“Why don’t you pick up Callum?” James’s eyes glinted over the top of his cup.

  “James. Don’t start.” Callum had been James’s best friend all through college. Tall, good-looking, and elegant, he’d developed what James insisted on calling a crush on her. A polite fellow, he’d never pressed Robin, although he was always at her side if she needed something. She tried to keep away from him. She liked him, but didn’t want to lead him on, because that was it, that was all, she simply liked him. Her love was elsewhere.

  “I’ll never understand you.” James glared at her, then changed the subject. “I’ll take my Jeep to the airport.”

  Back on safe ground, Robin said, “You’ll need the minivan because Pearl’s bringing tubs of flowering vines to wind around the tent poles. They might be in water. Don’t ask. You know Pearl. You’ll want to put the tubs in the back.” She looked at her list. “Mom will have Dad’s convertible to pick up her friends around noon. Dad will be hiding away in his study. I’ve already checked about the car with him. I’ll take the Jeep to get the groceries—if Courtney ever wakes up, she’ll go with me and help me lug things around.”

  “Is Jacob coming?” Jacob, Henry’s best friend from med school, worked at the ER at Mass General.

  “Damn, I forgot about him. He was going to call to let us know if he could take a couple of days off. I hope he can, he’d be good for Henry.”

  James stared out at Henry’s apartment over the garage. “If Henry goes into some kind of meltdown this weekend, I’m going to hit him over the head with a club.”

  “James,” Robin objected.

  James stood up and scrounged around in the ancient cookie jar, taking out a couple for his breakfast. “I don’t mean I’ll kill him. I’ll just knock him unconscious for a while.” He grinned mischievously at Robin. “And these are oatmeal raisin, health Nazi, so no lectures.”

  “I want Henry to be conscious and in good form tomorrow, for Mom’s sake,” Robin said.

  “That’s what we all want,” James agreed.

  Susanna came into the kitchen, freshly showered, wearing shorts and a T-shirt.

  “Mom! You’re not going to pick up your friends dressed like that, are you?”

  “No,” Susanna answered calmly, “I’m going to make my cake dressed like this. I’ll change later.” She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table with Robin, bringing the familiar fragrance of Ivory soap with her. “You look organized.”

  “I think I am. I hope I am. James is going to be in charge of the tent people. I’ll take Courtney with me to get groceries.”

  “Do you have eggs on the list?”

  “Of course I do, Mom. Look, don’t worry about one single thing. Enjoy the day. You have to pick up your friends at the airport, then you can all go for a walk on the beach or anything you want. We are totally on the case.”

  Susanna embraced Robin. “You are an angel.”

  “Then I’d better fly,” Robin quipped. “Off to make miracles happen.” She kissed her mother’s cheek and left the kitchen.

  Upstairs, Robin found Courtney’s bed empty and heard the sound of the shower running. Good. She wouldn’t have to wake Courtney up. She needed Courtney to ride along this morning and help her with her errands.

  While she waited, she peeked into Iris’s room. Iris was standing by the window, still in her pajama bottoms and T-shirt. In the slanting morning light, Robin’s younger sister’s face was pensive, almost sad. She’s changed, Robin realized. She’s a woman now. A rush of protectiveness surged through Robin. Iris was her little sister. What had happened to her in the past four years to make her look so much older? It wasn’t just the purple hair.

  “Hey,” Robin said from the doorway.

  Iris smiled. “Hey.”

  Robin entered the room, went to her sister, and wrapped her arms around her. “Damn, girl, you’re getting tall.”

  “Not as tall as you,” Iris murmured.

  Robin laughed a low wicked laugh. “You’ll never be as tall as I am.” That was, after all, the simple truth.

  “Where’s Courtney?” asked Iris, still staring out the window.

  “Showering. Mom’s in the kitchen starting to make her cake. James has put on his SWAT gear and gone out to see Henry.”

  “So do you have a minute to talk?”

  The question surprised Robin. It had been years since Iris had sought Robin out.

  “Of course.” Robin gave her sister a little squeeze before walking over to the unmade twin bed and sitting cross-legged on the end. This was their time-honored tradition: sitting on the bed, Iris leaning against the headboard, Robin leaning against the footboard, relaxed and comfortable. In no hurry.

