Lili
Of all the days for Goldie to wake up sick this summer, today is the worst. And she knows it.
Mom presses the back of her hand against Goldie’s flushed forehead, her eyes squinting with worry as my sister does her best to hold back tears. The thermometer beeps, and Mom lets out a soft hiss of air. Goldie’s chin quivers, and I can practically hear her fighting the urge to sob.
“But I don’t want to miss the water fight!” she says, voice wobbling as she stares at Mom, pleading.
The Fourth of July Nantucket Water Fight started nearly fifty years after a local resident bought a 1927 American LaFrance ladder antique fire truck and challenged the fire chief to a water duel using only a historic hand-pumper from the Gardner Street Fire Hose Cart House. The whole town got involved and it’s been an annual event ever since, one that I’ve been hyping Goldie up for all week.
The plan was to join the crowds, soak each other in the water fight, and then race down to the beach later for fireworks under thestars. I’d been looking forward to it from the second Mom agreed we could spend the summer here.
I hug myself around my stomach, feeling a knot form as I follow Mom out into the hall. “Is she really sick?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light.
Mom shows me the thermometer. “She’s not going anywhere.”
The knot pulls taught. Goldie had been too little to come when Dad used to take me. She barely remembered what the water fight was until I started telling her about it. Last night she’d been so excited she could barely fall asleep. “Maybe she’ll be better by tonight?”
Mom looks doubtful. “Even if she’s better by tonight, I wouldn’t feel okay about taking her to the beach with other people.”
I know she’s right, but hearing Goldie sniffling in the bedroom is heartbreaking. “Then maybe just here, in the yard, picnic style. I don’t want her to have to miss the fireworks too.”
Mom glances toward the bedroom door, like she’s weighing it. “We’ll see. Right now, I’m going to sit with her. Why don’t you go into town and meet up with Wren and your friends? Maybe you can still have some fun today.”
Wren had surprised me when he said he’d have a water gun with my name on it if I wanted to try to find him. I think he meant he intends to soak me with it, but I could try to get him first. The idea doesn’t stop me from feeling awful that Goldie has to miss out. And Mom too.
“Go,” Mom says gently, nudging me toward the stairs with a subtle tilt of her head. “Have fun for all of us. I’ll text you if she feels better and we can do anything at the house.” When I stillhesitate, she says, “Hurry, before I change my mind and make you watch a superhero movie marathon with us.”
For 364 days of the year, Nantucket feels like a place frozen in time. Gray-shingled buildings, the cobblestone streets, and the salty ocean air are all as constant and unchanging as the tide. But today is different. History is alive, splashing through the streets, turning the postcard-perfect town into a chaotic, joyful battleground. Red, white, and blue bunting hangs from lampposts, while streams of water arc through the air, glistening like liquid rainbows.
The fire truck reigns supreme in Main Street Square, blasting its hose into the crowd. The old hand-pumper stands proud, with volunteers working the handles as kids with squirt guns dart between them. A little girl in a pink tutu shrieks with laughter as a bucket of water tips over her head, soaking her from curls to sneakers. No one is safe in the splash zone, not me, not tourists, not the guy in a suit running barefoot down the street. The scent of melting ice cream, sunscreen, and soaked pavement mingles with faint music, “Born in the U.S.A.” thumping in the background. The water fight isn’t about monuments or records, it’s about the people who lived here, who laughed and fought and made it their home. It’s about taking something pristine and letting it get a little messy, a little loud, and a little ridiculous.
And today, it’s perfect.
I spot Wren sooner than I expect, lying in wait by a refill cooler. It’s the only cobblestone-free area on the street, and he’s staking out the territory like a predator, ready to target anyone who tries to cross. He and his white T-shirt are somehow still remarkably dry.
Seems like something I should help him with.
Aiming my neon green water gun in his direction, I cross the street to approach from behind.
“Hey, Tour Guy!” I call out. I wait for his eyes to collide with mine and for him to take in my satisfied grin before I squeeze the plastic trigger.
I’m still crowing my victory when he snakes an arm around my waist and swings me around in front of him like a human shield just as a group of tweens comes spraying past us.
I laugh, plucking the damp fabric from my skin when he lets me go. “I still got you first.”
He shakes the water from his dark hair, grinning at me. It’s a good look on him. “I got you better.”
“So this is how you stay dry? Grab and hide behind unsuspecting people who get too close?”
“Nah, just the ones who should know better.”
There’s more than just a challenge in his eyes when he stares at me, but before I can decide what he means, he glances past me.
“Where are your mom and sister?”
I tell him about Goldie.
His brows furrow. “Poor kid. You know, if you want to grab another T-shirt from McCleave’s for her later, I’ve got some extras in my truck.”
