Summer People

Chapter 7

G arrett’s days with Piper were dwindling. The Newtons were scheduled to leave the day after Labor Day, and when Garrett checked the calendar, he found himself staring at the fourteenth of August. They had less than three weeks left.

That night, Garrett and Piper went to the Gaslight Theater to see a heist movie. Piper knew a guy who worked there and so they were able to buy beers at the bar and take the beers into the theater with them. Piper took one sip of her beer and excused herself for the bathroom. She was gone a long time-she missed all of the trailers. When she returned, she took Garrett’s hand and squeezed it so hard that Garrett winced and looked over, even though as a rule, he disliked it when people talked in movies.

“I threw up,” she whispered.

Garrett moved his arm around her shoulders. “Do you want me to take you home?” he asked.

She shook her head and slumped in her seat toward him. Garrett hoped she wasn’t getting sick; the thought of even a day without Piper disheartened him. He drank his beer and the rest of Piper’s as well.

After the movie, Garrett drove to the beach. No matter what they did at night, they always parked at the beach on the way home. But when Garrett pulled up to the water, shut off the engine and made a move to kiss Piper, she raised her hands to shield her face.

“Hey,” Garrett said. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t feel well,” Piper said.

“Still?”

“Still.”

Garrett rested his hands on the steering wheel and looked helplessly out the window. Even though they had more than two weeks left, everything had started to take on a sheen of nostalgia. The ocean at night, for example. Garrett soaked in the sight so that when he went back to New York he might remember what it was like-the waves, the reflection of the moon on the water, the way it felt to have Piper next to him.

“Do you want me to take you home?” he asked.

Piper didn’t respond. A few seconds later when Garrett looked at her, he saw she was crying again. Piper had cried three nights in the past week because she was so upset about his leaving. That was probably why she threw up earlier. Garrett knew from his experiences with Winnie that girls threw up when they got upset. He didn’t like the fact that he was causing Piper to cry and vomit, although he was glad she was going to miss him.

“It’s only a year,” Garrett said. “Not even a year. Nine months-September to June.”

“That’s not it,” Piper said.

“I’m not going to find another girlfriend,” Garrett reassured her. “I already told you, there isn’t a girl in New York City as pretty as you.”

“Garrett.”

“We’ll talk on Sundays when the rates are low, and we’ll e-mail every day. God,” he said. “I wonder what people did before they had e-mail?”

“I’m late for my period,” Piper said.

This took Garrett so by surprise that at first he couldn’t decipher what she meant. “What?”

“But I’m, like, super erratic. My cycle can be twenty-eight days for six months and then I’ll skip a cycle all together. It’s happened before. A bunch of times. At least twice.”

“Are you telling me you might be pregnant?” Garrett asked. He couldn’t believe this. They had used condoms every single time they had sex. He’d made sure of that. He’d been so, so careful-well, except for the time his mother caught them, when he hurried, when he fumbled while disengaging. But that was so long ago, the Fourth of July. He leaned his head back. Oh, please, God, no.

“Might,” Piper said.

“How late are you?”

“Pretty late.” She burst into a fresh round of tears.

“Okay, okay,” Garrett said. He had to keep her from getting hysterical. What was it his father had always said? It’s fruitless to speculate. There was no need to jump ahead and consider how neither of them was prepared to become a parent at seventeen. Not with a year of high school and four of college and three of law school for Garrett. No need to jump ahead to where Piper might get an abortion-it certainly couldn’t be done on Nantucket-or how to pay for it or what their parents would say.

“You need to take a test,” he said.

“Where am I going to get a test?”

Garrett wrinkled his brow. “At the store? I don’t know. The pharmacy?”

“I live here, Garrett,” Piper said. “I know at least three people who work at the Stop & Shop and my father is friends with the couple who own the pharmacy. He paints it every year. I can’t go buy a pregnancy test. Everyone knows me.”

Garrett felt like Piper had thrown a huge blanket over his head and he was having a hard time shaking it off. “So what are you going to do?” he asked.

“Me?” she said. “It’s not my problem, Garrett. It’s our problem. If I am pregnant, it’s half your fault.”

“I know,” Garrett said defensively.

“You should buy the pregnancy test,” Piper said. “Nobody knows you.”

She had a point; he knew practically no one on the island other than his family. Still, the idea of buying a pregnancy test was humiliating. Buying a box of condoms had been bad enough. The condoms-Garrett couldn’t even think about the condoms without shrinking inside.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

Piper seemed to relax a little at this promise. She fell across the front seat and lay her head in his lap. A few seconds later, she fiddled with the zipper of his jeans, but Garrett took her hand and held it tightly. His body was filled with nervous tension that would be impossible to battle. He held Piper close and after several minutes he felt her body melt into his. She was falling asleep.

“Piper,” he said. “I’m taking you home.”

When they pulled into the Ronans’ driveway, Piper roused herself enough to undo her seatbelt. “So you’ll get it?” she asked. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he said. He pulled Piper toward him and kissed her. “Do you think you are?”

Her eyes were only half open. She was, as Garrett’s mother would say, falling asleep in her soup.

“No,” she said dreamily. “Probably not.”

Garrett felt a rush of relief. It was, after all, her body.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Garrett.”

The next morning, Garrett rose early and drove to the Stop & Shop. He bought a pint of raspberries for his mother, who loved them, a bag of Doritos, a package of bacon, a jar of olives, a six-pack of root beer, and the pregnancy test. He dashed for the checkout line. The cashier, an older Jamaican woman, rang up the groceries without even glancing at him. Garrett paid with cash, refused his receipt, and hurried from the store.

Once in the car, he transferred the pregnancy test from the shopping bag into the backpack that he normally used for school-he’d brought it to Nantucket filled with the books on his summer reading list, but now it was going to serve as the place where he would hide the pregnancy test until that evening when Piper would take it. They were going to meet early, while it was still light out, and head someplace private.

At home, his mother was the only one awake. Garrett sauntered into the kitchen holding the bag of groceries-the backpack was already tucked into the dark recesses of the front hall closet. Beth stared at him as he put the shopping bag on the table and began emptying its contents.

“I bought you some raspberries,” he said.

“You went to the store?” she asked. “What on earth for? Was there something special you wanted? You should have just told me, honey.”

“And olives,” Garrett said, holding up the jar. “You do like olives, don’t you?”

At six o’clock, Garrett and Piper picked up sandwiches from Henry’s and drove out to Smith’s Point to catch the sunset. This was one of the things Garrett wanted to do before he left the island for the summer. In previous years, Garrett’s father had arrived for the last two weeks of August and they did stuff as a family every night, including a sandwich picnic at Smith’s Point. As Garrett drove over the rickety wooden bridge at Madaket Harbor, he noted how vastly different this year was from last year. This year he was the one driving the car with his girlfriend in the seat beside him, his girlfriend who thought she might be pregnant. His father was dead; his mother had been married before. Garrett reeled at the enormity of it. He glanced at Piper. She looked pale, and nervous. He took her hand.