  Iris settled herself and for a long time she was quiet. “Have you ever had a friend you wanted to—I don’t know, get rid of?”

  Robin was so startled by the question, she laughed. “Well, there have been some boyfriends I might have wanted to murder.”

  Iris didn’t smile but shifted restlessly. “That’s not what I mean. I mean, how do you say to someone that you don’t want to be her best friend anymore?”

  “You’re talking about Pearl.” Robin wasn’t surprised and she certainly wasn’t upset. She had never liked Pearl or understood Iris’s friendship with her. But she knew from her relationship with Courtney how a college roommate could become part of someone’s life.

  Iris nodded. “She’s so glamorous, Robin. She’s so all that. I can never match her. I can’t keep up.”

  “Oh, honey, thank heavens for that.” Robin tried to gather her thoughts. She didn’t want to tell her sister what she really thought of Pearl—that the wealthy young woman was an alcoholic and a slut. After all, Robin had slept with her share of men and spent her share of time throwing up in the toilet or standing in the shower with a pounding headache. Iris and Pearl had been together for the past four years. Pearl had stayed here every summer, not to make money like the other summer children, Pearl didn’t need money. She had plenty of that. It was the parties that drew Pearl. It was the endlessly changing parade of young men, friends of Henry’s or James’s or male friends of Robin’s who made the Vickerey house an irresistible oasis to Pearl.

  “Pearl wants to go to Europe this summer.” Iris began to peel the polish off her toenails. “I told her I didn’t have the money to go. Even though I know, if I really wanted to, I could get Dad to cough up the funds. I just—I don’t know how to explain it.”

  Robin tried to help her out. “Maybe you want to be here because you love the summers here.”

  Iris shrugged. “That’s the thing, Robin, I don’t have any idea what I want to do.” Iris suddenly lifted her head and aimed an accusatory beam at Robin. “You know what you want to do. You want to stay on the island all your life and be part of the community and help out Mom and Dad. James has already built up a major company because of his facility for languages. Henry’s got his wacko mind to deal with and he’s a freaking surgeon. Valerie is already a physician. Courtney is a college professor. Callum’s going to join his family’s import/export business. And me! What do I want to do? I have no idea. Robin, I think my head’s going to explode.”

  Robin ached to scoot down the bed and wrap her little sister in her arms. But she knew Iris would wriggle out impatiently. Iris could be mercurial. Sometimes she still acted like a child and suddenly she would be furious because she wasn’t treated as if she were a grown-up.

  “Lots of people your age don’t know what they want to do.”

  “But I don’t want to be like, lame.”

  “You know you don’t want to go to Europe for the summer,” Robin offered. “That’s a start.”

  “I suppose.” Iris lifted her head and leaned forward. “I don’t even want Pearl to be here for Mom’s party. Pearl will drink too much and try to seduce some inappropriate man. When she’s here, I end up being her watchdog.” Iris’s face squeezed up in misery. “I don’t know what has happened to me. I used to have so much fun with Pearl. I’ve never laughed so hard with anyone. We could talk about everything. When I stay with her in New York and we go to a museum or a play or restaurant, I almost get high from being so sophisticated. I mean, Pearl doesn’t use cabs. She uses her father’s driver. Robin, I have seen so many things in New York. Really wild partying.”

  “Oh, honey, have you—”

  Iris shook her head impatiently. “No! I see enough crazy behavior at home. I don’t need to take drugs. I don’t want to, either. You know, Pearl wants to go to Amsterdam because of the pot houses.” Iris lifted her head and her face was shadowed with weariness. “I said to Pearl, when I was mad at her, you just want to go to Paris to find a fresh gutter to vomit into.”

  “Oh, Iris.” Robin closed her eyes as if she could block out the image.

  “And do you know what she replied? She laughed at me, she said, ‘True. Plus, I want to find some fresh men to fuck.’ ” Iris had tears in her eyes. “She wasn’t always this way, Robin. You know that. She was sweet when I met her. I mean, she was way more sophisticated than I was and she’d had way more sexual experience, but she was sweet.”

