“Fascinating, isn’t it?” I look to my right, and Trevor approaches wearing khaki shorts and a rumpled short-sleeved button-down.
“Riveting.” The ache subsides just a little, and I wonder if this is his peace offering. If we’re okay. I nod to the two twelve-year-old boys as they shove each other back and forth. “I think that one’s gonna win.”
“Which one?”
“No idea.”
Trevor laughs once, then presses his lips together. “Are we okay, Mill?”
My chest unlocks a tiny bit, like it’s making space for whatever kind of apology he’s offering. “You tell me,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says. “I guess I’ve been a little…”
“Distant?”
He nods, sheepish. “I was pissed at you for ditching me at the shiva.”
“I figured.” I clasp my hands together and squeeze. “I should have texted, but I saw Ethan like that and…”
“I get it. It was good of you. You shouldn’t have left him alone.”
Iknow that, but part of me wonders why Trevor’s allowed to be mad when he’s barely made time to hang out with me and I haven’t made a stink at all.
“Anyway,” he says. “My bad. I just wanna be cool again. Can we call a truce?”
“Yeah,” I say, conceding. “Of course.”
“Great. I was waiting for you to hit the buffet.”
Together we head inside the clubhouse, where long tables are covered in white tablecloths, set with sterling silver cutlery and heavy china plates bearing the insignia of the Beach Club. Security guards surround the exits, and everyone seems to ignore them, but their presence makes me uneasy, a constant reminder that something terrible has happened here and we don’t know why.
All the windows and doors are open, and there’s a sudden gust of wind blowing through my hair, lifting up the edges of linen napkins. A few people yelp in surprise, jittery and jumpy, as if everyone in town is as on edge as I am.
“Come on,” Trevor says, leading us to the buffet. This party is usually raucous, signaling the real beginning of summer, but tonight the din is quiet as we load up our plates with grilled zucchini and smoked ribs, dilly potato salad and marinated tomatoes. The only sounds I hear are urgent whispers and the scraping of knives against porcelain, the wind lapping at the clubhouse, rattling the windows.
Trevor uses a free hand to rub his shoulder. “You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “Forgot to do my physical therapy stretches this morning.”
I wince. “Want me to carry your plate?”
Trevor shakes his head. “I’m good, but let’s get out of here.”
Once we’re outside with our piled-high plates, I can breathe again, inhaling the salty cool air. Everything smells of seaweed and damp rocks, melted butter from the lobster bar, and the sweetness of summer, as vivid as the peonies blooming by the tennis courts. As we walk to our usual area on the eastern lawn, I can pretend, for a moment, that things are just as they were last year. Easy.
Once we sit down, the party receding behind us, Trevor asks, “Are you okay going back to work? Especially after…you know.”
My throat is sandy, and for a moment I find it hard to speak. When I exhale, I turn my face up to the sun. I haven’t had my first shift back yet, haven’t climbed the ladder and settled into the chair. In fact, I’ve been putting off thinking about it, not wanting to wonder what it will be like to sit up there and look out at the same ocean where Billy floated face down, waiting to be found.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I guess we’ll find out.”
Trevor wrinkles his nose. “I think Ethan’s terrified.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. At least you guys have each other, huh?”
“Yeah.” A warmth spreads over me because it’s true. When I get back up there, I won’t be alone. I’ll be with Ethan. I tear at a piece of garlic bread, oil greasing my fingers.
