It was early morning when Penny woke with the sun streaking across the bed. She yawned lazily and rose. She could hear Liam walking on the deck. She pulled on her bikini and joined him. He’d made coffee and offered pastries he’d bought the day before at the Downyflake. For a long time, they had breakfast and gazed at the sea and sky, both calm, both blue with streaks of rose and violet.

  “It seems like the world is brand new,” Penny said. “Like it was created only today.”

  Liam nodded. “I know.”

  He poured them both another cup of coffee, and together they sat basking in the early sunlight.

  “Your phone’s been buzzing,” Liam said.

  Penny rolled her eyes. “I know. Probably my mom. Are you still alive? Have you been eaten by a whale? Are you stranded on an ice floe?”

  Liam laughed. “You should let her know you’re okay.”

  Penny read aloud as she tapped a few words into her phone with her thumbs. “I’m fine. We’re close to Boston. Have fun today.” She sent the message and then turned her phone off. “Families! I love my mom, but I don’t want to be like her. I want to travel. I want—experiences.”

  Liam grinned. “I’d say you’re off to a good start.”

  Penny stretched her arms and lifted her face to the sun. “Absolutely.” She took another sip of her coffee. “I saw the photo of you and your family in the media room. Your sister is pretty. She looks like your father and you look like your mother.”

  Liam nodded. “You’re perceptive, aren’t you?” He leaned back in his chair and gave a long sigh.

  “What?” Penny asked.

  “So, I don’t tell many people this. It’s a private thing and what’s done is done and it’s fine.”

  Penny waited silently.

  “My father isn’t my biological father. I mean, the man I call my father now. When I was a toddler, around two years old, my parents and I were on Nantucket for the summer, and we were driving to ’Sconset, and…” He paused, as if gathering strength. “When I was a toddler, my parents had a serious car accident with another car at the turn on Polpis Road. My mother was all right, and I was trussed up like a turkey in my car seat in the back, but my father was killed.”

  “God, Liam. I’m so sorry.”

  “Ah, I was too young to know what was going on. My grandparents came to the island and took care of me while my mother went through the business of dealing with her husband’s body and the paperwork and the memorial service.” Liam swallowed the rest of his coffee. “They say you don’t remember anything before you were five years old. It’s true, I don’t remember the accident. I don’t even remember my father. I don’t remember my mother’s grief, but she has told me about it. When I was six, my mother married Gus Miller, and she legally changed my last name to Miller.”

  “Do you know your birth father’s name?”

  “Yeah. It was Harrison.” Liam laughed harshly. “How many thousands of Harrisons are there in the world? Anyway, Miller is my last name now.”

  “Do you get along with your…your father?”

  “We get along as well as any son and father,” Liam said. “He’s all right. My mother’s happy and it’s nice to have a sister.”

  “What about the man who ran into your father’s car?”

  Liam shook his head. “The judge ruled that both drivers were at fault. My father was turning before he should have, and the other driver was going too fast. Both drivers had been drinking.”

  “Do you know what happened to him?”

  Liam’s face grew dark. “I do not know, and I don’t want to know. My mother is happy and I wouldn’t trade Grace for anyone in the world.”

  Penny said nothing.

  After a while, Liam said, “I would have liked to know my birth father. You know, to meet him, to hear him speak.” With a kind of growl, Liam stood up, stomped down the stairs into the galley, rinsed his cup, and came back to the deck.

  “Time to get sailing, if you want to see Boston,” he said.

  seventeen

  That Summer

  The late July heat and humidity was so intense that the Sand Palace Four decided to get sandwiches and soft drinks and spend the Hump Night dinner at the beach. They rode their creaking bikes to the Jetties beach and walked down to the water. Behind them at the concession stand, music was blaring and crowds were shoving to get drinks and hot dogs.

  Sheila said, “Let’s go further down the beach. I don’t want to listen to all that noise.”

  Nick said, “You sound like a cranky old lady.”

  “I am a cranky old lady,” Sheila shot back. “The Rose Hotel is full, and Mrs. Reardon is constantly in hysterics about sand in the rugs and dead lightbulbs.”

