by Nan Rossiter
“I’m going to find a heart stone for Mom,” Sailor announced.
“Me too,” Piper added.
“Me, three,” Easton said with a grin. “I need to make up for dropping the pickle jar.”
Whitney listened to their voices calling back and forth over the sound of the thundering surf and looked down the beach. People were still walking along the water, playing Frisbee, and fishing; there was even a small group sitting around a campfire, but it was definitely getting dark.
“Dad, can we build a campfire again sometime?” Easton asked.
“Yeah, that was fun,” Remy added.
“Sometime,” Whitney replied.
“Can we make s’mores, too?” Piper asked.
He nodded and switched on his flashlight. “Okay, so the rule is: Everyone stays away from the water,” he commanded, shining his flashlight onto each child’s face to confirm they understood. They all nodded, but as they walked toward the sound of the crashing waves, Whitney reached for Piper’s hand and felt an odd shadow fall across his heart. “East, I want you to hold Birdie’s hand.”
“Oh, Dad,” he protested. “I don’t need to hold hands.”
“Yes, you do.”
“How’m I going to hold my flashlight and my pail?”
“Birdie will hold your pail.”
Easton groaned. “I’m not a little kid anymore.”
“I know you’re not,” Whitney said.
“Don’t worry,” Birdie consoled her little brother. “We’ll work together and find the best heart stone.”
“Okay,” Easton said, his face brightening. He handed his pail to his sister, switched on his flashlight, and reached for her hand, and as the small group trooped along the water’s edge, their bobbing flashlights looked like fireflies blinking in the darkness.
They walked in silence. The only sounds were the wind and the waves and the faint click of smooth stones and shells dropping into their pails. Twenty minutes later, Whitney looked back. The campfire was just a dancing flicker of gold, and the lighthouse looked as if it was miles away. “Time to head back,” he announced.
“Nooo,” Sailor protested.
“I haven’t found a heart stone yet,” Easton moaned.
“Five more minutes,” implored Remy.
“C’mon, Daddy, just a little farther,” Piper pleaded, pulling him along.
Whitney relented. “Okay. Five more minutes, but then we turn around. We still have to walk all the way back . . . and the tide’s coming in.”
Piper pulled him to a stop and bent down to examine a tiny gray stone that had been worn into the shape of a heart. “Look at this one!” she exclaimed. “It’s perfect!”
“Let me see,” Easton said, shining his flashlight onto her palm. He nodded and then lingered, searching the sand, hoping there might be another.
“C’mon, East,” Birdie said as the rest of the family’s flashlights bobbed away.
“Just a minute,” Easton said, pulling his hand free. He stepped closer to the water, and as he shone his flashlight onto a line of stones that had just washed in, a gentle wave circled his ankles and drifted out, pocketing his feet in cold, wet sand.
“Dad said to stay out of the water,” Birdie scolded.
“I’m fine,” he said, shining his flashlight onto another line of stones.
“C’mon, East. It’s dark and you’re too close to the waves.”
“Hang on,” he said, spying an aqua green stone glistening under the clear water. “I found one!” he shouted, but as he bent to pick it up, it tumbled away.
“Easton, let’s go,” Birdie commanded.
“Just a minute. I have to find it again,” he said, crouching down to search the swirling water.
Birdie started to walk away, but hearing a loud thundering sound, turned back. A huge wave was rumbling out of the darkness. “Easton, look out!” she shouted.
Easton looked up, saw a wall of water churning toward him, and started to stand, but before he reached his full height, the rogue wave crashed over him, pulling him under.
“Easton!” Birdie shouted, rushing into the surf, plunging her arms into the frigid, frothy water, and looking around wildly, frantically searching . . . searching . . . praying for him to reappear. . . but there was no sign of him anywhere. She felt a powerful undertow wrap around her legs and try to pull her out to sea as swirling sand rushed from beneath her feet.
