“I’m sorry I scared you!” the girl—a beautiful, bouncy teenager—finally says, her tone full of life and yet lighter than air. “I just got really excited!” She smiles, the expression taking up her whole face, then holds up her arm. There, pinched between her electric-pink-painted fingernails, is a whole, perfectly intact sand dollar, its circumference half the size of her palm. “I’m basically obsessed with these things. Sometimes I find a ton,and other times I can’t find any.” She lifts it toward the sky, taking in the shell’s natural beauty. “Today must be my lucky day,” she explains. “I’ve already found six.”
Grace stands there, dripping. Her head tilts from left to right, like maybe if she sees things from a different angle she’ll snap back into reality.You’re losing it,she tells herself, even though the sight before her appears way too real for her to deny.You’re having a breakdown. Or you’re drowning. Maybe you’re in some strange mental limbo state while your body drifts out to sea.
She opens her mouth, but the right words don’t arrive. Instead, her heart races so hard it feels as though it might rip a hole through her chest. Grace points. A measly fragment falls from her lips, along with a gasp.
“T-the necklace,” she stutters as her thoughts rewind to yesterday and the tide pools with Caleb. “Where did you get that?”
“What?” The girl taps the charm. “This?” Her freckled nose wrinkles in question. “It was a gift.” Another smile, this one bigger. “My mom gave it to me last night. Early birthday surprise.” She shrugs as if to sayAll in the world is good. Like nothing—anywhere—could possibly weigh her down. “We’re here for my birthday. I turn sixteen this week.”
Though she knows she won’t find anything, Grace trails her fingers along her chest, only to discover her wet T-shirt and skin. In a rush, her mind floods with questions—too many for her to process, like a dam inside her brain has suddenly burst. Her vision travels from the sand dollar to the necklace and back again. “How did you find—”
“What, this?” She looks down at the shell, thinking that’s what Grace means. “I’ll be honest. I’m a little bit of an expert when it comes to sand-dollar hunting.” Her eyes sparkle. “I come down here to search for them a lot of mornings,” she says, her words like an invitation. “You know, if you’re ever looking for advice.” She bends down, rinses the shell in the glittering water. “I may be young, but when it comes to finding beach treasures, I’ve gotloadsof tips.”
Grace stands still, the irony of the girl’s words hitting her even harder than the rising tides.
“Welp, I’d better get going. I’ve had my face down looking for shells.” The girl twists, peers back over her bronzed shoulder. “I didn’t realize how far I wandered. I need to get back.” Her smile subtly changes, both brightening and softening at once, the same as it was before, yet also something new. “I promised a friend I’d come out to meet him this morning,” she adds, her expression as she mentions this person as easy and warm as summer itself. “We sort of have this thing the last few seasons where I hang out and watch him surf.”
Without warning, something tugs at Grace’s chest. A feeling. A memory. Hot days. Warm sand. Her eyes tracking one board—oneperson—slicing through the waves. On those long afternoons, she didn’t worry about grades or how she looked or what came next. She was just there. Present. Happy. Her full self, without even trying. Without even realizing it.
Nearby, more people begin to appear through the lingering veil of mist. A man in running clothes. A mother and young child, both dressed in their pajamas.
“Here,” the girl says to Grace right before she heads off. “You take this one.” She extends a slender arm and hands over the sand dollar as though it’s nothing. “It’s the least I can do for scaring you and making you fall and get all wet.”
Grace’s fingers close around it, the shell’s surface already dry and warm in her grip. Her lips stay parted, but no sound comes out.
“Anyway, I hope you like it!” the stranger says as Grace continues to take her in. Her perfect face. Her sparkling brown eyes. Her whole demeanor bright, carefree, and happy. “My mom says they’re lucky—the whole, unbroken ones, at least.”
With that, she turns, kicking through the water as she moves in the direction of whatever place she just came. Before she gets too far, she pivots and gazes back.
“It’s so nice out today, isn’t it?” she shouts. “It’s supposed to stay like this, too.” She tilts her chin toward the sky. “From what I hear, it’s going to be a really great week!” The girl waves with all the enthusiasm of someone her age—a person who still believes in dreams and the future, an individual fueled by the relentless hope that nothing bad will ever happen and that every last thing she wants will miraculously work out in the end. “I’ll see you around,” she calls out, turning to leave, then spins back. “Oh, one other thing.” She flashes an easy grin. “I’m Cece! Figured I’d mention it in case we run into each other again. You know how it is around here—no real strangers on the island, right?” she adds before she walks away.
Not having a clue what just happened, or how she could ever explain or make sense of it, Grace stands half paralyzed in the rising surf, the shell still inside her cupped palm.
“Cece?” she says, the word she’s been trying to get out finally coming free from her throat.
And then alone, but not really, Grace watches as her almost-sixteen-year-old self walks away, into the fleeting curtain of morning mist, and disappears.
Part Two
Yesterday
Ten
Grace sits, stunned, on the front stairs of the house, her mouth hanging open as if she’s a gasping fish that’s washed ashore. Despite her initial plan—one last beach visit, then get in the car, say goodbye to this place for good—her hands are too shaky to drive. She can hardly think straight, let alone safely navigate a speeding vehicle along five lanes of highway traffic. Her clothes—old T-shirt, jean shorts, baseball hat—remain soaked, her skin chafing at her thighs. She can’t even bring herself to run around back and grab the key so she can change into something dry.
For the moment, all she can do is sit.
It’s been at least a half hour, possibly longer, since her—her what? Encounter? Hallucination? Spiritual awakening? Complete emotional break? Her thoughts are still too muddled for her to even think clearly. She just keeps replaying the scene—over and over, around and around, like an amusement ride that never stops. The girl. The necklace. The impossibility of it. The unmistakable wave of déjà vu.
“Y-you’re being foolish, Grace,” she mumbles for the hundredth time. “You’re exhausted. Probably dehydrated.” She stares off into space. “You’ve hardly eaten or slept in days.” As she talks to herself, Grace recalls a past therapy session when Dr. Anne explained the notion of visual distortions—how people deep in grief look for shadows or other things that aren’t really there. “Of course,” Grace decides and lets out a stunted laugh—short, breathless, possibly a touch deranged. “This isjust a trauma response triggered by hunger and a heavy hit of nostalgia.” She imagines Dr. Anne gently nodding from her upholstered chair. “Or heatstroke. Probably a lesser-known consequence of too much saltwater to the head.”
While she listens to her own words, trying her best to believe them, Grace presses the sand dollar tighter in her palm. It’s warm, familiar, and without a single crack. She swallows, hoping to steady the trembling feeling inside her, and makes a conscious effort to remind herself it’s not a talisman, only a random organic object she discovered in the surf.
“Ten more minutes,” she announces to the ground. “Catch your breath. Collect your thoughts. Put on dry clothes. Then get in the Jeep. Leave. Drive away.”
“Enjoy another unplanned swim?” a voice interrupts.
Grace’s face pans up. In her current state, it takes her a minute to realize a person has appeared. That he’s looking at her. Speaking to her. Expecting her to react. She blinks, her lids quickly opening and closing like a camera shutter as her eyes work to relay the scene to her brain.
