please?”
She faced me and I saw fear. It occurred to me for the first time that perhaps my mother was afraid of Charles dying. Perhaps it was the thought of being left alone—of being widowed at such a young age—that had driven her into Ben’s arms in the first place. I knew she had genuinely loved Charles when they first met and that she still cared for him now.
“You and Ben are more obvious than you realize. I see things a bit more clearly, having been gone for so long. I’m telling you, Charles suspects. Please be more careful,” I begged. “And please, please do not tell anyone else. Too many people know already.”
“Well, if you hadn’t gone rogue on me, gallivanting all over the place,” my mother said, attempting humor, “I wouldn’t have had to find new confidants.”
“Stop,” I said again. “I’m worried. Charles is not an idiot. You need to think about his feelings.”
“Fine,” she said. “Go whitebait without me.”
* * *
Ankle-deep in warm water, Ben and I stretched the net, each holding a pole, and pulled it taut. The bottom of the weave was studded with small weights, the top with floats. We walked out a few feet until the water came to our thighs, and then I anchored my pole in the sand, holding it at the base, so one shoulder dipped low and my head tilted sideways, my cheek skimming the surface of the water. Ben, also hunched over, scraped his pole along the sandy bottom, making a large arc around me, the net billowing out from us like a sail.
He traveled a bit more than 180 degrees and said, “Ready.”
On the count of three, we flipped our poles parallel to the water’s surface and scooped up the net, raising hundreds of minnows as the ocean spilled out. The ensnared fish flopped helplessly, tiny gills snapping open and shut. We made our way back to shore, where we’d left a bucket filled with ocean water.
“Spectacular catch,” Ben said, delighted. He dropped to his knees and started separating the silver-sided whitebait from the ordinary chum, placing the former in the bucket and tossing the latter over his shoulder, back into the bay. “You just never know what’s lurking beneath the surface.”
“Ben, I need to ask you something.” I had grown more confident in the year away. My voice was strong and did not waver.
He nodded for me to continue but didn’t look up, fully absorbed in his task.
“Does Charles know about you and Mom?”
Ben’s rhythm shifted and he slowed down, possibly giving himself time to consider my question. When his sorting was done, he rose to his feet and hauled the empty net back to the water, motioning for me to join him. I did and we stretched the net to its full length and flipped it over, dunking each side into the harbor to remove stray strands of seaweed.
“The truth is,” Ben said slowly, “he confronted me in the spring.”
My heart sank. “What made him suspicious?”
“He didn’t say,” Ben said, shrugging. “He must have just sensed something.”
We walked back to shore.
“I denied it, of course. And Charles believed me, I’m sure of that.” Ben plucked off some bits of brown mung as he rolled his end of the net toward me. “In fact, after that, he felt bad for asking and apologized. It’s not exactly a small accusation.”
I took this in. Ben was wounded that his best friend could have come to such a terrible conclusion, and Charles felt guilty for having made the accusation. Both men knew the truth but fervently preferred the lie.
“Did you tell Mom about it?”
Ben shook his head.
Peter came up behind us with a close friend of mine whom he’d started dating. They were headed out for an afternoon marsh ride and later to a cookout and bonfire on the outer beach.
“What did you catch?” my friend asked, peering into the bucket. We acted as if there were nothing unusual about her having plans with Peter that didn’t include me.
“Whitebait,” I said. “Ever had them?”
Her nose wrinkled. “They’re so small. How do you clean them?”
“You don’t. You eat them whole—guts, head, bones, and everything. Nauset French fries,” Peter answered for me. Then, eager to get on the water, he said, “Let’s go.”
I watched as they clambered first into my brother’s dinghy and then onto his boat, Peter at the stern, my friend in the fore. I wondered if Peter, too, had guessed about my mother and Ben. That might explain