“Peanut butter and fluff,” he reported.
My appetite squirmed.
“I told Nana you wouldn’t like it,” he whispered. “But she said it was tradition…”
“Don’t worry about it.” I smiled at him. “It looks delicious!”
And then I forced down a sandwich that vividly took me back to puking all over myself at Jenna Randall’s house in third grade. Her mom had made them as an after-school snack; the thick marshmallow spread had turned to cement in my stomach.
But this was Camp Carmichael! I was going to embrace it!
Fortunately, dinner was much better: a huge pasta salad with cherry tomatoes, zucchini, mozzarella, and basil. “What about you, Erica?” Jay asked my stepmother while we ate. “You up for a match tomorrow?”
“Jay, I don’t think Erica plays much tennis anymore,” Beth said, then turned to her sister. “You’re into pickleball now, right?”
Next to me, my dad stifled a snort. Ericadidplay in Haddonfield’s pickleball league—while modeling cute outfits and swinging monogrammed paddles that various brands sent her—but her inner tennis player loathed it.What kind of sport doesn’t make you sweat?
“I thought you’d never ask,” she told her brother, pointedly ignoring Beth. “Name the time and place…”
I offered to do the dishes later, but I didn’t know what to do with myself once I’d finally started the dishwasher at nine thirty. Nick, Sage, Charlie, and Luke had said goodbye before they’d headed out to hang with friends, and who could blame them fornot inviting me? They were twenty-six; I was nineteen. Even though I felt exhausted beyond my years, they probably saw me as a kid. Meanwhile, Maisie and Bryce had hunkered down in their bunk room, and my dad had texted me that he and Erica had gone out for ice cream.
I’ll bring you back some salted caramel!he promised. One of my favorite flavors.
Most of Erica’s family was watching TV together, but after I made myself a cup of tea and stole the remainder of last night’s pie, I retreated to my room. My footsteps were quick and quiet, but I almost stopped short when I noticed a framed needlepointed canvas. It was a lakeside landscape—all blues, greens, creams, and grays—featuring a majestic heron.
Peggy’s work, I surmised, but it made me think of Annie. There was nothing more comforting than watching her stitch and sip chamomile tea while we watched a movie together.
I missed her, even though we had spoken today. I’d called after getting back from the beach, and miraculously, Annie herself had picked up her landline. “Annie, hi!” I’d exclaimed from the Carmichaels’ dock, hoping the service wasn’t too spotty. “It’s Olivia!”
“Who?” she replied. “Please speak up; my doctor says I don’t need a hearing aid, but I disagree. I can’t hear anyone when they whisper…”
Meanwhile, her voice came through in broken pieces, so I hung up and called back from my bunk bed. Annie didn’t answer,but Tara did at the nurses’ desk.
“Olivia, darling.” I could hear my grandmother smile once Tara gave her the phone, which mademesmile. “How are you?”
I told her all about the beach today, from Nick driving the Boston Whaler across the pond to Maisie and Bryce crabbing to floundering in the ocean to the decades-old cowboy hat Topper always wore on the beach. I also described how the bright sun made Oyster Pond glimmer like glass. It was unlike anything I’d seen before.
“What a beautiful painting,” Annie remarked.
“Don’t worry, I tooka tonof photos,” I replied, knowing she meantpicture, not painting. I swallowed. “How was your day?”
“Oh, it was wonderful,” she said dreamily. “Ellen and I…”
My heart sunk atEllen. Ellen had been one of Annie’s good friends, her longtime golf partner. And while Ellen was still alive and well, she and Annie no longer played golf together. They didn’t even see each other anymore.
Because Ellen didn’t visit.
“…played eighteen holes this morning, then had lunch on the patio and spent the afternoon at the pool.”
“That sounds like the perfect summer day,” I told her. “Did the handsome lifeguard ask about me?”
There was always a handsome lifeguard at the country club.
“He’s too old for you, dearest,” she said. “Eighteen.”
I bit my nail, not wanting to know how old she currently thought I was. “I’m sorry, but I have to go now,” I said a beat later.“Erica’s calling me for dinner.”
Erica was still at the beach.