“Easton, where are you?” she screamed again and again, the icy fingers of terror gripping her heart. “Da-ad!” she cried, looking down the dark beach, but her voice was drowned by the wind and the crashing waves.
“Oh, God, help me!” she pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks.
CHAPTER 54
Piper climbed onto the stepladder she’d just carried up two flights of stairs and, feeling slightly winded, reached up to unscrew the bulb in the rafters. “Oh my goodness! I’m more out of shape than I thought!” She screwed in the new bulb and discovered that having her arms over her head made her feel even more out of breath. “We need to get out running again,” she told Chloe—who had followed her up the stairs and was now nosing around the dusty, cluttered attic. She climbed down and pulled on the string, and the new bulb flickered to life. “And there was light!” Piper said, smiling.
She set the dead bulb on a table near the door and made her way through the maze of boxes to her mom’s hope chest. She lifted the top and the familiar scent of cedar drifted out. She carefully removed the tray of beads and the stack of letters tied together with faded red ribbon, picked up the stack of sweaters, and lifted out the old photo album. When she opened it, the photo of the five of them in front of Nauset Light—the one in which they had their arms around each other—was on top. She gazed at it and then put it on her dad’s old mission chair. She closed the album and started to put it back, but then a small white and blue baseball cap tucked down between the sweaters caught her eye. She pulled it out and ran her fingers lightly over the faded red felt B stitched on the front.
“Mom? Are you up here?”
In the back of her mind, Piper heard Elias coming up the stairs. “Hey,” he said, standing in the doorway. “Do you know where the . . . Sheesh! There’s a lot of stuff up here.” He started to pick his way through the boxes. “Mom?” he said softly. “What’s the matter?” He came up behind her and looked over her shoulder. “Hey, that’s a cool cap. Whose was it?”
Piper swallowed. “It was Easton’s.”
Elias frowned. “Your brother’s? He was a Red Sox fan?”
She nodded, pressing her lips together. “He was. He loved baseball . . . and he was wearing it that night. . . .”
“The night he died?” Elias asked.
Piper nodded again, the memory of the long-ago night rushing back to her as if it were yesterday . . . the memory of standing on the beach, shivering and crying and feeling utterly lost while her father and sister screamed in anguish.
“Did you know it was up here?”
Piper shook her head, fighting back tears.
Elias picked up the old photo she’d put on the chair and studied it. “Is this you?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Look how cute you were,” he teased, trying to get her to smile.
She laughed and brushed back her tears.
“And is this Easton?” he asked.
“It is. I always thought you looked like him when you were little.”
Elias nodded. “It’s such a great picture. I love how Aunt Sailor is making bunny ears behind Aunt Remy’s head—that is so typical,” he said, laughing.
“It is typical,” Piper agreed with a chuckle. “So Sailor.”
“What are you going to do with the cap?”
“Put it back,” she said, tucking it back in her mom’s hope chest.
Elias watched as she piled sweaters and letters and trays of beads on top of it and then shook his head. “My psychology professor would call that a classic example of literally burying a m
emory.”
“I’m not burying a memory,” Piper said defensively. “I just don’t have time right now. We have a lot of people coming this weekend.”
“Which reminds me—I came up here to see if you know where the trimmer is?”
“It should be in the shed or in the garage. Did you ask Dad?”
“He’s not here—he had to run up to the sanctuary.”
“He did? Doesn’t he know I need help here, especially since you guys are going to Boston tomorrow.”
“He said he’d be right back,” Elias said, picking up the album that was still sitting on a box. He slowly turned the pages. “Are these pictures of Grandma and Grandpa?”
Piper looked over his arm and nodded.
“How come you never showed them to me?”
“I don’t know . . . because I avoid coming up here.”
“I thought I got my height from Dad, but look at Grandpa—he was pretty tall.”
“Six-foot-two,” Piper said, nodding.
“Where’d they get married?” he asked, studying the beautiful, old wedding photos.
“In Boston.”
Elias looked at her thoughtfully. “Mom . . . how come you and Dad never got married?”
