Maggie returned, soaked from the waist down. I offered a towel to her and she wrapped it around herself, and retired next to me on the sand.

We both sighed as we gazed out over the rippling water. I had this odd sense of feeling sad about it too, like a farewell. Maggie was wriggling into a pair of cutoff jeans, sand clinging to her back. I offered to brush it off.

We carried our stuff back to the car, looking out one last time at the sandy beach before piling in. I started the engine as Maggie finished getting dressed. She had borrowed one of my Joy Division tshirts that I had shrunken in the wash to put over her bathing suit, and climbed into the passenger seat.

“Okay Mags,” I said, “I give you full DJ powers, you are somehow much better at it than I am.” Which was the truth. Maggie had this uncanny ability to find a song that went along to any setting or moment. While we drove around Salem, Massachussets she insisted on playing Gary Numan’s Pleasure Principle, and strangely, it was just perfect.