  “What about her parents?” Robin asked.

  “What about them? Her father’s never around and all her mother does is shop. Our family is like the flipping Brady Bunch compared to them and we’re all crazy.”

  Robin tried to lighten the mood. “I wouldn’t say we’re all crazy. There’s still hope for you.”

  Iris took her sister’s words seriously. “I think so, too. That’s why I just want Pearl to go away.”

  “Didn’t you say she’s going to spend the summer in Europe?”

  “Yeah, but she’ll be here for the party and who knows how long she’ll stay.”

  Robin tapped her lip with her fingernail as she thought. “Tell you what. I’ll stick with you or Pearl this weekend and give you a break.”

  Iris sighed deeply. “That would be brilliant of you, Robin.”

  “And for the rest of it, I’ll help you work it out. Me Tonto, you the Lone Ranger.”

  At last, a smile from Iris. She launched herself across the bed and hugged Robin. “You are the best sister in the world!”

  Courtney tapped lightly on the open door. Her long brown hair was shiny and wet, skimming the fragrance of her strawberry-scented shampoo into the room. She wore shorts, a white T-shirt, and Keds. “Am I interrupting?”

  Robin spun about, keeping an arm around Iris. “Not at all. I was just waiting for you. We have a thousand things to do today.”

  “Do I have time to grab a cup of coffee?”

  “Of course. Iris, do you want to come with?”

  “No, thanks. I’ve got to get the room ready for Pearl. Her plane gets in this afternoon. Can you go with me to pick her up, Robin?”

  “Sure. See you later.” Robin headed for the stairs, Courtney following.

  “The weather’s super today,” Courtney said as they hit the first floor where the sun streamed in the windows. “I checked my phone—it’s supposed to be perfect tomorrow, too.”

  “I know. What luck.”

  “Your mother’s karma.”

  They reached the kitchen door. Susanna held the large mixing bowl in her arm as she poured cake batter into several pans. At the kitchen table, miracle of miracles, sat Henry, wearing yesterday’s clothes. James was preparing two cups of coffee.

  Courtney absolutely waltzed into the kitchen. “Good morning, everyone! James, is there enough coffee for me?”

  Robin stood watching, soaking it all in, this family moment illuminated by morning sun, emotions winking around the room like Tinker Bell’s light. James’s face when he saw Courtney—happiness, love, vulnerability. Why? Was something going on? She’d tackle Courtney and find out.

  And Henry, slumped at the table like one of the walking dead, but present. At least physically present. James set a cup of coffee in front of him. James had a hematoma on his jaw. Henry had a swollen eye.

  “So what happened to you boys?” Susanna asked casually, never taking her eyes from the cake pans.

  “Yeah,” Courtney added. “You look like you spent the night brawling in bars.”

  Henry grunted.

  James replied archly, as if he were simply a mischief-maker, the goofy little brother, “We bumped into each other getting out of Henry’s door.”

  In those frivolous words, Robin saw the truth of it, the way it had happened so many times before:

  James entering Henry’s living room, finding his brother lying in deep depression on the sofa.

  James starting off by good-natured wheedling: “Hey, bro, it’s almost the big day, tomorrow’s Mom’s birthday party, we’ve got a ton of things to do and I can’t do them without you. Jacob flies in this afternoon. You’ve got to pick him up from the airport. Some of Mom’s friends arrive, too. And the cousins—whoa! Get ready! Maybe Uncle Eddie still has that bunion he wants to show you.”

  After a while, after no response from Henry, James would get physical. He’d attempt pushing, rolling, pulling Henry off the sofa. Henry would freeze. Go wooden. James would do something like climb on the back of the sofa and use the power of his legs to shove Henry onto the floor. Maybe Henry hit his eye on the coffee table. Something. Something enough to jar Henry out of his lethargy into action. Henry would slowly get up from the floor, rotate toward James like a bull facing another bull, and charge. The brothers would tussle, but James would win because he had emotion behind him, the desire to please his mother, the need to get Henry to move out of his stupor, and Henry would be weakened by his depression.

