That night he barely slept, the image of the pale girl in the green bathing suit whipping through his mind like film through a projector. If she wasn’t at the beach the next day, then it was a sign that it wasn’t meant to be. But if she was there, then it would also be a sign.

The next morning he drove to the outlets in Kittery, where he bought himself a new bathing suit, plus a towel and a beach chair. After lunch back at his condo, he walked to the beach. The girl wasn’t where she was the day before, but he positioned himself nearby. He’d brought his Walkman with him, and a book. It’ll be a blessing, he thought, if she doesn’t show up. But she did show up midafternoon, the temperature tipping over ninety, in a different suit, a black bikini this time. He hadn’t seen her with dry hair and was shocked by how blond it was, straw colored almost, hair color that only the very young possess. She found an empty spot less than ten yards away. She was close enough that he could see the fine white hairs on her arms.

He watched her all afternoon. Clouds built up in the sky during the evening hours, white and fluffy at first, but darkening. Soon there were distant rumbles of thunder, and a few fat drops of rain began to patter onto the sand. The girl packed up her things, peering with annoyance at the sky. After she left the beach, Jake made himself count to thirty before getting up and donning a Panama hat he’d brought in his beach bag. He left the chair where it was and scrambled up the wooden walkway to the road, just in time to see the girl turn off onto a side street. He followed her at a distance, the major rain holding off, and saw her enter a small, nice house. He noted the number as he walked past, then doubled back to the beach.