Page 29 of Cabin Fever

He looks up at me. “Gummy worms, wasn’t it?”

“For you. Theo was chocolate kisses.” One gummy worm per question, payable in advance, no refunds if the answer was disappointing, which they often were.

Why is the sky blue? Do fish sleep? What happens if you swallow gum?

I plant my hands on my hips. “You were older and wiser, and you took advantage of us.”

He laughs. “You negotiated a bulk rate. Ten questions for seven worms.”

“I had questions. You had a monopoly. I regret nothing.”

“You were in kindergarten, and you used the words volume discount.”

I stare at him, amazed that he still remembers all of this. He stands and picks up one of the rocks below the point. They’re flat and gray and made for skipping.

“Style points count!” Dahlia shouts, wobbling over the rocks to join us.

* * *

The woman at the food stand takes one look at us and doesn't ask what we want. She brings us fish tacos and Cokes, and the childhood stories that started on the rocks come out like the tide coming in, one lapping over the last.

The Halloween the four of us went as a caterpillar. Dahlia's creative vision: a green bedsheet, four hula hoops, and me at the back in charge of wiggling the butt.

Theo laughs so hard he has to put his taco down when Dahlia tells him our mom still has the video. His hand’s wrapped around her ankle like it's the most natural thing his hand has ever done, thumb moving in absent arcs.

I look up and catch Finn’s eye, motioning to the beach. Maybe if we give them some time alone⁠—

“C’mon, Harp. Sister time.” Dahlia grabs her Coke and loops her arm through mine, dragging me to the water.

I look back at Finn and mouth, “Sorry,” then jog with Dahlia over the sand. As soon as we stop, our feet in the waves, I feel it coming. Like the smell you catch before it rains.

“I know you’re ticked about the rehearsal,” Dahlia says.

“What? I’m not⁠—”

“About Denny and Rose?” She turns to me, her face half shaded by her hat.

I open my mouth to refute it, but don’t know what to say.

Dahlia blows out a breath. “I know it was stupid. But he was just standing there, looking at me like I was six and he was about to teach me to ride a bike. And I couldn't do it. I couldn't be the person to publicly humiliate him in front of⁠—”

“Wait, you couldn’t embarrass him? That’s what you’re telling me?” I step closer. “Do you not remember how it was after he was convicted?”

She holds up her hands. “No, I know, but . . . “

“But what?”

“I don’t know! Maybe I’m a little confused! Maybe I wish my dad could be the one walking me down the aisle, and so it’s easier to pretend than remember?”

The water comes up over our ankles, warm as bathwater, and takes the sand out from under our heels grain by grain.

Dahlia draws a breath. “You want to know the actual reason I voted to invite him?”

“Because Mom⁠—“

“Because I got tired of him being huge.” Her chin trembles. “Every wedding I've ever imagined, there’s this hole. This Dad-shaped hole, eating away at the decorations. The cake. Everything. I'd have felt him not-there all day, Harp. Either way, he was going to ruin my wedding.” She turns to me, her eyes glassy. “At least this way, he's just . . . a guy. A middle-aged guy at Table Eleven.” She swipes at her eye with a wrist. “It was working, too. Until he got up out of his chair at the welcome dinner, and . . . “

My eyes well with tears. Not just because I completely understand what she’s saying, but because her fiancé—soon-to-be husband—is sitting over there with Finn with a secret that is going to crush her.