“Because the clinic lost an animal this morning. He needs time to process.”
She is quiet for only a minute. “Well, I could help. I could untie ropes or raise a sail—”
“No sail, honey. It’s gas all the way.”
“Okay, so I could hold the wheel while he fixes the engine. I could wipe splashes off the deck. I could make sure Guy doesn’t fall overboard.”
I glance back. “Look at the horizon. See those clouds?”
“They’re not here.”
“They could be soon. Check out the weather on the Vineyard.”
Of course, her phone is with her. It always is, just like LipSmackers were when I was her age—and isn’tthata memory, come to me here, where Nilla Mint Frost was my go-to. Oh boy, did Dad hate the sight of those tubes. He called them hotbeds of germs, though,compared to an iPhone, they were totally benign. If she isn’t checking Snapchat, she’s scrolling through Instagram or checking House Party, waiting for an invite. Since we arrived, she hasn’t texted anyone but me, meaning none of her friends have texted back. Good to give her something practical to do with the phone.
Raising it, she searches Dark Sky for Martha’s Vineyard, which lies due east, in the direction of those clouds. “Rain?How?”
“The ocean is like that. Storms rise out of nowhere.”
“He would turn around before it rains. Please, Mom?”
“No.” Next to my book, in the shadow of my own wide-brim hat, my phone lights.She should have been.
No doubt what Jack means.
But she isn’t,I type and send.
Joy is fixated on the boat. “I thought we came here to do different things.”
It’s not too late,he texts.
“We came here to spend time with your grandfather.”
“Who is taking a nap,” she replies with disdain.
“Which is why we’re at the beach. If you’re bored, we can head back to the city tomorrow.”
Dream on,I type and send.
“Oh-ho, no,” Joy laughs. “We’re staying here. Things are just getting interesting.”
Her tone is too cocksure for comfort. She knows something I don’t.
I look up at her, but she’s still facing the boat. The engine starts, then idles while Jack releases the last of his lines. I don’t have to look to know this. I lived it too many times to forget. “What things?” I ask.
“Anne’s boyfriend is coming to dinner.”
Jack’s boat leaves the dock with a huge, crescendoing growl.
My goal for dinner is to mend fences with Anne. I usually know the right thing to say to people, but I’m not doing so well with her. Sheliked that I like her shop, but when I mentioned our bluff and the Hartleys, the good will vanished. She’s my sister. I accept that our memories of childhood differ. I accept that she resents Margo and me for abandoning Dad. I accept that his health creates a dilemma. But there has to be common ground.
Determined to find it, I join her in the kitchen early to see what I can do to help. Billy—Bill,Mallory,Bill—Houseman is there with her. From the moment Joy said he’d be coming, I repressed the thought. With so many other battles to fight, I can’t afford one about Bill. But here he is.
How to deal with him in a way that doesn’t worsen my relationship with Anne?
I remember him having greasy hair and a stringy beard, wearing jeans that sagged and biker boots. I remember him holding a can of beer in his hand, always a can of beer. He had attitude written all over him, and he reinforced it with petty crimes, from shoplifting to “borrowing” people’s cars to painting graffiti on the schoolyard wall. I remember him being a smoker.
He isn’t smoking now. Nor do I smell it on him. His hair is short, his five o’clock shadow respectable enough. He wears nice-fitting jeans, an untucked shirt rolled at the cuffs, and flip-flops, and he holds a bottle of what looks like craft beer. The only thing I see that is even remotely rebellious is his ink. It covers both arms and climbs one side of his neck.
