and flipped the page. She shuddered. She braced for him to
do it again, put his fingers to his mouth after touching the
dirty newspaper. But something caught her eye. A jolt in her
chest like her heart had been hooked and yanked upward.
She leaned forward. The man lowered the page and eyed her
with irritation.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, sitting back. She was surprised by
how steady her voice sounded. “Would you mind if… Can I
see that for one quick sec?”
He raised an eyebrow, reluctantly handed her the paper.
She looked closer at the picture in the ad, checked the date.
She felt her face animate with shock. It couldn’t be her. Could it? But it was. She was almost certain. She was definitely certain. It had to be a sign. Right? That she should see this now, when she was once again at a fork, uncertain if she was going in the right direction. It was the most perfectly obvious sign imaginable, really. No room for doubt. She sat with this, her body vibrating. It was energy coursing through her, unfamiliar, long lost. She recognized it now—hope. The train pulled
in to East Hampton. She got up, paper clutched in one hand,
bag in the other, and ran for the door.
“Hey, you can’t just take that,” the man shouted after her.
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She stepped out into sunlight, warm and welcoming. In-
stantly she felt relief. For once she was not exhausted. She was exhilarated. She was free from worry. Because finally, finally a certainty. A sign. A direction.
She called the girls but no one was picking up—they were
probably at the beach, their phones in their bags. She couldn’t bear to wait for a train. She flagged a waiting cab, threw her bag in the back seat, gave the driver the address. It was so
strange to be going back the way she’d just come, like the
world was a movie on rewind, only more vivid, everything
sharp and immediate. What if she was being foolish? Well, of
course she was! And yet. Despite the irrationality of it all—a psychic, my God—she had that rare, too-rare feeling, that gut instinct of rightness. And wasn’t it true that life sometimes did that? Just put something in front of you that was too un-canny, too coincidental, too perfect to deny. The whole way
back she kept looking at the newspaper page in her hand, en-
ergy thrumming inside her as she played back the random cir-
cumstances that led her to see it just when she needed it most.
These were the kind of moments that could almost make her
believe in God. Or in something anyway.
The cab pulled up to the house and she handed cash to the
driver and climbed out. The girls weren’t there, just as she
expected. She changed into her suit, slathered on a thick ap-
plication of sunscreen, a cover-up over that, then ran to the beach, clutching her giant hat, her flip-flops nipping at her heels. She couldn’t wait to surprise her friends.
She dodged cars going in and out of the parking lot, then
reached the edge of the sand. She scanned the beach, body after body; so many bodies that they became indistinguishable from
one another, just masses of pink and bronze skin and bright-
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colored bathing suits merging into a mosaic. She turned and
turned, shielded her eyes against the glare. A clench in her
gut. It was hot in a violent way, like being stalked by the sun, no refuge anywhere. She wobbled toward the water, checking every face. Two teenage girls eyed her hat as they passed.
“I wonder if she gets Netflix with that thing,” she heard
one of them say before they both burst out laughing.
Oh whatever! she thought. Enjoy your premature aging!
She tried Maya’s cell phone. Listened for her ringtone
among the chattering throngs. Nothing. She’d been so stu-
pid to think she’d be able to find them on such a crowded
beach. Now what was she going to do? This was a mistake.
Maybe that ad for the psychic hadn’t been a sign after all. The clench in her gut deepened.
She was about to give up when she heard “Hannah?!”
She turned and there was Renee holding a half-eaten ice
cream bar. Her whole body loosened. “Renee? What are you
doing here? I thought you were going home.”
“I thought the same of you.”
Blue and Maya came up behind Renee, looking slightly
shocked.
“There you are,” Hannah said. “I thought I’d never find
you guys!”
“You’re kind of hard to miss,” Maya said. “Only person on
the beach in a lamp shade.”
“Is everything okay?” Blue said. “Did you come back for
your book?”
“She didn’t come back for her stupid book,” Maya said.
“She couldn’t stand being away from me!”
“Exactly,” Hannah said cheerfully.
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“But seriously…” Renee said. “What happened? Didn’t you
get on the train?”
“Yes,” Hannah said, “I got all the way to East Hampton,
but, well, this guy who got on in Amagansett…”
“Ooh, a guy?” Maya said.
The girls were rapt with attention.
As Hannah looked into their faces, she was suddenly unsure
that her explanation would be received in the way she hoped.
Her friends were not exactly open-minded about such things.
