Her head was saying, Please don’t say tourney—some words are just not meant to be shortened. But her heart seemed to be saying something different, something—could it be?—nonjudgmental and hopeful. Her heart seemed to be saying, October is not so far away.

And then he took her hand and led her closer to the dunes and spread out the blanket. Her heart was beating so fast she felt like she had a bird in her rib cage.

There were no bad men. It was just her and Cam and the endless ocean, and everything was whole and good and safe.

“What’s in the picnic bag?” she asked.

“Lots of good stuff,” Cam answered. “Some of Market Basket’s finest, if you want to know the truth.” (Market Basket did have an excellent cheese selection.) “But I don’t care so much about the picnic anymore,” he added. His voice was husky. He was backlit by the setting sun.

She sat down on the blanket, and then she thought better of it and lay all the way down. Cam sat beside her and rested one of his hands on her stomach.

“Neither do I,” she whispered. “In fact, I don’t even know what Market Basket bag you’re talking about.”

And then he was kissing her, and kissing her, and kissing her.

63.

Sherri

Rebecca mentioned Brooke’s end-of-summer party casually. They had iced coffees from Soufflés and they were walking on the boardwalk after dropping the girls at nature camp. They would be sleeping overnight in Maudslay, and be collected at two the following day. Sherri had major reservations about letting Katie sleep outside in the woods—how easy it would be for someone to grab her from a tent!—but Katie had begged and begged and begged.

The day was sumptuous, the air plump and ripe, the river glistening as though it had just been hand-scrubbed. The marina was chock-full; there were boats from Key West and Camden, Maine; from Charleston, South Carolina; from South Padre Island. There was a long line outside the bathrooms at the harbormaster’s hut, and happy, tail-wagging dogs coming off the rail trail.

Rebecca was talking about what she was going to wear. She’d worn her favorite off-the-shoulder dress two years ago to the same party and she couldn’t wear that again. She wished she could borrow from Alexa but Alexa was so tiny. She stopped and leaned against the railing, resting her iced coffee cup on the flat surface of a post.

“This feels awkward,” said Sherri finally. “But I don’t know anything about this party.” She fixed her gaze on the far side of the river, where she could see the big waterfront houses on Ring’s Island.