  “Dead lightbulbs,” Wyatt said and laughed. “Sounds like a kind of bug.”

  “A lightning bug!” Ariel said, laughing.

  “Yeah, a firefly,” Nick agreed.

  “You’re all crazy,” Sheila told them, joining in the laughter. “It’s a sixty-watt glass bulb of light and I have to get a ladder and climb up and replace it. It’s not fun.”

  “A glowworm,” Wyatt whispered.

  Sheila batted him on the arm.

  “Doesn’t Mrs. Reardon have a handyman?” Ariel asked.

  “She’s got a plumber and an electrician, but she’s not going to pay an electrician to change a lightbulb. I don’t mind, really. It’s just one more thing in addition to all the shit work I’m supposed to do.”

  “Someone’s in a bad mood,” Wyatt said.

  Ariel wrapped her arm around Sheila. “She deserves to be. I get to prance around in nice clothes all day, but my feet hurt at night, if that’s any consolation. And I’ve got to say I meet some of the world’s snottiest people. This week when a couple came in to talk with a realtor, the wife looked at me and said, ‘Hey, you, go get me an iced coffee, with sugar.’ I ran down to the Hub for coffee, and when I returned, she snatched it out of my hand without saying thanks.”

  Nick laughed. “We get some pompous customers in Fanshaw’s, too. Yesterday a mom came in to buy clothes for her son who’s going to boarding school. She kept saying Groton, Groton, my son needs this for Groton. What a pain she was, and I was totally polite, practically bowing and scraping. As they were going out the door, she said to her son, ‘You can tell that man didn’t go to Groton.’ ”

  “Ouch,” Sheila said.

  “It’s okay,” Nick told her. “I yelled, ‘No, I went to Exeter.’ And her son gave me a thumbs-up!”

  “Did you go to Exeter?” Ariel asked.

  “No, and I don’t care if that woman ever returns to the store. Someday I’ll own a hotel and she’ll walk in and I’ll tell her all our rooms are taken.”

  “I like working at Cabot’s,” Wyatt said. “Don is a good guy, and he interacts with the customers. He knows all of them, really.”

  Ariel said, “I have an idea. A good one. Not this week, but sometime in August, before we all go our separate ways, the four of us should go out to dinner. It doesn’t have to be Toppers or the Chanticleer, but maybe the Boarding House. Something nice. We’ll be our own guests.”

  “It wouldn’t be cheap,” Sheila reminded her.

  “I think it’s a good idea,” Nick said. “We’ll eat peanut butter on crackers a couple of nights to balance out the cost.”

  Ariel said, “Sheila, you don’t want to go to a nice restaurant because someone else is taking you to them now.”

  Nick sat up. “Whoa! Sheila! You’ve got an island boyfriend?”

  Wyatt grumbled, “I thought you were engaged to what’s his name, Hank, back home.”

  Sheila shifted nervously on the sand. “He’s not a boyfriend. He’s just a friend.”

  “What’s he doing here?” Nick asked.

  Sheila hesitated. “He’s staying at the Rose Hotel. He’s in advertising.”

  “You mean he’s a traveling salesman?” Nick raised his hands in a triumphant gesture. “Go, Sheila!”

  “It’s not that way,” Sheila protested. She sat up and started building a sand castle with her hands, turning her back to the others.

  “Hey,” Nick said, “I’m not criticizing. I think we should all have a last-minute fling before we return to the big bad adult world.”

  Wyatt stood up abruptly and stalked off down to the water.

  “What’s with him?” Nick asked. “Why has he got his panties all in a bundle?”

  “I don’t know, Nick,” Ariel said. “Maybe he takes sex more seriously than you do.”

  Nick shook his head. “It’s too hot to argue.” He walked down the beach, away from the group.

  When both men were far enough away, Sheila murmured, “I slept with Frank.”

  Ariel made a small gasp of surprise. “Was it okay?”

  “Okay? It was beautiful.” Sheila spun away from the sand castle to face Ariel. “He told me he loves me.”