They’d think she was unhinged. Well, they already did. But
they would laugh at her, make a joke of it, unwittingly rob her of that feeling of rightness. They didn’t know how the oracle’s words had haunted her all these years, wouldn’t understand
how much she needed to see her again, assess whether she was
real or a fraud who had made a lucky guess. She couldn’t do
it, couldn’t risk her hope being punctured. “I just changed my mind, that’s all. I was on the train and I realized this is what I want…to be with you guys.” As soon as she said it, she had
a sickening thought. “It’s okay, right?”
“No, we already rented out your bed,” Maya said. “Of
course it’s okay, dork! I mean, it would’ve saved us a morn-
ing of moping around if you hadn’t left in the first place, but it hasn’t seemed right since.”
Hannah grinned and they led her back to their umbrella.
“Oh, and guess what?” She tried to sound super casual. “That
fair is in town again. That one we went to last time, remem-
ber? I saw an ad in the paper. We should totally go…”
“That dinky little kids’ fair in Bridgehampton?” Maya said.
“Remember how fun it was? We can get another photo
booth pic. Pet the llama?”
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“That fucking llama spit on me, thanks for reminding me,”
Maya said.
“I’d go back just on the off chance that happens again,”
Blue said.
Hannah bit her lip. Worry seeped in. What if they refused
to go? She couldn’t go alone! “We’re supposed to be re-cre-
ating the trip, r
ight?” she tried. “That’s the whole idea. Unless you’re too old.”
“I am not old,” Maya said.
“Okay, good, because the thing is…tonight’s the last night.”
Her friends looked at one another dubiously. Clearly none
of them wanted to go.
Hannah’s spirits crashed. She had not anticipated this. Her
eyes welled behind her sunglasses. She caught Maya looking
at her.
“You know what?” Maya said. “You’re right. Of course
we should go! I literally can’t imagine anything more fun.”
“Really?” Blue said. “Not one thing?”
“It’ll be great,” Maya said. She widened her eyes and nod-
ded slightly in Hannah’s direction as if to suggest they were dealing with an unstable person and should play along.
For once Hannah didn’t mind the characterization.
“Blue can’t go,” Renee said. “She has her date.”
“Date?” Hannah said. “What date?”
“See what you miss when you leave,” Maya said. “Okay, so
Blue will tragically have to forego the face painting and the ring toss for a raging party and a hot man.”
“I’ll just come with you guys,” Blue said.
“What?” Renee said. “Why?”
Blue shrugged and smiled but her eyes looked sad. Some-
thing unspoken passed between her and Renee.
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Renee frowned, seemed to pause carefully before speaking.
“If you want… I could stay. Go with you to the Surf Lodge.
Just so you don’t have to go alone, I mean. Maya and Hannah
could meet us after. If it would make you more comfortable…”
Blue folded her arms, shrugged like an angsty teenager.
“That would be fine, I guess.”
Even Hannah could see that Blue was relieved. She glanced
back and forth between them. “I have questions,” she said.
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MAYA
Back from the beach and freshly showered, Maya grabbed the
car keys from the kitchen counter and stepped into her flip-
f lops. Blue was upstairs. Renee in the hammock. Hannah
pacing the driveway.
Early evening had arrived in its slow summer way, the sun
powering down to a small fading glow, the sky settling soft and gray and melancholy as old age. Maya pushed out the screen
door, singing “Scarborough Fair” but cleverly, she thought,
changing the lyrics to “Bridgehampton Fair.” She sang with
real zest and, as far as she was concerned, raw, undeniable talent, trying to work herself into excitement for their carnival adventure. It wasn’t as promising as a night at Surf Lodge, but what did it matter? Hannah was back! Renee was staying and
she and Blue were going out together, just the two of them!
Her plan was finally working. She sang louder.
Hannah shot her a pained look, covered her ears.
“Jealous,” Maya said.
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They got in the car and Maya started the engine. “So…
give me the real deal on why you came back. And why you
want to go to the fair. This is about the cotton candy, isn’t it?”
Hannah laughed.
Maya eyed her. “Spill,” she said.
“Huh?”
“I don’t buy that you just changed your mind on the train
out of nowhere. I know you.” She backed the car out of the
driveway.
Hannah bit her lip, looked out the window. “You’ll make
fun of me.”
“Probably. But tell me anyway.”
Hannah shifted to face her. “Remember last time? That
psychic we went to?”
Maya thought. “Vaguely. Called herself Oracle something?”
“Oracle Lauren. She’s there. Tonight. I want to see her.”
“You came back to see a carnival psychic? I don’t get it.”
