But since moving to this tiny waterside town, her memories were multiplying, and they weren’t as hazy as before. They bumped into her at strange times—when she was stepping out of the shower or tying her shoes before work or filling yet another glass of lemonade behind the counter. Just the other night, she’d shot up out of bed with a flash of memory about her mother’s hair—blonde and curly, as far from Maya’s dark waves as possible. And her grandmother had had a bird. Maya laughed when she remembered. The bird was blue with a white head and it perched on Nana’s shoulder. Maya remembered the feel of the tiny claws on her forefinger when Cielo—that was his name!—would land there.

However, the memory that hit her yesterday at the diner had nothing to do with her mother or grandmother. She didn’t know what it was. She’d pushed open the kitchen doors and walked out, tray balanced on her shoulder, and approached the table in the back corner. A couple of the boys sitting there had already given her trouble, flirting in that familiar way that meant they cared nothing for her but everything about how they came off to their friends. She handed out the food and backed away as quickly as she could.

But when she saw the guy standing in line at the counter, she couldn’t move her feet. Tendrils wrapped around her ankles and snaked up her legs, rooting her in place and nearly snuffing out the air in her lungs as images cartwheeled through her mind: sand between her toes and a sweetness in her mouth. A boy with golden hair grabbing hold of her hand, his face hidden in shadow. The sensation of flying, with nothing but sparkling water all around.

They held each other’s gaze until Leroy behind the counter grew impatient and grabbed the guy’s attention. When he turned to give his order, Maya bolted back into the kitchen. As the doors swung shut behind her, she caught one with her hand, keeping a sliver of space open to peek out.

He stood in the middle of the diner, lemonade in hand, scanning the room. He was searching for her, she knew it. She waited until he gave up and walked out, then she released the lungful of air she’d been holding tight.

* * *

1981

For the year and a half that Trudy had been married to Jay, Violet had done as well as she could to hold tight to her promise to her mother—to look after Trudy, to take care of her, to protect her. It hadn’t been hard to do. She loved her sister; she’d do anything for her. And she’d come to hate Jay Malone.

Not long into their marriage, Jay took to disappearing for days at a time. Sometimes longer than that. He’d never tell Trudy where he was going. He’d just drive off, either by car or boat, and she wouldn’t hear from him until he decided it was time to traipse home again. Trudy told Violet—secretly, never when there was a chance he could overhear her talking about him—that sometimes he’d return and go on about his business like nothing had happened. Other times, though, he’d kiss her and tell her how much he missed her. But he still wouldn’t tell her where he’d been, who he’d been with, or when he might leave again.