"Cheese," she said, and snapped the shutter. Tom said nothing. Mary fixed herself a martini and stepped outside with it. She sat in a chair and chewed on the olive while she flipped through a magazine.

"Who are these people, anyway?" Tom asked, and when Mary didn't answer he said, "I mean, you'd think they'd have the decency to show up someplace on time."

Mary turned a page and finished her olive. Her legs were crossed and she bounced a sandal up and down, making a tapping sound with her heel. Tom finished his cigarette and tossed it into the water. Then he disappeared into the cabin, where he remained until the Setons arrived.

The brim of Cheryl Seton's hat was quite large; as she approached the Brighton's boat with her husband she had to hold it to keep the hat from blowing away. Glen wore a Hawaiian print shirt and khaki shorts. Sunglasses hung from a strap around his neck.

"Here we are," Cheryl said to Mary. "Aren't we ridiculous? I can't remember the last time we weren't late to something." She smiled and rolled her eyes, which were shaded by the brim of her hat.

"Please," said Mary. She called down to Tom. "Tommy, come say hello," she said. She told the Setons, "Tom's down in the cabin getting some things ready." Then she whispered, "He's sulking," and shook her head.

"We're one hundred percent sorry," said Cheryl. "We were having one of our little debates. You couldn't get us out the door for anything. We were talking about California, of all things. Have you been to Los Angeles?" Cheryl asked. "Glen wants to go on vacation, but he doesn't know what he's talking about. I can't stand it there."

"Tom went to school in L.A.," said Mary.

"Didn't we all," Cheryl said. "What kind of camera is that?"

Glen was running his fingers over railings, staring up at the mast, inspecting little things here and there.

"I couldn't tell you," said Mary. "Tom got it for me years ago. I adore it, I really do. I absolutely love it. Couldn't tell you a thing about it though," she said. "It's more sentimental, I guess is how you'd put it."

Glen approached her and said, "You a photographer?"

"It's just a hobby," Mary answered. "Where's Tom?" she said. "Tom!"

Tom emerged from the cabin and greeted the guests, shaking their hands and saying, "Pleasure," to them, one after the other. He said, "Welcome aboard."

"We're sorry we're late," said Cheryl. "Glen and I were having an argument. I already told Mary."

Mary brought a few more chairs out to the deck and sat with the Setons as Tom undid the lines and maneuvered the boat from the dock and into the harbor's main channel. The small outboard bubbled and sputtered and left a wake behind them as they went. Mary fixed drinks and brought them to the Setons while Tom stood at the helm, smoking another cigarette, staring forward.

"You two smoke?" Mary asked. "I can't stand it. Drives me crazy. Tom knows it, too."

"Used to," said Glen. His shirt fluttered in the breeze and Cheryl held the brim of her hat.

They reached the mouth of the harbor and Tom cut the motor. The Setons watched as he went from one side of the boat to the other. Lines hummed against metal and Tom swung the boom over their heads. Vast white sails ascended the mast, snapped taut in the wind, and soon the boat cruised with alacrity through the rich blue.

"You're going to lose that hat, Cheryl," Mary said. "You bring a bikini? I've got mine on under this old shirt of Tom's." She pulled up on the hem and revealed a bright yellow swimsuit. Glen stared at the woman's legs. "I was just going to take this off, matter of fact," she said. "Cover your ears, Glen, but sometimes I go topless out here." Mary fished an ice cube out of her drink and tossed it casually into the water.

Tom said, "Jesus."

"Why not?" said Mary. "Who's going to come out here and see me? Anyway, he loves it," she said, itching her back and gesturing toward her husband. Tom lit another cigarette. "Don't let him fool you. Sometimes he even tries to grab the camera."

"I just started piano lessons," Cheryl said. "Two days a week."

After gaining some distance from the shore, Tom eased the halyard, brought down the mainsail and fixed it to the boom. He let out the anchor and set it. Glen had dealt some cards and was playing a hand of Gin Rummy with his wife while Mary watched.

"What I was saying about Los Angeles is the superficiality," Cheryl said to her hand. "I just can't stand the way everyone walks around that place like it's their own personal smorgasbord. I'm not trying to be ironic," she said. "I know I've said that before." Glen made a stack of his cards and placed them on the table. He stood up and walked over to his wife, then whispered something in her ear. "Ha!" Cheryl said. "I'll bet."

Mary sat with her bare feet propped up on the railing. "California," she sang. "How does that song go? Tom would know. Hey, Tom, what's that song about the party on a red brick road?"

Tom was wiping his hands with a rag. "We're set," he said.

"Oh, what a relief," said Mary. "Tom's always a wreck until he gets the anchor set." She looked at Glen, who had picked up his cards again, then turned to her husband. "Hey, you want to scratch my back, sweetheart? I'm itching like a madman."