“Because she predicted everything…that night. The fork in
the road. The decision to go to Henry’s. Everything.” Han-
nah looked at her earnestly.
“Hmm,” Maya said. She’d thought that Hannah’s return
was a positive sign, one of growth, but now she was a bit worried that psychics might be a new manifestation of Hannah’s
neurosis. She’d seen that kind of thing happen before. A per-
fectly normal girl she’d once worked with had moved to Los
Angeles and returned with a suitcase full of crystals, a self-diagnosed gluten allergy and a boyfriend who channeled fair-
ies. It had all started with a tarot card reading on the Venice Beach Boardwalk. “Okay. Well, can I ask you something?”
“That depends,” Hannah said. “Is it a real question or just
a setup for you to give me unsolicited advice?”
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Maya considered this. “Maybe both?”
Hannah sighed. “Go.”
“What are you hoping to get out of this? Would you rather
find out what happened was inevitable? Or…”
“I’d rather it never happened.”
“But she can’t give you that.”
“I know,” Hannah snapped. She sat back and leaned her
head against the side window. “I know that,” she said again,
quietly. “I just need to know if she’s for real. And I know she probably isn’t… I just need to know for sure because of the
things she said…if it was just a lucky guess…or if there was
something I could have done to change it. And if somehow
she is real—”
“Then she can tell you if Henry will ever wake up.”
Their eyes met.
“Yes,” Hannah said.
Maya felt a small ache, almost like a bruise, in her solar
plexus. She wanted to say “I can answer that.” She wanted
to say “No, he won’t wake up,” because she was certain that
he wouldn’t. But then, what made her so sure? Miracles hap-
pened. Medicine really was advancing every day—she’d seen
that firsthand at work. It was just that to wait for either of those things meant sitting every day for twelve years in failed hope with no end in sight. Maya preferred to cut her losses.
Snip, snip, just like her relationships. Get ahead of the letdowns and inevitable goodbyes. Now she considered that maybe false
hope and no hope were two sides of the same coin—a way to
avoid the uncomfortable ambiguity of uncertainty.
The traffic was crawling as they neared town. The shadow
of that night hitchhiking along, creating a dusky gloom inside her. “What if you knew there was something you could’ve
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done differently?” she said. “Something that would’ve stopped it from ever happening?”
Hannah looked stricken.
“Hypothetically. I’m not saying you did—you didn’t. I’m just saying what if. Like, if you knew you messed up. If you
were sure it was your fault. Could you ever forgive yourself?”
There was something wrong with her voice. It sounded strange
to her own ears.
“I don’t understand why you’re asking me this.”
“Forget it,” Maya said. “Dumb question. We should def-
initely talk about something else.” This was why she never
wanted to talk about Henry. It made her blood move too
fast, like she was dangling over the edge of a steep precipice, a dark swallow below.
“Would you?” Hannah said after a long silence. “Forgive
yourself?”
“I don’t know,” Maya said. “I don’t know if you’re sup-
posed to.”
They were both quiet for a moment.
“Anyway,” Maya said. “It wasn’t either of our faults, so no
need to think about it. Those dirtbags are rotting away in
prison—right where they belong.”
“Yeah,” Hannah said. “If only that made me feel better. I
mean…obviously I’d feel worse if they weren’t, but…”
“It doesn’t change anything.”
“Exactly. Yeah.” She bit at a cuticle, stared off. “Do you
ever think about the fact that they’ll be eligible for parole in a few years?”
They shared a loaded look.
“No,” Maya lied. Sometimes the thought ambushed her
in the most random places—at work or the grocery store or
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standing in her kitchen. She’d feel a prickle in her spine and she’d turn suddenly, half expecting to find them standing
there, a gun in her face. She knew it was irrational. Blue kept frequent tabs on their parole status and the lawyers had assured them they’d be unlikely recipients of early release based on
their long rap sheets. But still, the possibility shadowed her.
“It’s not happening, trust me.”
Hannah nodded, worried her lip.
“And even if it did, it’s not like they’d come looking for us.
It wasn’t some personal vendetta. It was meth.”
“True,” Hannah said, though she hardly looked reassured.
“Hey, I’ve been wondering about something. Do you know
why Blue’s shirt was bloody that night?”
“Huh?” Maya took a sip from her water bottle, trying to
wash away the black feeling. She really, really wanted to change the subject. But how many times had she done that on Hannah? It wasn’t fair.
“I had a memory of Blue from that night. Her sweatshirt
was ripped and bloody,” Hannah said.
Maya shook her head. Tried to recall—or rather found her-
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