready to roll up her jeans, but then she thought,Why bother? She walked right into the water. First, it came up to her knees and then to her thighs, and then a wave came and tried to knock her over, and she let it.

She fell into the water. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the sky. She could see a tiny slice of moon suspended in the blueness.

Her father had brought her here, or to some beach near here, a long, long time ago, when a rocket was being launched into space. The two of them had left home when it was dark and gotten to the beach just when the sun was coming up.

They had sat together on the hood of the car. They had looked up at the sky. Her father kept saying, “Wait, wait. It will happen.”

And it did.

The rocket went up.

The hood of the car had been warm. Beverly had been able to feel the engine cooling off, ticking underneath them like a gigantic heart.

Her father had held her hand.

And when the rocket finally went up in the sky, he had squeezed her hand so hard that it hurt.

Pretty soon after that, he left.

He went to New York and never came back.

He slipped the surly bonds.

Stupid poem.

Poetry was nothing but words to say over a grave, something to throw into a hole in the ground.

“Wynken, Blynken, and Nod,” said Beverly out loud. That was a better poem. How did it go? She couldn’t remember. Something about sailing off somewhere.

She would ask Raymie what the rest of the poem was when she wrote to her. Raymie would know.

Beverly floated on her back in the ocean and stared at the leftover moon, and then she swam to shore.

Her flip-flops were gone.

She walked through the sand and up to the hot pavement and down the side of A1A in her bare feet. She turned off A1A and walked down the seashell drive of the Seahorse Court.

Her feet felt like they were on fire.

Iola was out in front of the trailer, watering her stupid flowers.

“Lord, child,” she said. “What have you been doing?”

“I went swimming.”

“It certainly does appear that way,” said Iola. She stared at Beverly. “Are you staying, then?” she said.

“I’m here,” said Beverly, “aren’t I?”

Iola laid down the hose and went into the trailer and got Beverly a towel. Beverly dried off as much as she could, and then she sat in the lawn chair in front of the trailer, directly in the sun. Her skin felt tight with salt water.

She closed her eyes and fell asleep and dreamed about the grave. She was standing over it, looking down into it, searching for Buddy. She couldn’t see him. The hole was empty and deep, and in the dream, she thought, Why did I dig the hole so deep?

When she woke up, her clothes were dry and stiff, and the sun was lower in the sky. She and Iola drove to Discount Dave’s, and Beverly bought three T-shirts and a pair of jeans and another pair of flip-flops.

Iola bought a toaster.

“I don’t need a toaster,” she said. “The one I got works just fine. But it’s old. And this one is so new and shiny. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Yeah,” said Beverly. “It’s beautiful.”

When they got back from Discount Dave’s, Iola plugged in the new toaster and toasted some bread and made them both tuna melt sandwiches.

After they finished the tuna melts, it was time for bingo at the VFW.

And Beverly was still there, wasn’t she?

She was still at the Seahorse Court with Iola Jenkins.

So she was staying.

She supposed.

For now.