The party started at two, but John was in the water by noon.
“That’s great,” John said.
“You look terrible,” she said.
Linda appeared at the edge of the pool with a tray of margaritas. She was wearing a white cover-up that she had bought specifically for this party, and she looked beautiful in the way that a museum piece looks beautiful—preserved, deliberate, slightly sad. She handed him a glass.
At seven o’clock, the guests began to leave. They hugged Linda. They shook John’s hand and said, “Great party,” and “We should do this more often,” and “Let’s get lunch sometime,” which was a lie they all told and all accepted.