Piper smiled. “I was wondering if you were ever going to ask that question.”
“I’ve always wondered—it’s kind of odd to have parents who love each other and who’ve lived together but never married. All of my friends think you are married.”
“And how come you never told them we weren’t?”
“They never asked.”
“They never asked . . . and you never volunteered the information because you didn’t want them to know.”
“Maybe,” he said with a shrug.
Piper nodded. “Well, my dear, life is complicated . . . as are relationships—as I’m sure you’re figuring out. Your dad did ask me to marry him . . . on a couple of occasions, in fact, but I wasn’t ready. I guess I found the idea of being wholly committed to one person a bit frightening because . . . what if something happened? What if I lost him?
“But then, when I was pregnant with you, something changed—I felt that I was ready. I was so full of love for you . . . and he was part of you, and as I felt you growing inside me and my love growing for both of you, I began to think I was ready to take a chance, but then, your dad never asked again—I guess he was tired of being turned down.”
“How come you didn’t ask him?”
“That’s a good question,” she said, smiling, “and I don’t know the answer. Why don’t we go see if we can find that trimmer?”
Elias nodded, still holding the album. “Is it all right if I bring this downstairs so I can look at it some more?”
“Of course,” she said, tucking the black-and-white photo under her arm to take down, too.
CHAPTER 55
Sailor took a sip of her coffee and typed the word “all” into her search box. Before she’d even finished, though, Google had offered her several options. “Google, you know me better than I know myself,” she murmured, clicking on her favorite recipe site. She typed “summer salads” and then tapped the Enter button and began scrolling through a list of recipes, trying to find something fun to make besides her layered dip—which was a given—and the traditional tossed salad she always made with the maple dressing everyone loved. She glanced over at Mister Breeze, who was sunning himself in an adjacent chair. “What do you think, Breeze, potato or pasta?” He blinked indifferently and she smiled. “That’s okay. I’m just glad to have someone to talk to besides myself.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something move, and when she looked up, she realized the chipmunk was sitting perfectly still on the edge of the new birdbath she’d bought after she’d finished weeding and pruning the garden. “Hmm, what sinister plan are you plotting, mister?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously. “Another murder, perhaps? It’s hard to forget the taste of blood once you’ve had it, isn’t it?” She watched him for a few moments and then realized there was a mourning dove stretched out in the sun. Her eyes grew wide. “Oh no, you don’t!” she shouted, getting up and startling the chipmunk—who scurried away, and the mourning dove—who flew up, its wings whistling, warning the other birds to Flee! Flee! Within seconds, there was a mass exodus of flapping wings.
Mister Breeze sat up to see what all the commotion was about and she eyed him, too. “Don’t get any ideas,” she said warningly.
She looked back down at her screen and continued scrolling. “I’m thinking pasta,” she murmured, narrowing her search, “since I’m pretty sure Birdie will make potato salad.” Just as she said this, the Platters started playing on her phone and she looked down at the screen. “Speak of the devil,” she said, accepting the call. “Hey, Birdie,” she answered. “How’s David?” She nodded, listening. “Well, he better take it easy or he’ll end up back in the hospital. Mm-hmm . . . By the way, are you making Mom’s potato salad for the Fourth?” She nodded again. “I was just wondering because I know you have your hands full, and if you don’t have time, I’d be happy to make it.... Is he going to be able to come? . . . Okay, good . . . I’m glad . . . and make sure you bring Bailey, too.... Yes, I’ll talk to you soon.” She paused, listening, and then raised her eyebrows in surprise. “I love you, too,” she said, and as she ended the call, she tried to remember whether she’d ever heard Birdie say “I love you” to anyone before. “Maybe Bailey or Chloe,” she mused, smiling.