  There would be shouting. Cursing. Name-calling. Probably the brothers would wrestle all the way down the stairs. But the moment they stepped outside, James would have said: “Henry, you self-centered brat, get a grip. Make your hair lie down, you look like Einstein. Don’t let Mom see you so freaky. Stand up straight. You’re an overeducated, spoiled, fragment of asshole, not even the entire asshole, just a small wrinkled red bit of skin, and for once in your life you’re going to pretend you’re a real person so Mom won’t kill herself in despair.”

  Something like that. James would say something like that—he had before; Robin had heard him. When he got angry at Henry, James got graphic and colorful. Inventive. It was a device he’d learned as a toddler stumbling in the footsteps of his utterly cool older brother. Boys were so different from girls, Robin thought. She had adored baby Iris from the moment she was born, all pink and helpless. She had held her, dressed her, given her the bottle when she was old enough, and later, bathed her, played with her, read to her. Iris had worshipped Robin. When Robin braided their hair and tied them with matching ribbons, both girls giggled and raced around the house showing off.

  Boys, at least the Vickerey boys, thrived on rivalry. When they were young, Henry ignored James, when all James wanted in the world was a speck of his big brother’s attention. Robin could clearly remember Henry, six, sitting on the floor in the playroom, building something out of Legos, while James, two, stood behind Henry, hitting him on the back and shoulders over and over again. His small chubby fists pounded on Henry until Henry rolled his eyes and lost his patience and threw his younger brother on the carpet, tickling James while he squealed with triumphant laughter.

  When they were older, Henry was always reading, studying, comparing drops of ocean water with drops of rainwater under the microscope he kept set up in the basement. Still, Henry taught James how to toss a baseball, aim a basketball, whack a tennis ball. Henry loved his younger brother and stood up for James countless times against their parents. When James got into trouble for one of his stunts, Henry championed him against their parents. As teenagers, Henry snuck James out several summer nights to get him shit-faced drunk, so James would know his limits and learn how to drink intelligently, at least for his age. When Henry caught James smoking, he gave him a black eye and promised to do it again any time he so much as caught a whiff of cigarette smoke on his clothing. He shared his girlie magazines with James. Taught him about condoms and STDs. Shared his knowledge about girls with James.

  Somewhere along the way, when Henry was in med school and James out of college, translating medical journals and websites into different languages and making a fortune, the power balance shifted. James didn’t have more power than Henry, but they were equals. They trusted each other. As hard as it was for Robin to comprehend how these two males who had pounded each other with fists could trust each other completely, that was the way it was.

  As a teenager, Robin had longed for her big brother to adore her, to protect her, compliment her, introduce her to his friends while at the same time insisting he’d murder them if they as much as looked at her legs. That was the way it was in books. In movies. In many of the families she knew. But Henry was, first of all, passionately absorbed in medicine, devoted to becoming a surgeon, with no interest in anything else. Henry shadowed his father, and back in those days, when Dr. V was a busy, powerful surgeon, he favored Henry, the oldest of his children by three years, the one who could stand quietly and fervently worship his father. Every opportunity he had to learn from his father, Henry seized. In a crisis, Henry would wrench his attention onto James. But it seemed to Henry that both his sisters, Robin and darling little Iris, were not much more interesting than a pair of Jack Russells.

  James, only a year younger than Robin, had taken on the role, like a superhero donning his cape, of protector for both Iris and Robin. It helped that he was tall and witty and smart. Ironically, the only real protection Robin needed was from Henry in the instances when she’d needed to talk him down during a manic episode. There were days when Henry, in his manic state, plunged into the water, planning to swim across the Atlantic to Portugal. Or decided to fly from the roof of the garage. Or dragged all his books out into the yard, preparing to start a bonfire, because he didn’t need the books anymore; he knew it all. Robin at her best wasn’t physically strong enough to wrestle Henry away from his schemes. James could do it, and after that, he’d challenge Henry to a race to the ’Sconset post office, or all the way into the rotary by The Inquirer and Mirror. James had sat up thousands of nights listening to Henry expound on theories that would mystify Stephen Hawking. Those, Robin knew, were the hardest times. Henry depressed was sad but easier to handle. Dealing with Henry in his worst manic states was exhausting and sometimes even dangerous.