  “But what about Hank?” Ariel asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s too early, too fresh. I’ve got the rest of the summer to figure it out.” Sheila put her hands on Ariel’s arms, as if pleading. “It’s possible we could be together. He’s divorced. I could find some kind of work. Maybe here, on the island, and Frank and I could buy a small cottage—”

  “With a white picket fence and a rose garden?” Ariel shook her head. “Sheila, get real. And think of Hank. Maybe invite Hank here to visit? If you see him again…”

  Sheila sighed, disappointed. “I know you’re trying to help, but you don’t understand the enormity of our feelings for one another.”

  “Oh, I do understand,” Ariel said. “And I don’t think it’s necessarily a good thing.”

  Nick and Wyatt were walking back to them, tossing a grimy tennis ball they’d found in the water. To Ariel’s surprise, Wyatt threw the ball at her, and to everyone’s surprise, she caught it.

  “Come on, ladies. Let’s have a game. Boys against girls. Like tennis or volleyball without a net.”

  Ariel laughed with delight. She took Sheila’s hand and pulled her to her feet. Nick drew a line in the sand.

  “Baseball on the beach, winner take all!” Nick announced.

  “What’s the prize?” Sheila asked.

  Ariel tossed the ball over the line and over Nick’s head. Wyatt caught it. “No prize, Sheila. Just play.”

  They threw the ball back and forth, moving farther apart each time. The guys could throw the farthest, so Ariel and Sheila conspired and threw the ball just over the line, making the guys run and dive. They each jumped to catch the ball, often falling on the sand, or stumbling in a hole, screaming, laughing, and a family stopped to watch them, applauding each time one of them caught a tricky throw. The tide was coming in, quietly slipping up toward their sand line, and the sky gently faded from bright blue to pale blue to gray.

  A couple holding hands walked past. The man yelled, “Zen tennis?”

  Nick gave the man a thumbs-up, and Sheila threw the ball and hit Nick in the head and couldn’t stop apologizing.

  Too soon, it was too dark to see the ball. They gathered up their gear and walked across the sand to the parking lot, where they all stopped to slip on their sandals. As they walked, Nick began to sing the Irish ballad “Molly Malone.” He had a strong true baritone voice, and while he sang, the others were held spellbound.

  They reached the Sand Palace, threw their sandy towels over the bench outside, and shook the sand off their sandals.

  “That was beautiful, Nick,” Ariel said. “I didn’t know you could sing.”

  “There’s a lot I can do you don’t know about,” Nick said, giving her a look.

  Wyatt punched Nick’s arm. “There’s a lot I can do you don’t know about.”

  “You guys,” Sheila said, and went into the Sand Palace to get ready for bed.

  * * *

  —

  Sheila considered her talk with Ariel. She knew Ariel was right. She should be more careful with Frank. True, she was on the birth control pill, but Frank was older and more experienced.

  And of course, Sheila had to remember Hank, waiting for her in Ohio.

  Still, Sheila thought, the damage was done. She’d already cheated on Hank. She’d had sex—glorious, grown-up, complicated, imaginative sex—with Frank. Would it make her transgression even worse if she did it again?

  Who was a person, really? Everyone was defined by their circumstances: where they were born, what they looked like, how smart or attractive they were. Maybe life was like the theater. She could be one person in one show and a completely different kind of person in another. She hadn’t thought these sorts of things before. She wondered if this was what it felt like to be on drugs.

  * * *

  —

  Saturday night, Ariel went to see a movie with her real estate friends. Wyatt was working late and Nick was off with Francine.

  Sheila had another date with Frank. As she slipped on the violet silk slip dress Ariel had loaned her—the violet was all wrong for her own coloring, that flaming red hair, but it fit her like a dream—Sheila played with the idea that she’d break off with Frank tonight. It would be the right thing to do. Also, it would keep her from having a broken heart when he left the island.

