her arm in mine and pull me to the two-seater swing on the porch, another spot well documented in the Clayton family photos.
I got there in no time at all. The house was exactly as I’d imagined it. Rose-covered trellis, soft inviting lawn with a garden, bushes with big flowers lining the front of the house, a wraparound porch with beach towels hung over the railing to dry, two bicycles leaning against the garage, a wood-paneled Wagoneer parked in the driveway (the land yacht, Zack called it).
I knocked. Jules answered the door right away. Her hair was up and she had on makeup.
“Ta-da,” I said, and stretched out my arms.
“What?” She blinked. She wore new earrings. Dangly ones.
“It’s me, Cricket,” I said. I wondered if in her grief she’d forgotten who I was.
“I know,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m living here. I got a job and a place to stay and everything!” I said, holding my arms open like Jules might jump into them. But she just stood there in the doorway with a blank face. I put my hands in my pockets. “I’m a chambermaid.” God, it sounded so weird.
“Oh.” She stepped outside and shut the door behind her, switching on a light that hung above the door. “Where?”
“The Cranberry Inn?” Jules shook her head, didn’t know it. “It’s so close. It’s practically around the corner.”
“Wow.” She smiled, but it looked like it hurt.
“So this is the famous Nantucket house,” I said, taking a few steps backward. The damp grass brushed my ankles. The light bulb buzzed inside its glass walls. Dark moths fluttered around it. The sky above was filled with stars. I breathed in the night air. “It’s beautiful.”
She nodded and sat on one of the benches. I sat across from her, tucking my hands under my thighs. She was quiet, so I just started talking. I told her about the bus ride to Boston and the Lucas kid. I told her about Gavin in his hippie pants, and Liz’s accent. I told her about my room at the Cranberry Inn, the slanted ceiling, the tiny dresser and the little window, the front door that was never locked. I told her that it took me less than five minutes to get to her house from there. I talked so much my mouth was dry; she didn’t say anything back.
“I completely understand why you can’t have any houseguests this summer,” I said. “I mean, of course. But I figured this way I could be here for you. If you need me at any time, you just call out my name, that kind of thing.”
“Thanks,” she said, staring past me. She crossed her legs and pulled out a cigarette. I tried not to act surprised. We’d only smoked once before. It was in her basement. It felt terrible, like breathing exhaust from an old school bus, and it made me nauseous and lightheaded. Nina smelled the smoke from the garage, where she’d been doing one of her projects—something with a sawhorse. She ran into the basement saying no, no, no, and waving a broom in a way that was unintentionally hilarious.
Later, she’d sat us down for a serious chat, showing us pictures on the Internet of black, shriveled lungs and faces so wrinkled they looked like they were made of corduroy. I hadn’t had a cigarette since then, but Jules was smoking like she knew how, tapping her finger on the end so that ash fell like snow into a Coke can. The beach towels on the porch rail stirred in the breeze.
“Want one?” she asked. I shook my head.
“Where’s your dad?” I asked.
“At the Club Car.” I nodded as if I knew what this meant. I heard someone laughing inside the house—a girl.
“Who’s here?” I asked.
“Zack and this girl.”
“Who is it?” As far as I knew, Zack hadn’t ever really had a girlfriend. There was Valerie, a French girl he’d met on a ski trip to Vail, but after a few weeks of video chatting, she’d sent Zack a dramatic e-mail and moved on. He wouldn’t eat french fries for a month, and all French words were banned from the house, including omelet, perfume, and champagne.
“This girl out here,” Jules said. She dropped her cigarette into the Coke can. It hissed.
“Cool. Hey, have you seen Jay?” I asked. “He said he was a lifeguard at Surfer’s Beach.”
“Surfside,” Jules said. “And, yeah, I saw him last night.”
“How’d he look?” Was he with anyone? Did he ask about