“We can’t. Summer’s almost over,” Beth said sadly.
“And some of us have to work,” Meg said.
Poor Meg. She was babysitting the horrible King children this summer to earn money for college in the fall.
“You’re not working today,” Beth said.
“Yes, I am,” Meg said in a virtuous tone.
“On what?” Amy asked.
Meg smiled. “My tan.” Trey laughed. “How are your applications coming?” Meg asked him.
He shrugged.
“I’ve already started my essays,” Jo said. “College deadlines will be here before you know it.”
“I don’t want to go to college,” Trey said. “Not right away. I want to take a gap year—maybe a couple of years—and travel, the way my father did. Go to Europe.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Amy said. “I would love to go places. Paris. Rome.”
“We would miss you,” Beth said shyly.
Trey smiled at her. “I’m not saying I’d stay away forever. I just want a chance to live first. All Granddad cares about is me going to school and making money.”
“There’s nothing wrong with making money,” Meg said. Meg was going to be an accountant. “At least you don’t have to worry about finding a job after you graduate.”
“Or student loans,” Jo said. “You’re lucky. You can apply to any school you want.”
“You sound like my grandfather. Like I should be happy being a landlord or selling cars for the rest of my life.”
Old Mr. Laurence owned most of the commercial real estate in town, including the big car dealership along the highway.
“Well, what do you want to do?” Meg asked practically. Meg was always practical.
He grinned. Shrugged. “Maybe I’ll become a famous music executive and discover the next Maroon 5 and never worry about money or business again.”
Jo touched his arm. “You’re smart enough to do anything. Momma says you just need the right motivation.”
He gave her a sideways look. “You could be my motivation.”
Jo scowled and dropped her hand. “Don’t be stupid. The minute I graduate, I’m moving to New York to be a writer.”
Something flickered in Trey’s eyes when he looked at Jo. Amy squirmed. Like she shouldn’t have seen... whatever it was. Or maybe she didn’t want to see.
Beth had wandered away from the discussion and was quietly digging where the waves came in. They were too old to play in the sand. But suddenly anything was better than sitting on that blanket. Amy got up and plopped herself by Beth. Seizing a handful of wet sand, she let the silt dribble through her fingers, building a spire drop by drop, a fantastic gloppy tower at the water’s edge.
“You need to work on the foundation first,” Meg said. “You can’t live in your castle if it collapses.”
Amy ignored her.
“Here.” Meg stood. “I’ll show you.”
Jo jumped up. “Give me the shovel.”
Meg smiled. “Nope.”
Jo grabbed the pail instead. The four sisters worked together,digging and directing, laughing and bickering. Jo shored up the walls as Meg packed sand into towers. A bridge or a rampart? A pyramid or stairs? Trey was everywhere, helping everybody. Or in the way. It wasn’t the grown-up day at the beach Amy had dreamed of. It was better, like a scene from their childhood, the last week of summer, their last shared adventure before Meg went away to college and forever.