Garrett lowered the air in his tires at the gatehouse, and then he and Piper drove over the huge, bumpy dune to the beach. Piper groaned and clenched her abdomen. Garrett’s heart sank.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Just get there,” she said.

They drove out the beach to the westernmost tip of the island. Across the water, Garrett could see the next island over, Tuckernuck. Piping plovers scuttled along the shoreline; the air smelled of fish, and in fact, the only other people on the beach were a couple of surf casters in the distance. Garrett spread out a blanket and unloaded the bag of sandwiches and the shopping bag that contained the Doritos and the root beer. It was a clear night; the sun was a pinkish-orange ball dropping toward the blue horizon. Piper sat resolutely in the Rover.

“Aren’t you getting out?” he asked.

She moved in slow motion, like she was running out of batteries.

“Do you want to take the test before or after we eat?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Before, I guess. While it’s still light. I have to pee anyway.”

“Okay,” he said. He double-checked their surroundings; they were shielded from the fishermen’s view. He took the test out of his backpack and studied the instructions. “You pee in this cup, and then you put the stick in. If a second line shows up, it’s positive. If not, it’s negative.” He handed Piper the cup and with the lethargic movements of an amoeba, she disappeared into the nearby dunes.

Garrett tapped the plastic stick against his palm. Dad? he beckoned. But this moment was too monumental and too scary to share with his father. Garrett tried to clear his mind. He could smell his meatball sub and his stomach growled. He’d been too nervous to eat anything all day, and now he was starving.

After an eternity, Piper popped out of the dunes, holding the cup discreetly at her side, blocked from Garrett’s view. “Give me the stick,” she said. He handed it to her and she opened the back door of the car and moved inside. Garrett’s pulse was screaming along like a race car. He was too nervous to pray.

“How long does it say to wait?” she asked.

Garrett didn’t have to check the instructions; he had them memorized. “Three minutes, but no longer than ten.”

Piper checked her watch. Garrett lost all control. He tore open the bag of Doritos and stuffed a handful into his face. He felt like an ogre, a glutton, but he couldn’t help himself. Piper didn’t even seem to notice. Nearly half the bag was gone when Piper stepped from the car. Garrett paused in his eating; his lips burned with spicy salt. Piper emptied the contents of the cup behind the Rover’s back tire.

She smiled at him. The diamond stud in her nose caught the last rays of the setting sun. She waved the stick over him like it was a magic wand, changing his life forever.

“It’s positive,” she said.

The summer was fading fast. It got dark earlier, and there was a chill in the air at night. Garrett read the last two books on his summer reading list; he started running three miles each morning to get ready for soccer. Anything to lend normality to the very abnormal set of circumstances that bore down on him as surely as the impending autumn. Piper wanted to have the baby.

“But why?”

This was the question Garrett had asked over and again for the past three days. Garrett realized he should stop asking, because every time he asked, Piper came up with a more convincing answer. She valued the life inside her, she believed in a woman’s right to choose and her choice was to have the baby, she couldn’t bring herself to destroy a life that had been formed out of her love for Garrett.

Garrett countered with the predictable arguments-they had high school to finish, college to attend, years and years of life experience to acquire before either of them would be remotely capable of raising a child.

“Who said anything about raising a child?” Piper asked.

She wanted to have the child and put it up for adoption. There were thousands of good people in the world who were aching for a baby, she said.

“What about your senior year?” Garrett asked.

“What about it?” she said. “The baby isn’t due until April. I can accelerate my course work, take my exams early and graduate.”

“Yeah,” Garrett said. “But you’ll be pregnant.”

Piper stared at him like he was the stupidest person on earth. “That’s right,” she said.

Being pregnant empowered Piper. From the second she saw the positive result at Smith’s Point, she had transformed before Garrett’s eyes. She stopped being his girlfriend and became someone’s mother. She scared Garrett now, the way religious fanatics scared him. Only Piper’s religion was her body. Her body was changing, producing a hundred thousand new cells every hour, she said. She was desperate to see a doctor, to have an ultrasound and blood tests-but to do this, she needed access to her father’s insurance.

They had to tell their parents, she said and soon. There were only two weeks before Garrett returned to New York.

Garrett read and ran and moped, avoiding Beth and Winnie and Marcus. He moaned internally over his bad luck. He threw the remnants of his box of condoms into the trash. They were doubly useless-Piper didn’t want to have sex anymore. She didn’t want anything to harm the baby. She quit smoking for good, she said, and she began eating a lot of red meat and vegetables, although she was having a hard time keeping food down. Piper was going to have the baby and that was that. Garrett couldn’t believe he had no say in the matter. For the rest of his life, Garrett would have to live with the fact that his child was walking the earth.

Piper insisted on presenting a unified front. She wanted to tell their families together, in one large group. She stopped by one day at lunch, and Garrett entered the kitchen to find her and Beth sitting at the table planning an end-of-the-summer barbecue. Beth seemed energized by the idea. His mother was so predictable-she wanted to keep the last bits of summer alive by filling the house with people.

“You don’t mind that David is coming?” Garrett asked his mother later.

“I cleared the air with David,” Beth said. “I think he should come. He’s been an integral part of the summer.”

There was an understatement. Garrett felt just as he had at the beginning of the summer when his mother announced that she had invited the Ronans for dinner. He didn’t want them to come! If Beth hadn’t invited them in the first place, Garrett wouldn’t be in this gut-wrenching position. They might have had a peaceful summer.

Over the next few days, Garrett watched Beth pull out all the stops. She ordered clams and lobster tails from East Coast Fish, and beer from Cisco Brewery; she bought New York strip steaks; she bought French cheese and summer sausage and baguettes, and a jar of mustard that cost sixteen dollars; she made potato salad and coleslaw and corn pudding. She bought red and yellow tomatoes and made her own pesto. She made peach pie and homemade ice cream. She baked a chocolate cake. She decorated the house with zinnias and gladiolas and huge black-eyed Susans.

“I wish it could always be summer,” Beth said wistfully.

Garrett wondered what Beth would say when she heard the news. He was surprised to find he didn’t care what she thought- there was no way that she could be more distraught about Piper’s pregnancy than he was. He couldn’t wait to get back to New York. In less than a week, his feelings for Piper had changed. His love for her had evaporated, and in its place was fear of her and her plans.

On the evening of the barbecue, the Ronans arrived at six o’clock, the three of them unpiling from the front seat of David’s truck. Winnie and Marcus were already out on the deck drinking Coke and holding hands. Winnie was trying to convince Marcus to eat a clam. Garrett eyed them enviously. They hadn’t been stupid enough to let themselves get pregnant; they had made it through the summer intact. It wasn’t fair-except that Garrett knew they would both be supportive when they heard the news, far more supportive than Garrett would have been under the reverse circumstances. First Garrett shuddered at the idea of Winnie bearing Marcus’s child, then he shuddered at his own flawed character. He deserved a life of nasty surprises, he decided, and he steeled himself for what was to come.

