Ronnie heard the scritch of a zipper, then the rustle of fabric. A tiny raccoon-shaped backpack came into view. Then came the crinkle of paper, and then she saw it—a folded piece of paper sliding into the backpack’s front pouch. She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from calling out. And then, as the figure turned, the light hit things in just the right way, and Ronnie’s heart just about stopped.

She couldn’t believe who it was.

Ten

After Andrea dropped off Arthur a few minutes late—they’d both overslept—she walked a few blocks away to Raisin Beach’s main street, which had a variety of upscale shops. Shopping still felt like a luxury after so many months of not being allowed; she didn’t need anything, but she was too antsy to stay at home.

At the crosswalk were a group of women. They were all her age, and they all seemed to know one another. They wore shiny diamond engagement rings, and their lips were glossy, and while a few of them were very dressed up—heels, silk, a Chanel bag on a chain—one in the bunch wore Lululemon leggings and a soft, cream-colored cowl-neck sweater. Their chatter was about a book they were reading, and something about kids’ club lacrosse, and if they were going to order a glass of chardonnay or rosé at brunch.

One glanced at Andrea pleasantly. “Cute purse.” She pointed to the patent-leather number Andrea carried under her arm.

Andrea nodded coolly but couldn’t find anything to say. Even now, she felt she saw Roger everywhere. One of the women had Roger’s haunting gray eyes. Another one had Roger’s turned-up-at-the-corners mouth.

She thought of the only time she and Roger went out for dinner together. It was taboo. Their age difference was one issue—Roger not even eighteen, Andrea almost thirty. But it had been his idea. Let’s go out, he’d said. Let’s just see what it feels like, you as Andrea, me as Roger.

They went to a new, trendy restaurant in Tribeca. Neither had been before, yet all night, Andrea sat stiffly, terrified someone from her Vandermeer life might spot her. But the gods smiled on them; she saw no familiar faces in the crowd. Roger enjoyed the night thoroughly, savoring the food, rubbing his hand over his newly cropped hair, peeking at himself in the dark window reflection. Isn’t this something? he whispered across the table. I feel so alive. I feel like . . . me.

Andrea had been thrilled, too. The waiter called her ma’am; Roger, sir. They’d been able to talk about their hopes and dreams. After graduation, Roger said, he was getting the hell away from his strict parents. Moving to California, maybe. People were cool there. Maybe meet the person he’d spend his life with.