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Chapters (82)
  1. Cover
  2. ALSO BY JAMIE BRENNER
  3. PART ONE
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. PART TWO
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. PART THREE
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. Acknowledgments
  81. About the Author
  82. What’s next onyour reading list?

When the man returned, he was trailed by a woman wearing a sarong in a batik print and who had long dirty-blond hair threaded with gray and a sun-weathered, makeup-free face. Was this her aunt? It was hard to believe this was the preppy little blond girl from the photo albums. The only clue that she was the eldest Pavlin sister was her blazing blue-green eyes.

“Aunt Celeste?” Gemma said, suddenly feeling like a little girl herself.

“Yes, yes—welcome! How was your trip in? Did you take the ferry?”

Gemma nodded.

Jack cleared his throat. “I’ll mind the shop if you two ladies want to take a walk.”

Celeste smiled at her. “Shall we? You can leave your bags here.”

19

Celeste found herself looking at the mirror image of her lost sister: the curtain of blond hair, the Cupid’s bow lips, the dramatic cheekbones.

She felt a wave of guilt and loss, the pain of a phantom limb she’d long since amputated. And then, a flash of irritation at the stranger standing before her who made her feel these things. She shook it away, disgusted at her selfishness.

“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” Gemma said.

“No problem at all,” Celeste said quickly. “I’m glad you looked me up.”

They waited for cyclists to pass by and then scooted across Commercial. Music blared from somewhere, the Madonna song “Holiday.” The source of the music approached: an open-topped Jeep filled with three men who rented the same house on Commercial every summer.

“Hi, boys!” Celeste said with a wave.

“Hi, Mama!” one called out to her.

She led Gemma to a nearby bench in front of the Thai restaurant, Joon.

Oh, it was such a beautiful late spring day, one of the last before the town became truly overrun with tourists. All winter, when stores were shuttered and just a few perennial restaurants like Napi’s were open, when the sky could seem endlessly gray and high tide could bring flooding, they waited for days like this. The sun dancing on the bay. Storefronts with their doors propped open, people strolling Commercial eating ice cream, cyclists riding up and down in both directions, a new crop of puppies being walked, and Monday night live music on the front porch of the Beach Rose Inn.

Celeste wanted to look forward—to this summer. Not back at the past. But the past was now staring her in the face.