“Lily. That will take some getting used to,” Clara said. “Lily, Mara, this is very confusing. Can you tell me where you've been?”

“I ran away, Clara. From Edward.”

“We thought he killed you.”

“I know.”

“It was a terrible thing to put your grandmother through,” Clara said, sounding reproachful for the first time.

“There's a lot to the story that you don't know,” Lily said, wondering how Clara would feel when she found out that Maeve had known exactly what Lily had done—and kept it from her best friend.

“Well, I'd like to know,” Clara said. “And so would your grandmother, I'm sure. The stress built up in her, Mar—I mean, Lily. And everything changed after Edward showed up.”

“What do you mean?”

Clara nodded. “Earlier this summer. Out of the clear blue, he just stopped by at Maeve's one day. He had a bag of things that had belonged to you—he wanted to give them to her.”

“Just an excuse to upset her,” Lily said.

“Well, he succeeded,” Clara said. “She was so agitated. You see, she thought he had killed you . . .” she began again, glancing over at Lily.

Lily looked out the window. No she didn't, she wanted to say.

“I'm not blaming you,” Clara said, her face growing flushed, her eyes red. “Please don't take it that way. Even before Edward upset her so—her grief has been unimaginable. Every summer day, she would wish you could be here, at the Point, enjoying it. She would imagine how old your baby would be. . . .”

Lily didn't reply.

“Your baby, Lily. What happened . . . ?”

“I lost the baby. A boy. Please don't ask me about it, Clara.”

“No—I'm so sorry, dear.”

Lily nodded, but said no more. Every word had to steer Clara, and anyone she might tell, away from the truth. Glancing over, Lily saw how she had aged: her hair was all white now, instead of just silver streaking the chestnut brown. Her face was wrinkled, and so were her hands on the steering wheel. Lily's stomach clenched, realizing how many years she had missed in Clara's life. In Maeve's. What would she find at the hospital?

Clara drove the back way, along the Shore Road, instead of taking the highway. Lily soaked in all the sights—old stores, new houses, fewer woods, a sense of the shoreline changing, becoming more suburban and homogenized. She felt a sharp, sudden longing for her far-northern refuge.

They approached the hospital, between Sachem and Seaside avenues, turning into the large parking lot. The day was early, before official visiting hours, so there weren't many cars.

“Is she in the ICU?” Lily asked.

“She's on a medical floor,” Clara said. “I'll come up with you.”