Color spots illuminated the dance floor. Max Darling took pleasure in the ease with which he and Annie moved together in a sinuous tango. As they walk-stepped through a silver spot, he enjoyed the glimpse of her filmy chiffon dress that emphasized the deep true gray of her eyes and the sun streaks in her sandy hair. But he also glimpsed a poignant awareness that their happiness wasn’t shared by all.

In a dusky vale between spots, he murmured, “The night is young and so are we. Let it go.” They turned and stepped, turned and stepped.

“Honestly, why did he even come?” Annie was looking toward the bar, one area of brightness.

Wesley Hurst hunched at one end of the temporary bar. He held a half full glass in his hand. He looked toward the main doorway, his usually affable face drawn and weary. His bow tie was uneven and his red cummerbund looked bunched. Of course, it always helped a guy to have a lovely lady on hand to straighten and admire.

“Where is she?” Annie’s cool tone left no doubt about her feelings toward Shell Hurst, Wesley’s current wife.

If Wesley’s face foretold the future, Max doubted the marriage would last much longer. “Timing her entrance, of course.”

Annie’s nose wrinkled. They half turned together as the band played the haunting and subtly erotic “El Choclo.”

“Since when do couples arrive separately? We’ve been here an hour and not a trace of her.”

Max grinned. “The better to heighten suspense.”

“Why did he dump Vera for her?”

Max’s answer was light. “Stupidity.” He spun Annie to his right and her dress swirled and then they were lost in the beat and the rhythm.

Annie sat alone, watching the dancers. The other couples at their table were on the dance floor. Max eased around the next table and arrived triumphantly with their drinks. Tonight she’d opted for a Tom Collins. Max always preferred beer and he carried a glass foaming with a Full Sail Amber from a Savannah brewery. Annie smiled her thanks and took a refreshing sip. She was ready to enjoy a quiet moment and savor the evening. She wasn’t sure she liked the colored ceiling spots that left most of the room in semidarkness, including the tables where her lovely centerpieces looked like shadowy clumps.

Usually three chandeliers shed creamy light. She liked seeing people’s faces and noticing other women’s dresses. Most of the women chose cocktail dresses or evening slacks with dressy tops, though occasionally a woman appeared in a gown. Annie hummed as the band played “In the Misty Moonlight.” As couples moved near the perimeter of the floor, they passed for a moment beneath a red spot. Elaine Jamison was slender and lovely in a raspberry stretch crepe sheath. She smiled up at Burl Field. They planned a September wedding. Island newcomers Don Thornwall, the retired Navy captain, and his wife, Joyce, seemed equally happy as they whirled by. Maggie and Dave Peterson were next.

Annie’s delight in watching the dancers ebbed. It would take time before she forgot Maggie’s strained expression, eyes staring, cheekbones prominent, body rigid in her husband’s embrace. Dave’s heavy face was somber. He seemed oblivious to his wife. His gaze was searching. They danced away into darkness. She had the same thought as when she’d noted Wesley Hurst’s glum face. Why come? What brought unhappy people to a party?