The dinner went smoothly. David and Beth shared a big bottle of Whale’s Tale Ale, Winnie talked to Peyton about what it was like to start high school. Piper held on to Garrett’s hand and beamed benignly at everyone, in a fantastic imitation of the Virgin Mary. She said very little and ate even less-just a tomato and a tiny piece of steak. Beth noticed right away. Garrett wasn’t surprised; his mother always noticed when someone wasn’t eating.

“Are you okay, Piper?” Beth asked, as she began to clear the table. “You barely ate a thing and you’ve been so quiet. This isn’t like you.”

Piper squeezed Garrett’s hand under the table. Here it comes, he thought. All hell is about to break loose. He wished for a final time that God would step in and save him.

“Thank you for noticing, Mrs. Newton,” Piper said, in a loud, attention-seeking voice. “I didn’t eat very much because I feel sick.”

“I didn’t realize you were sick,” Beth said. “That’s too bad.”

“No, it’s good,” Piper said. “I feel sick because I’m pregnant.”

Winnie let out a shriek. Everyone else was silent. Garrett stared at his plate-a mixed pool of juices from the steak and tomatoes, a few kernels of corn, a smudge of pesto. After what he considered to be a reasonable amount of time for this bombshell to detonate in each diner’s mind, he glanced up. Someone was going to have to say something. One of the adults?Beth had retaken her seat without so much as a creak or a whisper, and now she sat with a stack of dirty plates in front of her, a totally blank look on her face, the way she must look, Garrett thought, when she first wakes up in the morning and she can’t quite place where she is or where she’s been. David was inspecting his glass of wine as though an insect or a small piece of cork were floating on the surface. He was so intent on this task that Garrett thought he hadn’t heard; however, a few seconds later, he was the first to speak. When he did, it wasn’t to Piper at all, but to Beth, across the table.

“How about that?” he said, raising his glass. “We’re going to be grandparents.”

“What?” Beth said. “Are you kidding me?Surely she’s not keeping this baby?”

Garrett turned to watch Piper. Her face was unwavering in its calm repose. “That depends on what you mean by ‘keep,’ Mrs. Newton.”

“You’ll have an abortion,” Beth said. “You’re still just a child.”

“I will not have an abortion,” Piper said. “I’ve given it a lot of thought and I’ve decided that I want to have the baby and put it up for adoption.”

“Adoption?” Beth said.

“Adoption,” Piper said.

“What you want may not matter,” Beth said. “You have to do what’s best for everybody involved.”

“I’m the mother,” Piper said. “I have to do what’s right for me and for the baby. Maybe you’re not aware of the law. It’s the mother’s right to choose.”

“That’s a very self-centered attitude,” Beth said.

“I think what’s self-centered is wanting me to get an abortion so the matter is taken care of and you don’t have to worry about it.”

“She’s got a point,” David said.

Piper glanced at her father, and as if strengthened by this confirmation, continued. “I don’t want to terminate the pregnancy. I want to give the baby life, then share that life with another family. That’s the choice I’ve made. It’s one I can live with.”

David stood up and moved to Piper’s chair. He knelt in front of her and she fell into his arms in a way that made her seem like a very young girl to Garrett. He got a lump in his throat.

Peyton started to cry. “You always do things like this,” she said to her sister. “You do it for attention. But you never think of anyone else. Me, for example. Everyone at school is going to make fun of me.”

Winnie rubbed Peyton’s arm. “No one will make fun of you.”

“They’ll say my sister is a slut.”

“They’ll think Piper is brave for sticking to her principles,” Winnie said. “I think you’re brave, Piper.”

Piper couldn’t respond. Her face was hidden in David’s shoulder.

Garrett looked around the table. He was both relieved and offended that no one was paying attention to him. Everyone was focused on Piper. This moment was all about her.

“I think you should take some time before you make a final decision,” Beth said. “Even if you don’t plan on keeping the baby, simply giving birth can be traumatic, physically and emotionally. And then there’s your schoolwork, applying to colleges-”

“Don’t try to talk her out of it, Mom,” Winnie said. “After all, we’re talking about a human being here. A human being who is related to everyone at this table-well, except for Marcus.”

Marcus held up his palms as if relinquishing all claims of being related to the baby.

“We’re talking about a cluster of cells,” Beth said. “A microscopic organism. Not a human being, not yet.”

“It’s a human being,” Winnie insisted.

Piper separated from David. “I’m having the baby. You should take as much time as you need to absorb that fact. I’m going to see a doctor and I’m going to research adoption agencies so that I’m sure the baby ends up in the best possible home. They’ve made it so that you can practically handpick the family that takes your child.”

Peyton shook her head. “You are such an alien,” she said. “I can’t believe you’re my sister.”

David returned to his seat, only now he gripped the table and lowered himself gingerly into the chair, as if he were an old man. “Honey, we need to show your sister support. We have to rally around her.”

“What about me?”

These words came from Garrett. He waited a beat to see if anyone had heard-yes, everyone at the table turned to him.

“I guess the question for you, young man, is why weren’t you more careful?” David said.

“I was careful,” Garrett said. He’d used condoms every time, and it was just the one time when his mother startled him when he wasn’t paying full attention. But he couldn’t explain that. “We had some bad luck.”

“Good luck,” Piper said, rubbing her still-flat stomach. “I consider this good luck.”

“You consider this good luck,” Garrett said to Piper. “So I guess what I think doesn’t matter. And this is my child, too.”

“I care what you think,” Beth said.

“So do I,” said Winnie.

“So do I,” said Marcus. “What do you think?”

Garrett’s eyes blurred with tears. What he thought was that if he had to sustain any more growing pains, any more major changes in life or death, he would explode. What he thought was, thank you to his mother and his twin sister and yes, even Marcus, for caring about him despite the fact that he possessed a despicable character. What he thought was, I amsorry, I amso, so sorry to the child that Piper carried within her. I want to do better by you, but right now, I just can’t.

When Garrett spoke, his voice was thick with confusion. His normal voice had abandoned him.

“Let’s just do what Piper wants,” he said. “She’s the mother. It’s her decision.”

Beth sighed. David clapped Garrett’s shoulder. Winnie said, “Well, congratulations, then!” Marcus saluted Garrett. Peyton went over and touched the top of her sister’s hair, as if checking for a halo. Garrett fell back in his chair, he was exhausted.

“Is there dessert?” he asked. He was grateful when Beth said, “Of course! Yes!” and bounded into the kitchen to serve it. Anything predictable, to Garrett, was now unspeakably precious.

Winnie couldn’t believe it, but she was jealous. For years she had heard of girls her own age having babies-once even a girl at Danforth-and it was always spoken of with distaste. It was called “getting in trouble.” But why?As Winnie lay in bed with Marcus that night, she longed to be filled with another human life, a life that could miraculously be created out of thin air and passion.

