Renn drives his red Wrangler, both of our surfboards secured on the roof rack. The windows are rolled down. His red-blond curls dance across his forehead. The brine and salt and the mouthwatering scents of morning pastries anchor me back to our childhood. I think about Joe. What’s he doing right now? Who is he with? Sometimes I’m tempted to text him. But then I remember how much I’ve hurt him and think better of it.

“Are you seeing anyone right now?” I ask Renn. It is high time I take interest in my baby brother’s love life. Especially since he is not a baby anymore. Last time we spoke on the phone, he was in bed with someone who sounded way older.

“I’m seeing lots of people,” he says, evading the question.

“So you don’t have a girlfriend?”

He scratches his jaw. “A girlfriend? No.”

“But there must be someone,” I insist. “You’re being a smart-ass right now. If the answer was simple, you would’ve just said no.”

Renn rolls his eyes. “There is someone. But it’s not serious.”

“Why isn’t it serious?”

“That’s a question you should ask her husband.”

“Oh, Renn.” I gasp. I’m no prude, but this is pretty shocking. Renn sleeping with a married woman. Before he is even of drinking age. He is a good kid, with a good head on his shoulders. Why would he put himself in such a toxic situation?

“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you.” He takes a turn into the parking lot by the beach. “I knew you would jump to conclusions with Olympic leaps. It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“Explain it to me, then.” I fold my arms over my chest.

“She doesn’t nag or demand things from me. She’s not needy and doesn’t want me to go on double dates with her boring friends. She’s . . . more mature.”

“What’s more mature?” I ask. “Chronologically speaking. Give me an age.”

“Thirty—”

“Thirty!”

“. . . two.”

“Renn!” I slap his arm.

He laughs. “Don’t Renn me, sis. Her husband’s cheating on her. He started it first! He is some financial-analyst big shot whatever. Always away. Screws his assistant on the reg.”

“How’d you meet her?”

“She came in for surfing lessons last summer. Her therapist had told her that picking up a hobby in nature would do her good, since she is not ready to confront her husband about it. The way I see it, if he is not faithful—why should she be?”

“No. The way you should see it is—why should you put yourself in the middle of this explosive cluster?”

“I’m not in any cluster.” He kicks the Jeep into park, then shoves his door open. “It’s just harmless fun.”

“Harmful,” I counter. “For everyone involved. You included.”

Renn tsks. “We’re here.”