I say sure, so Glory grabs her bag and her sunglasses, and we head out the back door onto the sea porch. I linger for a moment, hoping that flash will come to me again. That bit of memory. Me under the picnic table. Angry voices. My mother’s gold sandals and pink toes. But nothing comes, so I follow Glory down the steps and onto the sloping lawn.

“I thought we’d head down to the beach,” she says over her shoulder. And I’m grateful she can’t see my face. I haven’t been back to the beach since late Tuesday night, when Cole found me there in the fog, but I can’t tell Glory that. So I keep following her.

When we reach the boardwalk that stretches across the marsh, she stops to lean against the railing. “Nicki loved it down here,” she says. “I taught her how to fish for crabs. A little bit of raw chicken on the end of a string. She always tossed them back, though. Couldn’t bear to cook them.” Glory’s voice is soft and far away. Almost like she’s talking to the dune grass, and not to me. But then she smiles in my direction. “This is still where I feel closest to her.”

She leads me on down the boardwalk. Up and over the dunes and onto the beach. I’m trying not to look at the water, but it’s almost impossible to ignore a whole ocean when it’s spread out in front of you.

Glory pulls a little blanket out of her bag and lays it on the sand so we can both sit. It’s quiet for a minute, except for the waves. I keep hearing Cole’s words.

They believed, if the sea wanted to take you, there was nothing they could do to stop it.

I take deep breaths. Unball my fists. Tell myself I’m being silly. That the waves aren’t as loud as I think they are. Because I’m not the kind of person who believes in legends. Or ghosts. But I can’t stop staring at the way the water washes up just a little higher with each incoming swell. Like it’s reaching for us.

Reaching for me.

I’m staring at the floating swim dock. It’s bobbing up and down. Sunlight bouncing off the metal ladder attached to the side. But Glory is looking down the beach to where a rock jetty marks the end of the Whisper Cove property. I turn my head and follow her gaze.

“That’s where George found you,” she tells me. “Washed up down there by the jetty.”

My breath catches, and I turn back to stare at her.

“George found me?”