“It would be romantic, wouldn’t it?” Winnie asked. “To have a baby?”

“Don’t talk that way,” Marcus said. “It won’t be romantic for Garrett and Piper. Those two didn’t even kiss good-bye tonight.”

Winnie had noticed. The relationship between Garrett and Piper was different now, and not in a good way. Garrett kept talking about going back to New York like there was nothing he’d rather do. Meanwhile, Winnie wanted to stay on Nantucket forever. Once she got back to New York, everything would change. She would go back to living on Park Avenue, Marcus would go back to Queens. They could still see each other; it was thirty-five minutes on the subway. But it wouldn’t be the same. They wouldn’t be living together; they wouldn’t spend every afternoon on the beach swimming; they wouldn’t eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner together on the deck. Instead, Winnie imagined herself stepping off the train in an unfamiliar neighborhood where all the other girls her age were black or Hispanic and tough. Smoking cigarettes, chewing gum, dishing out attitude when they saw Winnie and Marcus walking down the street holding hands. Winnie had beentoMarcus’sapartmentoncebefore with her father and Garrett-the building was shabby, and although Marcus’s apartment was nice on the inside, it looked like an apartment where the mother was absent. There had been dishes in the sink-lots of them-and there were two TVs blaring in different rooms. Marcus’s sister, LaTisha, he said, came home from school and plunked herself in front of the set until bedtime. She did her homework in front of Oprah and ate her dinner in front of Jeopardy! Winnie didn’t want to place herself in that apartment or on the street in Queens, but she was afraid the trip to Manhattan would intimidate Marcus just as much, and that he wouldn’t come. New York, Winnie was certain, would stink. They wouldn’t be safe from the rest of the world like they were here.

A few days later, the Western Union truck pulled up in front of the house. Winnie was the only one around. Garrett and Beth had gone running together and Marcus had fallen asleep down on the beach. Winnie was in the kitchen making sandwiches when she heard the crunch of tires on the shell driveway and she reached the front door in time to meet the driver and sign for an envelope. Winnie became sore with the memories of previous summers-the FedEx truck came nearly every day with documents for her father.

The Western Union man tipped his hat at Winnie in an old-fashioned way that made her smile. She looked at the envelope and saw it was addressed to Marcus. It was a telegram, she realized, another telegram for Marcus. There had been one a few weeks earlier, back when they were angry at one another, and she had forgotten to ask him about it. From one of his parents, his father probably, telling him it was time to come home. She wanted to throw the envelope away, or else she wanted it to contain happy news, like Marcus had been offered a college scholarship. Like his father had found a great new job and they were moving to Manhattan.

Winnie took the envelope down to the beach along with their lunch. Marcus was still asleep, face down, on his beach towel. He was so tall and solid; at night, when he held her, she wanted to melt into him and disappear.

She nudged the bottom of his foot with her big toe. “Turkey sandwiches,” she said. The days of Malibu and Coke were over, but she’d brought a thermos of icy lemonade. She laid out lunch as Marcus rubbed his eyes and sat up.

“I’m really going to miss this,” he said. “You know?”

Winnie squinted at the ocean. A seagull stopped at the edge of their blanket and squawked for some of their lunch. Winnie threw a piece of bread crust. Finally she understood the heartache her mother felt every year when she left this island. It was falling in love here that did it, Winnie guessed. It was falling in love here that made you never want to leave.

“A telegram came for you,” Winnie said. She pulled the envelope out of her jean shorts. “Just now. Western Union.”

Marcus looked at the envelope but didn’t reach for it right away. Winnie’s heart dropped. It was bad news. She remembered the morning of March sixteenth, her mother coming into her bedroom while Winnie was getting dressed for school. Her mother didn’t have to say a single word; Winnie knew in her gut that her father was dead.

“Is everything okay?” Winnie whispered.

The seagull returned, begging for more. Throw the telegram to the seagull, Winnie thought. Throw it into the ocean. It seemed plausible on such a gorgeous day that bad news could simply be tossed away.

Marcus opened the envelope, shaking his head all the while. Maybe it was from Constance. Could a person send telegrams from prison?

“What does it say?” Winnie asked.

He fell back onto his towel. “There’s something I have to tell you. Remember back a couple of weeks ago when I got that other telegram?I know you were the one who slid it under my door.”

Winnie nodded. It was awful of her to slide the telegram under the door like Marcus was some kind of leper, but at the time she’d been too indignant to knock.

“And remember when I told you that I had a secret?”

Of course she remembered! She felt like shaking him. Didn’t he understand that his every word printed indelibly on her brain?

“Yes,” she said. “But you don’t have to tell me what it is if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” Marcus said. “These telegrams?Are you ready?”

Winnie was pretty sure she wasn’t ready, but she nodded.

“They’re from my editor.”

Winnie smiled at him. She thought he’d said “editor.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“I have an editor,” Marcus said. “At Dome Books in New York. His name is Zachary Celtic.”

Winnie felt like the butt of some kind of joke, though she wasn’t sure yet if she was supposed to be angry or laugh along.

“I still don’t understand.”

Marcus squinted at the ocean. The sun seemed to have gotten brighter in the past few minutes. So Winnie was skeptical. She believed in him, but not that much.

“I have a book deal with Dome,” Marcus said. “This guy, this editor, Zachary Celtic, offered me thirty thousand dollars to write a book about what happened with my mother.”

“You’re kidding,” Winnie said. “Thirty thousand dollars?”

Those three words had power, Marcus realized, even over someone with plenty of money like Winnie. They’d held so much power over him that he’d agreed to write a book he didn’t want to write. There, he’d admitted it.

He didn’t want to write the book.

“They gave me five hundred dollars already,” Marcus said. It sounded like such a paltry sum when compared to thirty thousand, but since Marcus now knew he had to pay it back, it seemed like a lot. “But I spent it. And what this telegram says is that the first fifty pages and a complete synopsis are due next week, September first. ‘Per our agreement.’ ”

“You’ve written fifty pages?” Winnie said.

“No,” Marcus said. “I’ve only written one page. I had writer’s block this summer.”

“Maybe they’ll give you more time,” Winnie said. “Like an extension on a term paper?”

“More time won’t help,” Marcus said. “I’m not going to write it at all.”

“Really?” Winnie said. Now she was having a hard time processing what he was telling her. He had a book deal for thirty thousand dollars but he was giving it up?Turning it down? She felt compelled to push him toward greatness. Marcus could be a writer, a real writer, before he even turned eighteen. “Why not?”

“I don’t have it in my heart,” Marcus said. “I’m furious with my mother and I know better than anyone else that what she did was wrong, but that’s not stuff I want to explain to the rest of the world. I want to work it out privately.”

“But you don’t talk to your mother,” Winnie said.

“Yeah, I know,” Marcus said. He felt like crumpling up the telegram and tossing it into the water, but it had the phone number of Dome Books on it and now he had to call. “Don’t get me wrong. I want to be a writer. And I will be someday. But I’m not writing this story. I kept thinking of your dad, too. He wouldn’t have wanted me to write this book.”