She returned to her search and finally settled on an old-fashioned macaroni salad that looked—and sounded—like the one her mom used to make. She took a sip of her coffee, reached for her pencil, and jotted down the ingredients she’d need for the weekend, and ten minutes later—after a trip to the bathroom—she slipped on her flip-flops. “Be back soon,” she called, thankful to have someone—even if it was just Mister Breeze—to say it to. She was almost out the door when she decided to hit the bathroom one last time, just in case. “I’m really leaving this time!” she called.
As Sailor turned onto Route 6, she heard the wail of sirens and looked in her rearview mirror but didn’t see any emergency vehicles. There were always so many sirens on the Cape—a day didn’t go by in the summer when she didn’t hear the haunting sound. She turned down her radio, realized the sirens were getting louder, and looked in her mirror again. This time, she saw flashing lights. She pulled over, waited for the ambulance out of Provincetown to speed by, and then pulled back onto the road, whispering a prayer—as she always did—for whoever needed help.
She turned the radio back on and heard the unmistakable beginning chords of “Don’t Let the Sun Catch You Crying” drift into her car. She shook her head and reached for the knob but then stopped. It had been a long time—fifty-two years, to be exact—since she’d listened to the melancholy lyrics of the song that had been a hit the summer she’d turned eleven. The song had been on the radio constantly that summer, and it had made her heart ache even more . . . because all she could do was cry.
She gazed out the window, listening to the lyrics, and allowing the memory of a long-ago summer night to fill her mind. She was back in her father’s wood-paneled Country Squire station wagon, and with the evening breeze drifting through the open windows, she and her siblings were singing along with Gerry & The Pacemakers at the top of their lungs . . . and even though she and her sisters couldn’t carry a tune, Easton had the voice of an angel—which was fitting, she thought sadly.
She looked out the window, remembering the events that had followed—walking along the beach looking for heart stones and her father looking back and realizing that Birdie and Easton weren’t with them. “We have to go back,” he’d said, picking up Piper and starting to run. “Remy,” he’d shouted, “hold Sailor’s hand!” And they’d run as fast as they could. She’d fallen twice, scraping her knees, and when they’d found Birdie, her father had pulled her up off the sand and shaken her, shouting, “Where is Easton? Why did you let go of his hand?�
� She could still hear the terror in his voice and she could still see Birdie motioning tearfully to the dark, pounding waves, and then Remy had pulled her younger sisters back from the water and squeezed their hands . . . and Piper had cried out, “Ouch, Remy, you’re hurting me. Where is Easton?”
Sailor bit her lip now and realized she could barely see the road through her tears. She pulled over and turned off the radio. It was still too much to bear....
CHAPTER 56
Early on Friday morning Nat and Elias loaded the sanctuary truck with supplies and drove to Boston to bring home the loggerhead turtle they’d rescued. She’d been treated with antibiotics and nutrient-rich foods, and although she would always have scars on her shell, the open wounds had healed. Piper went to the sanctuary with them and saw them off. Then she finished up some long-overdue reports she’d been putting off and headed to Stop&Shop to finish her food shopping for the weekend. She was in the deli section, perusing the pre-sliced deli meat and waiting for her number to be called, when she heard a familiar voice behind her. “Hey, girl! Fancy meeting you here!” She looked up and saw Sailor holding out a hot Starbucks coffee from the bakery section.
Piper gratefully took it and gave her sister a hug. “Oh my goodness, you’re a godsend! I wanted to get a coffee, but when I came in, the line was too long.”
“And you obviously didn’t see me in the long line,” Sailor teased, “but I saw you coming in all bleary-eyed!”
Piper laughed. “I am bleary-eyed! Nat and Elias left at four a.m. to go get the turtle, and I went in with them to help them get the truck ready to transport her.”
“When is the big day?”
“I’m not sure. Have you heard the forecast?”
“Yeah, it doesn’t sound good.”
Piper nodded. “That’s what I heard, too, although I think it’s supposed to clear by Sunday afternoon and Monday is supposed to be gorgeous . . . so maybe early Monday morning. Are you going to come?”
“I want to . . .”
“Oh, by the way, happy pub day . . . a little late! How’s the book doing?”
