Willa only smiles and bites the rim of her cup to keep from saying I told you so.

At ten, a rocket whizzes up into the night sky, and the first of the fireworks bursts, huge and sparkly red, before shimmering into smoke. Willa’s memories dip back to all the Fourth of Julys she spent at Finley’s house.

Every year the people who live along Cedar Point Road throw beach parties and build bonfires. As little girls, Taylor, Finley, and Willa would swim in the lake until dusk. Then, while the adults drank and shot off bottle rockets, Mrs. Donoghue would light sparklers for the kids. Willa loved writing her name in the air or pretending her sparkler was a magic wand. As they got older, the girls would walk the long stretch of beach, sneaking beers from other people’s coolers until the Cedar Point fireworks began. But Willa’s favorite part was how you could see the other fireworks displays in the distance—Put-in-Bay, Kelleys Island, Lakeside, Huron, even as far east as Lorain and sometimes Avon Point. From now until forever, Willa could go to the beach for the fireworks, but without Finley it just won’t be the same.

Willa glances at Taylor. A tear tracks down Taylor’s cheek, lit up by the glow from the city lights, and Willa knows she’s caught up in her own memories. Willa opens her mouth to speak but changes her mind. Sometimes you need to be alone with your grief. Sometimes the only way around is through. Willa takes a sip of beer, turns back to the Niagara Falls fireworks, and pushes away everything else.

Taylor

THE SKY IS SO BLUE it almost hurts to look at, and Lake Ontario is calm as they sail away from Niagara Falls. Willa takes first watch at the tiller, so Taylor goes below to upload their photos from her cameras to their Instagram account. Since she created it, their followers have increased a little every day. Most are family and friends from back home—even Brady is following—but many are strangers, which is kind of exciting.

“There’s a comment from your mom on the Coast Guard picture,” Taylor calls up to Willa. “She wants you to call home.”

“Sure. I’ll get right on that.”

Willa’s mom is younger than Taylor’s parents, so they’ve always seemed more like sisters than mother and daughter. More like friends. Taylor doesn’t understand why Willa refuses to call home—and she still hasn’t explained why she threw her phone in the lake.

“You can borrow my phone, if you want,” Taylor offers again.

“I sent her a postcard from the hotel this morning,” Willa says. “And she can see from your pictures that I’m perfectly fine. Better than fine. I’m picking up cute boys in the middle of lakes.”