“Yeah,” Winnie said. “He wasn’t into exploiting his cases.”

That word, “exploiting,” was the one that made Marcus squirm. Along with the horrible things Zachary Celtic had said at lunch, and the way the five hundred dollars was handed to him-cash in an envelope-so seedy, so underhanded. They were buying Marcus’s betrayal. “Anyway, that’s my secret. I have a book deal with this big publishing house for all this money but I’m not going through with it.”

“Well, okay, then,” Winnie said. She poured two cups of lemonade and handed one to Marcus. They clicked cups in a toast, though they had different ideas about what they were drinking to. Winnie thought they were drinking to Marcus’s future career as a writer, if not with this book then with another. Marcus thought they were drinking to his freedom.

Winnie was thrilled to accompany Marcus on even the smallest errand; standing in line at the post office to get stamps with him was a delight. But this-going with him in the morning to call his editor and turn down the book deal-was monumental. Marcus was so nervous about the prospect of contacting this man, Zachary Celtic, that he said he wouldn’t come to Winnie’s room at all that night, even though she begged him to as they sat on the deck looking at the stars. She reminded him that their nights together were dwindling in number.

“I can’t,” he said. “My guts are bound up about this call tomorrow. I just want tomorrow to come so I can do it.”

“What are you going to say?” Winnie asked.

“I’ll just tell him I’m not writing it. I’ll tell him I’ll return the five hundred bucks.”

Even though Marcus and Winnie were in love, there were certain things she was afraid to ask. Like where he was going to get that kind of money.

“And what about your mother?” Winnie said.

“What about her?”

“Will you go see her when you get home?”

He squeezed her hand so tightly she nearly cried out in pain. “I don’t know what to do about my mother,” he said.

In the morning, they rode their bikes into town and called Za-chary Celtic from a phone booth. Marcus had brought the telegram along with him. He dialed the number, then pumped the payphone full of quarters; his pockets were heavy with them. Winnie stood at Marcus’s back, outside of the booth. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to hear the conversation, and for a moment she wondered why he’d invited her along when clearly this was something he wanted to do by himself. She looked up and down the street at the people walking their dogs, drinking coffee, waiting for the shops to open. A man on a bench nearby read the Wall Street Journal and talked on his cell phone about the upcoming football season. Marcus had two fingers plugged in his ear and his head bent forward. Winnie heard him say, “Zachary Celtic, please. True crime. It’s Marcus Tyler calling.” His voice was strange. Winnie wanted to touch him in some reassuring way, but she was scared to. The man on the bench blabbed into his cell phone, bragging now about the dinner reservations he’d managed to “score” at the Pearl and American Seasons. Winnie nearly shushed him. Marcus pumped more change into the phone. He turned around and smiled weakly at her, saying, “They’re seeing if he’s available.”

“Do you have enough money?” Winnie asked.

He patted his pockets for confirmation, then he yanked Winnie into the booth with him. She was relieved. The two of them wedged themselves on either side of the telephone, and Marcus managed to squeeze the door shut. He held the receiver in one hand and Winnie’s wrist with the other. Then he swallowed, and when he spoke, his voice sounded like that of a nine-year-old boy.

“Mr. Celtic?Yeah, this is Marcus Tyler?Yes, I got it yesterday. Listen, I have some bad news.”

Winnie squeezed his fingers.

“No, more time isn’t going to help. When you first asked this spring, I thought I could write it. I definitely wanted the money, and I understand it was, like, a huge leap of faith to offer that kind of cash to a kid. But I tried all summer, and I can’t seem to get any decent sentences on paper. At first I thought it was writer’s block, but then, I don’t know…” Marcus took a huge breath, sucking all of the remaining oxygen out of the phone booth, then said in his normal voice, “I don’t want to write it.”

There was silence, then the frantic, faraway voice of Za-chary Celtic talking. Marcus listened with his eyes squeezed shut, like he was enduring some awful pain. He took a breath to speak, but was shut out. Winnie hated to see him like this- trying to say his piece, but failing. She felt as badly as she would have at a racial slur-standing with Marcus on Second Avenue, say, while cab after cab passed by Marcus’s outstretched hand.

“Mr. Celtic?” Marcus finally said. It sounded like he was interrupting. “I’ll pay you back the five hundred dollars. No, really, I want to. And I’ll pay you back whatever it cost you to take me to lunch that day. Just please don’t say anything bad about me to Ms. Marchese because I need her to write me a college recommendation, you know?” He paused for a minute then dove back in. “Except, see, I don’t think I’m going to change my mind. What’s done is done. Angela and Candy are dead, my mother is in prison for the rest of her life, my uncle only has half a brain, and I don’t have any explanations for that. I’ve made up excuses on my mother’s behalf, I’ve tried to justify her actions, I’ve tried to understand every possible reason why she killed two people but I don’t have the answers. I’m not even sure my mother has the answers. But it doesn’t matter. I’mnot going to write this book.” Marcus hung up the phone on Zachary Celtic, saying, “I’ll send you that money, sir.”

The receiver hit the cradle so hard there was a residual metallic ring. Marcus stared at himself in the front of the phone.

“Well,” he said.

“You did a good job. You said all the right things.”

“Think so?” Marcus asked. He touched the receiver as though he wanted to call back and start over. “He said in true crime hot topics go cold real quick, but that he thought my mother’s story would always have appeal, in case I ever changed my mind.” Marcus wiped sweat off his forehead. “I’m not going to change my mind.”

“I know you won’t,” Winnie said.

“I’m determined to pay the guy back, even though he said I should hold on to the five hundred bucks. He said that was money he was willing to gamble with. But I don’t take money for nothing.”

“Do you feel better?” Winnie asked. “Now that it’s over?”

Now that its over. Marcus feared that this thing with his mother would never be over; it would be a part of him for the rest of his life. However, the dread about the phone call was gone, leaving Marcus feeling empty, in a clean way, like a vessel that had been washed out. “Yes,” he said. “I guess I do.” He took Winnie in his arms and hugged her, and then they opened the door and stepped out into the fresh air.

Piper scheduled her first ultrasound appointment before Garrett left because she wanted him to come with her.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said.

They were sitting side by side on Horizon’s deck in upright chairs like an elderly couple-not sunbathing, not reading-just staring at the ocean and thinking. They still hung out together in the afternoons, though evening dates were over; Piper was too tired and Garrett had no desire to pursue her. He figured his reluctance to go to the appointment would just be one more thing that pissed her off, but instead she took both his hands and looked him dead in the eye. “I know there’s a person inside you who wants to do the right thing.”

But how, he wondered, was going to the ultrasound appointment the right thing?It wasn’t a baby he was ever going to know.

“Right now this baby is in our care,” Piper said. “It’s our responsibility to make sure it enters the world healthy.”

