“Who has to sit?” she asked, stepping back to look at me. “You’re going out, not to church.”
Bailey, across the room brushing her hair, snorted. Sure, it was funny to her. She was wearing jeans and a tank top, of her own choosing.
“I’m not wearing this,” I said, tugging off the skirt. “It’s cutting off my circulation.”
“Fine.” She pushed a minidress at me in its place. “Try this one.”
It had a deep scoop neck, plus sleeves that billowed open to reveal my wrists and upper arms. “No,” I said flatly.
“Why? It’s perfect!”
“If I was giving blood,” I said.
This time, Bailey laughed out loud. “You’re funny,” she said. “Do people tell you that?”
“More often I’m told my humor isn’t for everyone,” I told her. “Or, you know, anyone.”
“Let’s try shoes,” Trinity said, heading over to a box by the end of the bed. There were no closets, the only storagea few suitcases and a couple of cardboard boxes. The bulk of their possessions were piled on the beds and other surfaces. I’d had to move a laptop, two bottles of shampoo, and a big hardback book calledPregnancy and Youjust to make enough room to sit down. “How do you feel about stilettos?”
“Strongly opposed,” I told her.
“Trinity, we’re taking the boat,” Bailey told her. “Not going to prom.”
“Well, never mind, they’re not here anyway.” She stood up, putting her hands on her lower back. “None of my good shoes are, now that I think of it. I left them all at the storage unit at the house when we were cleaning out for the renters. It wasn’t like I was going to be wearing them.”
“That’s got to be weird,” I said as, undeterred, she went back to picking through the piles of clothes on the bed. “Having to move house every summer.”
She picked up a red blouse, squinting at it. “With the two divorces, we’re used to moving around a lot. It’s not so bad.”
“I hate it,” Bailey told me. “People we don’t know living in our room, sleeping in my bed. It gives me the creeps.”
“Also makes Mom money,” Trinity pointed out.
“You can’t put a price on peace of mind.”
“I can. Eleven hundred a week.”
To this, her sister rolled her eyes, turning back to the small mirror that was propped up on a nearby bookshelf. “Well, you don’t even have to worry, since this is your last time doing it.”
“Really?” I asked Trinity, who was now holding the red shirt up against me.
“Yep,” she replied. “Once the Sergeant is back, he and the baby and I will have our own place over in Delaney, closer to the base. And start planning the wedding. I can’twait.”
She sounded so happy, her voice a contrast to Bailey’s expression in the mirror, which was hesitant, worried. Change is hard, I thought, thinking of Nana saying this to me. When Bailey saw me watching her, though, she looked away.
Now, back on the boat, I watched my feet carefully as I stepped up from the seating area to the deck. Even so, I felt unstable, miles away from the easy grace that Bailey and all those other lake girls possessed doing the same thing. Clearly, it wasn’t a genetic trait.
“You can take off those shoes, if you want,” Bailey said as I joined her on the dock. “I won’t tell Trinity.”
I looked down at the red wedge sandals her sister had picked out. They were espadrilles, with cork soles, a twist of leather fastened by a tiny gold hoop between the big toe and the rest. I had to admit, they were unlike anything I’d ever worn. But once on, with my own cutoffs and the peasant blouse with the gold threads, they worked.
“I’m good,” I told her.
“Your feet, your funeral,” she said with a shrug. “Come on. The Pavilion’s over here.”
I followed her down the dock to where it made a T into a small boardwalk, about a block or so long, dotted with shopsand restaurants. WELCOME TO LAKE NORTH! said a big painted sign on one end, a graphic of a little wave beside it. At the other, built out over the water, was a covered area crisscrossed with string lights. Beneath it, a band made up of older men in tropical print shirts and khaki shorts was playing beach music.
The ride from Mimi’s dock had taken ten minutes, maybe fifteen. But as we began walking toward the Pavilion, I felt more like we’d gone a million miles. It wasn’t just the boardwalk itself, which was lined with planters sprouting perfectly landscaped flowers, expensive cars parked along it. Or the stores we passed, with names like Sprinkles (an ice cream parlor with a madras theme), Rosewater Boutique (offering fancy, flowing resort wear of the type Nana had packed for her cruise), and Au Jus (a dim steakhouse with leather booths, antique blown-glass lights hanging over them). Compared to what I’d seen of North Lake, everything seemed new and, well, expensive. And that was even before I got to the Tides.
