The waters swept the East Coast from Maine to Florida. Hourly broadcasts informed us that land was breaking off at an alarming rate. In some places the coastline had regressed to the Appalachians, sinking into the sea in chocolate-red chunks. Heads of families invested in nautical compasses, diving gear and water wings in assorted sizes and colors. I took to wearing my bathing cap at all times; other women chopped off their hair entirely, fearful of strangulation. No one was safe. Even the pool players who, days ago, had barely deigned to glance at us in our wet suits, now flung their cue balls and eight balls up in the air in a great black and white geyser and fled in terror from the rushing spume. The few who thought to clamber up the skyscrapers were found huddling in satellite dishes, shivering in their jackets of soggy green felt. “Did you think love would be easy?” I asked Hector who stood behind me, his chin resting on my shoulder. Chess pieces lay strewn around us, covered with…