The appointment was the following day at two. Garrett drove Piper to the hospital. They sat in the waiting room watching the action in the adjoining ER-a man had fallen off his moped and done something unnatural to his arm, followed minutes later by a little girl who had been stung by a jellyfish-until Piper’s name was called.

A nurse led them down the white hallway to the X-ray room. Garrett’s heart was thudding like a bowling ball hitting the gutter. He thought of that first walk on the beach with Piper, then the bonfire where he met her awful friend Kyle, then buying the box of condoms, the first time they made love, then the Fourth of July, the long stretch of days while she was at Rosie’s, the summer evenings they spent parked at the beach. It all seemed like it happened eons ago, with another person.

Garrett had expected a doctor, but the woman who entered the room to do the ultrasound was young, with a ponytail and thick Boston accent. She patted the exam table, indicating that Piper should sit down on it.

“My name’s Marie,” she said.

Then she asked Piper questions: Bladder full? Date of birth? Dateof last menstrual period? If Marie was surprised that Piper was only seventeen, she didn’t let on.

“Go ahead and lift your shirt, hon,” she said.

Piper did so-the days of halter tops were over-and Marie squirted a clear jelly onto Piper’s abdomen. Garrett was embarrassed; he stared at his feet in his Sambas and wished he were running across the soccer field in Van Cortland Park right now. Only four days left until their ferry.

Marie switched on a monitor and a blank computer screen lit up. Then she moved a thick wand over Piper’s belly. The screen came alive with blobs and swirls.

“Where’s our baby?” Piper asked. She propped herself up on her elbows and studied the screen.

“Patient, hon,” Marie said. “We’re looking for something the size of a pea.” Garrett noted that Marie had yet to acknowledge his presence in the room, although he was growing used to being ignored where Piper’s pregnancy was concerned.

“Here we go,” Marie said. A white peanut appeared on the screen. Marie zoomed in. “There’s your baby.”

Garrett gazed at the screen with interest. The peanut, he could see, was moving. The peanut had tiny arms and legs.

“See this dark spot?” Marie said. “This is the baby’s heart. Here, wait a sec.”

Marie fiddled with a knob on the computer. Suddenly, a rhythmic whooshing sound filled the air.

“What’s that?” Garrett croaked.

“What’s that?” Marie said, as if she couldn’t believe anyone would be brave or stupid enough to ask. “Why, that’s your baby’s heartbeat.”

The baby, Marie said, was due March twenty-seventh. “But frequently first pregnancies are late.”

“Good,” Garrett said. “Maybe the baby won’t be born until April. March is a terrible month.”

Piper glared at him. “What do you care?”

“My father died in March,” Garrett explained to Marie.

“Sorry to hear it,” Marie said. “Well, look at it this way, if your baby is born in March, it will become a good month.”

Garrett rolled his eyes. The woman didn’t know what the hell she was talking about.

“I’m going to take a few pictures for your doctor,” Marie said. “And for you, if you want one.”

“Of course I want one!” Piper said. “Can you tell if it’s a boy or a girl?”

“Nawp, not yet,” Marie said. “Another eight weeks or so and you’ll come back for a second round of this. They can tell you then.”

“I feel in my heart that it’s a girl,” Piper said.

Garrett shut his eyes. He needed to sit down. A girl, a boy- the baby would be one or the other. God, it was all too much. He managed to stay on his feet while Marie took pictures of the white peanut from different angles.

“I just need to develop these,” she said. She handed Piper a couple of tissues for her belly. “You clean up. I’ll be back in a sec.”

Once Marie left the room, there was an awkward silence. Piper swabbed the gunk off her skin, then handed the tissues to Garrett.

“What am I supposed to do with these?” he asked.

“Throw them away.” She nodded to a trash can near his feet.

He slammed the wad into the can with all his strength.

“You’re angry,” she said.

“What?”

“You’re furious with me. You think this is my fault.”

“I don’t think that.”

“Of course you do.” Piper stood up from the table and tucked in her shirt. “You think it’s my fault I’m pregnant. But I have news for you, Garrett. You have to accept fifty percent responsibility.”

“Fifty percent responsibility but not fifty percent say in what happens.”

“You saw the baby floating around on that screen,” Piper said. “Do you honestly want to kill it?”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“I’ll tell you what you want. You want to be back in New York where you can pretend none of this ever happened. Where you can pretend I don’t exist.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is true. But you know what’s funny?I don’t care. I don’t care that you knocked me up and now you don’t love me anymore. It doesn’t bother me! All I care about is doing the responsible thing here, the adult thing, and I’m doing it! I’m taking responsibility for this child without compromising my future. You never would have made this decision because it’s too hard and you’re not strong enough. This doesn’t fit into the life plan you concocted for yourself. Well, guess what, Garrett?Part of being an adult is learning that sometimes in life, pieces don’t fit.”

“We’re not adults, though,” Garrett said. “We’re kids. We’re kids having kids.”

“You’re a real summer person,” Piper said. “I realized that when this whole thing started.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You show up here for three months of the year when the weather is nice and the water is warm and you use the island. You use it up. Then in September you go back to wherever you came from and forget all about this place. Because you don’t really care about Nantucket or the people who live here.” Piper’s voice was high and shrill; her face was flushed. “You probably won’t even come back here for the birth.”

Garrett stared at her. “Of course I’m coming back for the birth.”

“You are?”

“Yes.” He actually hadn’t given it a moment of consideration, but he would not stand here and have this girl call him a coward and be right. If his child was going to be born here, he would be here. And his mother and Winnie, too. They would all get a chance to see the baby, to hold him or her, then say good-bye.

“Well, fine, then,” Piper said. “But you’re not going to be my labor coach. Peyton has already offered.”

“You’re going to have a thirteen-year-old labor coach?” Gar-rett said.

“By March, she’ll be fourteen,” Piper said.

The door swung open and Marie stepped in, holding an envelope. She looked between them. “Everything okay in here?” she asked.

“Sure,” Piper said.

“Here are the pictures. I got two for you-” She handed two to Piper. “And one for you.” She handed one to Garrett.

Garrett scrutinized his picture, grateful that he had gotten a good shot, where the arms and legs were visible and he could see the dark spot where the baby’s heart was.

He looked at Marie. “This is my baby,” he said.

She clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a lucky man.”

At home, Garrett found Beth in the kitchen packing up the place mats and napkins, the coffee grinder, the food processor. She had saved the Zabar’s shopping bags and was filling them with the things they couldn’t get in New York: loaves of Something Natural herb bread, containers of smoked bluefish paâteé and clam chowder, huge beefsteak tomatoes from Bartlett’s.

She smiled indulgently as he walked into the kitchen. “How’d the appointment go?”

He shrugged. “Okay.” The picture was in his shirt pocket- he’d pulled it out twice after dropping Piper off to look at it. “Here, want to see?” He handed the photo to his mother.

Beth held it up to the light.

“These are the arms and legs,” Garrett said. “And this dark spot?That’s the heart.”

