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At the end of the boardwalk, where there was usually sixty or so yards of white beach, there was now only water and howling wind. And Gigi. Gigi stood facing away from him, in the water up to her knees. He yelled at her, but she didn’t turn around.

A cooler lid cartwheeled past him into the water, an aluminum chair just behind it. The wind kept nudge, nudge, nudging and Vic allowed himself to be scooped up and deposited into the Gulf with Gigi, staggering and hopping along instead of dragging his feet like they told you to do to scare the stingrays away. He’d never liked the cloudy water at Alligator Point, didn’t like not being able to see the stingrays and the sharks that might be lurking, but that uneasiness had never stopped him from going into the water. He’d always just figured that if it was his time to be stung or bitten, so be it. Beer helped. Would there even be any rays or sharks out in this weather? The warm water now was murkier than ever, and he couldn’t even see his own sandaled feet.

When he reached Gigi, he grabbed her arm and they both lurched around in a silly dance. Then she plopped down and crouched there in water up to her chin. She took another swig from her bottle, like it was an ordinary beach day.

“We need to go in,” he yelled at her.

“I love you, Vic,” she yelled back. “So there. I love you.” He couldn’t see her eyes, hidden by strands of her dripping hair, but he knew that, even in her drunken state, she was watching his face carefully.

“Shit.” He glanced behind him. He and Gigi were further from shore now, and at a different angle than they had been earlier.

“Shit! What the hell kind of response is that? I’m sorry I fucked up at FTA okay? You still mad at me for that? Is that your problem?”

“There’s plenty of problems.” They were both yelling the sorts of things that last week they couldn’t have even imagined speaking aloud. “I’m married. You’re a drunk. Your brother molested my daughter. Take your pick.” He was angry at her, angry at himself, but in a way the anger felt just as trumped-up as their earlier lovey-dovey stuff. Loving her, hating her … had he trumped up all of it?

The water lapped at his hips. The wind was now behind them, shoving them, trying to bully them out into that vast expanse of brownish gray water studded with whitecaps. He and Gigi were moving, dancing around together. He couldn’t blink the salty water out of his eyes. Again he begged her to come back with him.

She started giggling and pointed. “Your hair.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

A bigger wave broke over them, knocking Gigi backward. She came up laughing, spitting water, holding her beer bottle safely aloft, but now she was treading water, and he was immersed up to his shoulders.

Vic held out his hand to Gigi. “Come on. We’re getting washed out to sea.”

Gigi ignored his hand, pouting. “Don’t care.”

Washed out to sea. Did he really say that? Sounded like an old pirate movie. Sounded too fucking metaphorical. There was something unreal about the whole scene. Now he was treading water. He turned. Travis and Ava were at the end of the boardwalk, two figures waving at them. A curtain of lightning dropped down over Little Alligator Bay.

“Lightning,” Vic yelled, making a grab for Gigi.

Gigi swooshed sideways, away from him. “You’re happy to play around till I tell you I love you. And you drink just as much as me.”

“I never drink as much as you.”

“Fucking liar!”

Why were they having this insane fight? Being drunk was like experiencing the world as drawn by crayons—all bright and dark outlines. Nuance and detail and complexity all gone!—I love you! Let’s have fun! Pelicans are cute! You’re a dick! I hate you! Liar!—Everything was clear and everything was stupid. No wonder drunkenness was such an appealing way for people to get through life.

Ava and Travis, at the end of the boardwalk, were jumping around and waving frantically. And there were now other people standing at the end of the boardwalk with Ava, waving.