asks Sam quietly, so Annie doesn’t hear. “Because if there are, I’m getting out of the fucking water too.”
“Jaws was filmed in Menemsha,” I say. “Which is not very far.” Sam looks terrified and starts to move toward shore. “Jaws also featured a mechanical shark. We are fine. Anyway, the sharks don’t come here. They’re all over in Sconset.”
“How on earth would you know that?”
“Because Julia told me never to go skinny-dipping there. It’s where they fish, so there are always sharks. Julia’s friends all used to come over to Galley Beach to swim at night. Much safer.”
“What about Steps Beach?” Sam looks around, worried.
“Safe. No fishing.”
“I think I’ll get out now anyway,” he says. “Isn’t it nearly time for lunch?”
Twenty-five
I take them both to Something Natural for lunch. The line is short, miracle of miracles, and we each order sandwiches, bags of chips, and Diet Coke—my one indulgence since getting sober—then go outside to sit at a picnic table, waiting for our name to be called. We watch families with kids play in the boat on the grass, feeling as if we are in the middle of the countryside, this field overlooking a wildflower meadow just beyond an old wooden split-rail fence.
I warn Sam and Annie about staying out of the sun, feeling suddenly like the mother of both. “Just because you spray-painted your skin dark bronze doesn’t mean you built up any protection,” I say to Sam. “You have to be careful. I think your shoulders are a fierce angry red underneath all the fake tan.”
“They are a bit sore,” he says, wincing as I press his skin to see the white mark left by my thumb. When I say white, I mean dark bronze, but a definite big change of color.
“You’re burnt to a crisp,” I say. “Why don’t we stay out of the sun for the rest of the afternoon? Maybe we should walk around town. You can buy a baseball hat to protect your face, because your cheeks are lobster red too.”
* * *
We leave Something Natural, stuffed from enormous sandwiches crammed with turkey, Swiss cheese, avocado, and fresh, juicy tomatoes, and go to town, weaving our way in and out of the stores, and I know where we are heading, I know we will eventually make our way down to the water, to the pretty little stores, in one of which sits, possibly, Julia. But the meeting this morning was the very best thing I could have done, and all of a sudden I am ready, ready to see her again, ready to say what I have to say and get on with the business of vacation.
Deep down I hope that Abigail is right. I hope this is an amends that Julia will have practically forgotten about. “Oh, we were so young!” she might say. “Aidan was a waster!” She will laugh. “You did me a favor!”
Or, “Who?”
We step onto the dock, and a wave of anxiety washes over me.
“Why don’t you take Annie for an ice cream?” I say, trying to communicate with my eyes that I need to do something important.
“Oh! Okay!” Sam says, steering Annie across the street as I walk down the dock, suddenly wishing I didn’t have to do this, knowing I have no choice.
There is her name above the shop. Julia Mayhew. It doesn’t surprise me that she has her own business, that she is probably successful. Julia struck me not only as creative but as scrappy. She was someone who could always manage to get herself out of trouble. Outside there are mannequins, pretty knitted shawls draped around their shoulders, in fine cashmere, lacy knits. I pick up one and marvel at the tiny stitches, at how beautiful and fine they are. Exquisite beaded necklaces, doubtless beaded by Julia herself, semiprecious gemstones studded with pearls, hang around the mannequins’ necks. I pick up a price tag from behind a neck, thinking I might buy one for myself, thinking how lovely it is, but it is thirteen hundred dollars, so clearly it is not destined for my neck.
The Haves and the Have Mores, I think. Good for Julia, recognizing she can charge this much, recognizing there will always be people who will pay. I look at the cashmere scarf. Nine hundred dollars. Good Lord.
The Haves and the Have Mores.
I hesitate outside, take a deep breath, and walk into the tiny shop, making eye contact with the girl behind the counter. She is not Julia. It may have been