His mother turned the picture and squinted. Despite her most fervent wishes, a few tears leaked from her eyes.

“I know you’re disappointed in me,” he said.

She wiped her tears away quickly. “I wasn’t thinking that at all. I was just thinking of all of the things your father is going to miss.”

“Can we come back for the birth?” Garrett asked. “The baby is due March twenty-seventh.”

“This house doesn’t have heat,” Beth said. “And it’s going to be tricky with school. I don’t even know when your spring break is.”

“Please?” Garrett said.

Beth handed him back the picture. “I guess we’ll figure something out,” she said.

With only two days before they were to leave, Beth became very busy. First, there was packing-and when Beth looked around the house, she saw things everywhere that had to be put into boxes. It overwhelmed her. She got up before dawn and made herself a pot of coffee. When Arch had come at the end of August, they used to awaken early all the time and watch the sun rise, brightening the water. It was Arch’s favorite time of day, the time when Nantucket, to him, seemed its most at ease.

Beth poured a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. She heard a groan, followed by the splintering noise she’d been fearing all summer, but before she could steady herself, the chair she was sitting on crashed to the ground. Beth hit the floor with a tremendous wallop-her whole body vibrated and there was a sharp pain in her right wrist. The surprise and the pain of it was enough to make her cry, but all Beth could think was that the ancient chair finally breaking was some kind of message from Arch. Things can fall out right from under you and you will survive. Beth picked herself up. Brilliantly, her coffee remained intact on the kitchen table. She took a long sip, then rotated her wrist a few times. It still worked.

She inspected the chair, wondering if it could be salvaged, but decided, in the end, it should go into the trash. Furniture was one of those things that could be replaced.

She left the house for a run before any of the kids got up, inhaling the air like she might never breathe again. She ingested the sight of the land-the flat blue pond, the green dunes, the gold sand, the ocean.

She didn’t want to leave.

Of course, she felt this way every August-but in previous Augusts, Arch had been around to help, and he was very matter-of-fact about packing up. He washed and vacuumed the car- three months of accumulated sand and grime from driving on these dirt roads-then he brought the empty boxes up from the basement and he packed while Beth cleaned. It took them twenty-four hours. Arch double-checked their reservation at the Steamship. They gave all of their perishables to Mrs. Colchester three houses down who stayed until Columbus Day; they ate their final dinner at the Brotherhood, locked the house, tucked the key under the mat, and left. Beth had been sad to leave since she was five years old, old enough to realize that the island had a soul that she loved as much as she loved a real, living person.

Why were they going back to New York?What waited for them there?The kids had another year of school, the most critical year. Beth had the apartment, her position on Danforth’s advisory board, a few friends who would allow her to be a third or fifth wheel at dinner parties. She had Kara Schau. She had her gym, her hairdresser, the best Chinese food in the world at the Jade Palace, the museums, which she rarely visited anymore, though she felt encouraged by their stately presence in her neighborhood. There was Arch’s mother, Vivian, on Fifty-ninth and Sutton Place, whom they would see once a month for a lunch of roast beef and watercress sandwiches. It was a bleak picture.

And then there was the matter of the baby. Beth marveled that she and David hadn’t ended up in the same pickle so many years ago-thinking back, she couldn’t remember what they had used for birth control. Beth felt sorry for Garrett and disappointed in both him and Piper, although she had to admit, Piper’s decision was mature and responsible. David and Rosie had raised her right, and Beth was mortified to discover that she herself felt much like Garrett-hoping for an abortion, hoping that the whole mess could just be swept under the rug. But no-there was to be a baby in March. Now that it was an undeniable fact, now that Beth had seen the ultrasound photo, her feelings changed. That baby was her grandchild. The mere word made her gasp with disbelief-she was far too young!-but it was true. The baby belonged to all of them. It whispered in Beth’s ear, begging her to stay.

She packed the kitchen and the dining room, leaving only breakfast things. They got sandwiches from Something Natural for lunch and ate strange combinations of leftovers for dinner. The kids were good about helping-they gave Beth their clothes for one final wash and she did all of the beach towels except for two, since Winnie and Marcus wanted to swim right up until the final morning. Beth packed up her room and started cleaning. She dusted every surface in the house with a rag, then bleach and water. She vacuumed all the floors and had Winnie beat the rugs. As long as there were tasks still ahead of her, she had time left. And so she took out all of the screens and sprayed them down with the hose; she rinsed all of the deck furniture. She went into town and bought an approximate match of the kitchen chair she had broken. She delivered a big bag of perishables to Mrs. Colchester, and because the woman wasn’t home, Beth left the bag on the front porch with a note that said, “Another summer ending!”

Then, with less than a day left-they were leaving on the 9:30 boat the next morning-Beth decided to broach the topic with the twins that gnawed at her insides. She couldn’t leave the island without doing so.

She found Garrett in his room neatly folding shirts and shorts and putting them in his suitcase, but Winnie had to be called up from the beach. Beth promised Marcus, “I’ll only borrow her for a few minutes.” Once she had the twins in the same place, the upstairs hallway, as it happened, she took a deep breath.

“I need you to show me the place where you put Daddy’s ashes,” she said.

They nodded, as though this request were long overdue. Gar-rett abandoned his packing and Winnie yelled from the edge of the deck to Marcus. “I have this thing to do. I’ll be back in a little while.”

The three of them walked silently out to the Rover, where Beth climbed into the backseat. It was late afternoon, sunny, a gorgeous day in early September. Garrett sailed up the Polpis Road, a section of Nantucket Beth had always found beautiful, with handsome homes along the road, and winding dirt roads that led to either the harbor or the moors. She studied the backs of the twins’ heads. There was something odd about sitting in the backseat while they drove. It was the role reversal-years and years had passed with Arch and Beth up front and the kids in the back. Beth supposed she should be sad, but what she felt was freedom. She didn’t have to be responsible; she could let them lead the way.

With them facing forward, it was also easier for her to bring up the crazy idea that had been festering in her head the past few days.

“What if we stayed?” she said.

Garrett reached for the volume knob of the radio and turned it down. “Did you say something, Mom?”

Beth cleared her throat. “I did. I asked you, What if we stayed?”

Winnie turned her head, though not far enough to meet Beth’s eyes. “Stayed where?”

“Stayed on Nantucket. This year. What would you think?”

“No way,” Garrett said.

“You could go to Nantucket High School,” Beth said. “We could get heat for the house. A furnace! And we’ll put in a phone. When the baby is born, I could take care of him or her. Piper wouldn’t have to put the baby up for adoption. I mean, you guys will be going to college next year, anyway, and I could, you know, live on Nantucket and raise the baby.” Her voice gained strength and conviction, like the plan was a dream she was remembering more vividly as she kept talking. Raise the baby herself, of course! With occasional help from David. Piper and Garrett could visit all the time, whenever they wanted, but their baby would be like a much younger sibling instead of their child. It would be a real Nantucket baby, who would grow up in Horizon, the fifth generation of Beth’s family to sleep under its roof. The idea of the baby, the bassinet, the stroller Beth would push while jogging, the outfits she still had from when Winnie and Garrett were young, the wooden toys, the silver spoon that would deliver pureed pears and sweet potatoes into the tiny pink mouth-it all sounded so superior to returning to New York that Beth was crushed when Winnie snapped her fingers and said, “Mom! Earth to Mom! Return to reality!”