  A year ago, at college, a friend had given her a cute little evening bag for her birthday. It was small, just big enough to hold a lipstick and some cash, in case, her friend had laughed, she ever needed to buy some condoms. She wore long dangling rhinestone earrings she’d found at the Thrift Shop. She thought she looked glamorous when she put them on, but really, were they too much? Kind of slutty?

  She hurried out of the Sand Palace before she could change her mind. Frank said he’d pick her up from the bench in front of the building, and there he was, waiting, the top down on his rented convertible.

  “Hi,” she called, unable to keep the good old Midwestern cheer from her voice. “I’m so glad to see you.” She slid into the passenger seat. She didn’t try to kiss him, not in public.

  “You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” Frank said.

  She studied his face as he focused on pulling away from the curb and heading toward Orange Street, the long road that led all the way out of town. Frank somehow looked older, with dark circles under his eyes and his mouth set in a somber line.

  “Are you okay?” she asked gently.

  Frank heaved a sigh. “I need a drink. I need many drinks.”

  “Have you made dinner reservations?” Before he could answer, Sheila said, “Because we could cancel them. We could buy a six-pack and go to the beach and relax.”

  Frank laughed, a bitter sound like a dog’s bark. “A six-pack. You are an innocent.”

  Sheila blinked, wounded. She stared straight ahead and didn’t speak.

  “We’ll stop at the Muse first,” Frank said. “Our reservation isn’t until eight.”

  “That’s fine,” Sheila said, although that kind of wasn’t fine. The Muse was a bar with excellent pizza, strong drinks, and an enormous and devoted group of regulars. She’d look overdressed in there, or cheap. She quietly slipped off her dangling earrings and put them in her purse.

  Frank didn’t speak as they rode, and when he parked in the gravel parking lot, he didn’t open Sheila’s door for her as he usually did. She followed him into the large, dimly lit space. It was early, but the place was still crowded.

  They sat at the bar. Sheila didn’t like sitting at a bar, not simply because she thought she looked like she was trying to pick someone up, but also because her feet didn’t touch the floor but dangled a few inches above it. She ordered a ginger ale, wanting to wait for the taste of wine at the restaurant. Frank ordered a shot of bourbon. When it arrived, he tossed it down and ordered another.

  Sheila felt uncomfortable. Worried. This man was not the Frank she was used to, not that she’d seen him enough to know what the normal Frank really was.

  “Frank, we don’t have to go out tonight. Let’s just relax,” she said quietly.

  Frank turned to her. “I’m sorry, Sheila. I’m acting like an ass. I apologize. I’ve just had a bad day and I didn’t have a chance to shake it off before picking you up.”

  She put her hand on his arm. “Want to tell me what happened?”

  Frank leaned over and kissed her cheek. “No, sweetheart, I don’t. I want to forget today. I want to be with you, dine with you, make love to you. You’re my medicine. My reward.”

  If a warning bell sounded in her mind, it was drowned out by the rush of pleasure Sheila felt as Frank spoke. She was his medicine. His reward.

  Before she could speak, Frank said to the bartender, “Another.”

  The bartender, a tall man with major muscles, quickly shot a look at Sheila, raised an eyebrow, and clearly indicated he wanted her to weigh in on whether Frank should be served another shot. It would be his third in perhaps seven minutes.

  Sheila could only smile sweetly, giving him permission. She’d seen Frank drink cocktails and wine at dinner. He was a large man. He had the capacity. Besides, she didn’t want to be the one to question his order.

  The bartender set a third shot glass of golden liquid before Frank. He slammed it back.

  “So, Frank,” Sheila said conversationally, as if this were a normal evening, “do you watch baseball? Everyone roots for the Red Sox here, but I’ve got my hopes up for the Cleveland Indians.”

  Frank paused before speaking. “Yeah, that’s good.” He stepped off his stool, took Sheila’s hand, and helped her down. “Let’s go to dinner. We’ve got reservations at Toppers.”

  “Wow,” Sheila said, unable to hide her enthusiasm. Toppers was the most revered—and expensive—restaurant on the island. She would have been happy to work there. She’d never dreamed she would dine there. The hotel and restaurant were hidden away, far from town, on a winding lane off the Polpis road.