“Eighteenth?”
“Seventeen. Mom homeschooled me during junior high, and I skipped a grade when I got to high school.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Another beat. “Will you come down here, please?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to see your face, and I’m five-nine and the thought of folding myself into the top bunk makes me feel like I need to breathe into a paper bag.”
I release a single bark of a laugh, but oblige her and climb down.
“You’re all wet,” she says, running her hands over my shoulders when I reach the floor.
“And possibly concussed,” I say, rubbing my head.
She opens the built-in drawers below the bottom bunk and finds a dry T-shirt.
It’s one of mine, left here years ago, and features the cast of My Little Pony.
It’s purple.
“This isn’t really my color,” I mutter as she pulls my arms up, followed by my soaked T-shirt. Then she slides the dry one over my head and settles it around my hips.
Tossing the wet shirt into the miniature kitchen sink, she leads me to the green-and-yellow-striped love seat on the other side of the room. Settling into one corner, she pulls on my hand until I follow, but I sit in the other corner. Still, our legs brush, our hands inches apart.
“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t tell anyone,” she says. “Emmy knew because she was friends with my mom and also because she had to sign a bunch of forms about the guardianship, but I asked her not to do anything for it. I didn’t want to celebrate. Your mom only knew because she point-blank asked me when my birthday was, and it didn’t feel right to lie. I had no idea she was going to plan that party.”
The rain continues to fall, chopping up the Atlantic and tugging Emmaline this way and that. Eva’s not telling me anything I didn’t suspect already. Still. Today is her birthday. Mom got the date right and ordered her a bunch of purple roses.
“Did you know she stole a thousand dollars from Pete to buy everything?”
Eva’s mouth drops open. “What? No.”
“Did you know she left Pete because he dared to be a little irritated about the whole theft thing, and now I’m living in a motel room with about five seconds of hot water and crusty sheets for god knows how long?”
Her jaw drops even further, if that’s even possible. “Oh my god, Grace. Maggie just told me about the party and that she’d have to postpone it. When she called, she sounded fine and said she wanted to take me out for my birthday anyway. Just dinner or whatever.”
“Did you go?”
She frowns. “Yeah, I did. But not because of my birthday. I wanted to talk to her, tell her I didn’t think we should spend as much time together. I didn’t know what had happened. If I had, I wouldn’t have—?”
“Where’d she take you?”
“Just . . . just the Crab Trap.”
“I hope it was a good meal. Although you should probably stop by the lighthouse and thank Pete for the fried shrimp and garlic biscuits.”
She rubs both hands over her face. “Grace, I left right when we got there. Luca called me and asked me if I knew where you were. He’s been calling you.”
“I turned my phone off.”
“I know. When I told him I didn’t know, I asked Maggie.”
“Oh?” I laugh, a bitter, sharp thing that hurts my throat. “And what did Maggie say?”
“She said she didn’t know, but she didn’t seem worried—?”