“The baby is going to be put up for adoption,” Garrett said.

“And we’re going back to New York,” Winnie said. “That’s where we live.”

“But your father-”

“Dad would want us to go back to New York,” Garrett said. “And finish at Danforth.”

“Is here,” Beth said. “Your father is here.”

As if on cue, Garrett hit the turn signal and directed the car down the road to Quidnet. Beth sealed her mouth. She was losing her mind. Stay on Nantucket?Keep the baby?She was talking nonsense. She was trying to make these minutes in the car be about something other than what they were really about. They were really about going to see the place where Arch’s ashes were scattered. Thinking about the ashes meant thinking about the decision to cremate, those wretched days in the apartment with all the people drinking coffee and preparing Beth sandwiches that she couldn’t possibly eat. It meant thinking about the day the doorman called up to say she’d received a package and opening the box that contained the urn, sent to her via UPS like it was something she’d ordered from a catalog.

Garrett drove through a thicket of trees and then Beth saw a meadow and on the far side of the meadow, the harbor. The water shimmered in the late afternoon sun. Garrett pulled over. He opened the door and helped Beth out like she was an invalid.

“This is it,” Garrett said.

She couldn’t have wished for a more beautiful spot. It was flat and calm and quiet. It was everything a final resting place should be.

“All these years on Nantucket,” she said. “And I’ve never been here.”

“Dad and I discovered it,” Garrett said proudly.

Winnie and Garrett each took one of Beth’s hands and the three of them stepped out into the meadow. Beth bowed her head. Thank you, she said-to God or to Arch, she wasn’t sure- thank you for this, the most awful summer of our lives. As crazy and gut-wrenching as it was, we made it. We are stronger. We are closer. We are still standing here, together, a family.

To her children, she said, “When I die, will you bring my remains here?Will you put me here with Daddy?”

Winnie rested her head on Beth’s shoulder. “We don’t want you to die.”

“But when I do…”

“We’ll bring you here,” Garrett promised.

The next morning, Beth woke at six and went downstairs to tend to the last details of leaving: a note for Carl Drake, the caretaker, breakfast for the kids, all of the trash taken out. Beth looked at the ocean as often as she could. Impossible to believe that tomorrow it would be Park Avenue. But that, really, was the story of her life.

Marcus was the first one to come down.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he whispered. He was wearing the same white oxford cloth shirt he’d worn the day they arrived-Beth didn’t recall seeing it at any other time this summer. She closed her eyes and remembered opening the door to their apartment in New York and finding Marcus there, wearing this shirt, carrying his black leather duffel bag, which now was packed and waiting at the bottom of the stairs. The son of Constance Bennett Tyler, convicted murderer. But he was more than that, as Arch had promised. This was a fine young man- smart, considerate, good in a way that so few people were good anymore. When Beth opened her eyes, she realized how much she would miss him. He had become like a third child to her.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Beth asked. She wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that-all she knew was that she wanted to make the rest of Marcus’s life easier for him, as easy as his days on the beach here had been.

Marcus wondered if Winnie had said anything to Beth about the five hundred dollars, because her words sounded like an offer of money. But he’d already made up his mind to get a job as soon as he returned to Queens. He sat down at the kitchen table and let Beth pour milk on his cereal. “There’s no way I can thank you for this summer,” he said. “This summer saved me.”

“Oh, Marcus.”

“It gave me peace. And it gave me love.”

“Well, you gave us things, too, you know,” Beth said. “You gave us yourself.”

“That doesn’t seem like much in comparison,” he said.

Except it was. At that moment, Beth understood that Arch hadn’t invited Marcus to Nantucket for only Marcus’s sake. Arch had invited Marcus to Nantucket for all their sakes-Beth’s, Gar-rett’s, Winnie’s-so they could learn from him about character. About how to rise above.

“You have to promise to come see us,” Beth said. “You have to promise to let us know how you’re doing.”

“I will.” He dug into his cereal with gusto. All summer, Beth had loved to watch him eat because he was so enthusiastic about the food she put in front of him. She remembered with an ache in her throat the way he’d tied the bib around his neck before eating his first lobster. It was going to be a huge loss to have him leave their midst. She would wonder about him all the time; she would worry.

“We’re coming back here in March or April, when the baby is born,” she said. “Just for a week or so. Will you come back with us then?”

“I don’t know if Garrett wants me here,” Marcus said. “He might just want family.”

“Marcus,” Beth said. “You are family.”

Marcus smiled, gracing the room with his dimples. Beth could tell he felt as she did-that as long as there was a bright spot on the horizon, they might make it successfully through today.

“Sure,” he said.

And so they went: out to the car, which was packed to the top, once again. Garrett sat up front and Winnie and Marcus climbed in the back. Beth stood in the front door-first looking at the car and then turning and looking at the empty house.

“See you in the spring,” she said.

She locked the door and tucked the key under the mat.

The scene at Steamship Wharf was as chaotic as one would expect for Labor Day weekend. The standby line was twenty cars deep. Beth was grateful for her reservation. She pulled into a spot for ticketed cars and let the engine idle. They still had a few minutes before boarding.

“Do any of you want to use the bathroom before we get on the boat?” she asked.

No response. In her rearview mirror, she saw Winnie asleep on Marcus’s shoulder. Garrett was in outer space somewhere, and who could blame him?

A few minutes later, the car in front of theirs inched forward in anticipation. Beth herself was exhausted-she wanted to get the car onto the boat, then pull a pillow out of the back and sleep for an hour. The drive home was always so draining, followed by the torturous business of delivering Marcus to Queens, then unloading all of the stuff from the back of the car and hauling it onto the freight elevator of their building. How would she ever make it through the day?

Finally it was her turn to go. A steamship worker with a grizzled beard motioned her forward. Just before Beth drove up the ramp onto the boat, she saw David’s van and then David himself sitting on the bumper. Wearing khaki shorts, a green polo shirt, the flip-flops, sunglasses. Grinning at her, he lifted his coffee cup in her direction-a toast.

There was no point in analyzing why she felt so happy to see him or how touched she was that he found time in his day to see them off, or how safe she suddenly knew she was-there was someone in the world who cared for her, who probably even loved her, and who would be here on island, waiting, the next time she returned. For now, David was what she needed most: he was her friend.

She decided not to wave; she didn’t want the kids to notice him. He wasn’t there for the kids, anyway; he was there for her. Beth did put down her window and turn her face in his direction. She wanted to give him something to hold on to while she was gone-the memory of her smile, warmed by the summer sun.