“Absolutely.” The nurse taped a cotton ball over the crook of her arm where the IV had been.

“Okay, sweetie,” said Camille’s mom. “Let’s get you home.”

They both helped unstick the circular white pads that had been connected to the monitors. Julie had been given a hospital gown to wear over her swimsuit. Her movements as she got dressed were furtive, almost ashamed, as she grabbed her street clothes from her gym bag. Teenagers were famously modest, Camille knew that. Julie took it to extremes. The little fairy girl who used to run around unfettered and unclothed had turned into a surly, secretive teen. “You don’t need to wait for me,” Julie announced. “I can dress myself.”

Camille motioned her mother out into the waiting area.

“I’m ready to go,” Julie said, coming out of the curtain area a few minutes later. She wore an oversized “Surf Bethany” T-shirt and a pair of jeans that had seen better days. There was a plastic bag labeled Patient Belongings that contained a towel, headgear, glasses, and a rash guard. “And just so you know, I’m not going back to school,” she added, her narrow-eyed expression daring them to contradict her.

“All right,” said Camille. “Do we need to stop there and get your stuff?”

“No,” Julie said quickly. “I mean, can I just go home and rest?”

“Sure, baby.”

“Want me to come?” asked Camille’s mother.

“That’s okay, Gram. Isn’t this your busy day at the shop?”

“Every day is busy at the shop. We’re getting ready for First Thursday Arts Walk. But I’m never too busy for you.”

“It’s okay. Swear.”

“Should I come in later and help?” asked Camille. She and her mother were partners at Ooh-La-La, a bustling home-goods boutique in the center of the village. Business was good, thanks to locals looking to indulge themselves, and well-heeled tourists from the greater D.C. area.

“The staff can handle all the prep work. The three of us could have a girls’ night in. How does that sound? We can watch a chick flick and do each other’s nails.”

“Gram. Really. I’m okay now.” Julie edged toward the exit.

Cherisse sighed. “If you say so.”

“I say so.”

Camille put her arm around Julie. “I’ll call you later, Mom. Say hi to Bart from us.”

“You can say it in person,” said a deep male voice. Camille’s stepfather strode over to them. “I came as soon as I got your message.”

“Julie’s okay.” Cherisse gave him a quick, fierce hug. “Thanks for coming.”

Camille wondered what it was like to have a person to call automatically, someone who would drop everything and rush to your side.

He gathered Julie into his arms, enfolding her in a bear hug. The salt air and sea mist still clung to him. He was an old-school waterman who had a fleet of skipjack boats, plying the waters of the Chesapeake for the world’s tastiest oysters. Tall, fair-haired, and good-looking, he’d been married to Cherisse for a quarter century. He was a few years younger than Camille’s mom, and though Camille loved him dearly, Papa owned her heart.