Through the window of the rental sedan, the familiar sight of the sea peeks over the trees. A mirage distorts the view beyond the hood of the car, and it’s impossible to tell where the asphalt ends and the ocean begins. Sun-bleached pines grow farther apart as we reach the coast. We’ve been driving for over seven hours—past the granite mountains, through the dense forests of Maine.
All this time to prepare, but I still don’t know how to feel. Caldwell might be where I was born, but it doesn’t feel like I’m returning home, not the way I had hoped. I’m nervous. I sink in the backseat as the weather-torn sign appears: Caldwell Beach, Population 3,089.
This place has never been a hotspot for tourists like other coastal towns in Maine. Maybe it’s the undying morning fog, or the way the wind howls through the mountains late at night—but it’s one road in, one road out, forgotten by the rest of the world. Nothing more than where people go to outrun their pasts, where the rich cling to old estates, or where fishermen go to live out the rest of their days and die in solitude.
My parents came here for a fresh start. They’ve told me the story a million times, how they found each other at the Met in New York City, at an exhibit centered on the sea. They both dreamed of ocean air and clear skies. No light pollution to block out the stars. When my mom got pregnant, they made a decision: they would move somewhere remote, raise me to love nature, and live a happy life. And that was exactly what I had.
None of us could have anticipated how this place would affect me, least of all me.
Dad whistles from behind the wheel. “Been a long time since we’ve seen this, huh, Liv?”
I nod but say nothing. Mom glances at me from the passenger side, and her stare lingers before she perks up. “Oh look, Livvie, Roger and Keely are already here!”
On the side of the road, Keely hops up and down as we pull into the carpool lot. As freaked out as I am to be back, Keely Myers has been my anchor since our parents introduced us as playmates in preschool. We were the type of friends who operated as a single unit; we always looked for the prettiest butterflies, but showed them off to our classmates together instead of competing. She visits me every summer, but now, for the first time, I get to visit her.
Sand and stone crunch beneath the wheels as Dad parks the car. Outside, the ocean air envelops me. The warmth from land blends with the cool breeze from the Atlantic. It’s the smell of sulfur, salt, and sunscreen. My childhood.
“Liv!” Keely’s body slams into mine. She wraps her arms around my neck, and I breathe in the scent of vanilla-pineapple on her curly hair. “I can’t believe you’re finally here.” Keely grabs both my hands.
I look up at her. “Wait, how freaking tall are you? You’re a giant!”
She puts her hands on her hips. “Five ten.”
“When were you going to tell me?”
“I wanted it to be a surprise.” Keely glows, like she has the sun’s glitter speckled on her copper brown skin. “I randomly hit a growth spurt this year, and now I’m like, the tallest girl in school.”
“Wow, jealous.”
While my parents talk to Keely’s dad, I look out at the town that descends the cliffs, the buildings all boxlike and multihued. They remind me of a coloring book scribbled on by a kid who can’t stay within the lines. On the water, sailboats soar to and from the harbor. Seagulls float against the wind. The ocean rocks in its constant, live motion.
Roger puts his hand on Keely’s shoulder while Mom takes the opportunity to trap me in a hug. We don’t have a lot of money, but she always manages to find a way to afford her Chanel Allure perfume. That smell is warm and inviting, an instant antidote to my anxiety—but soon she’ll be hours away from me for the first time in my life.
“All right, Liv,” Dad says. “We better head back, it’s going to be a long drive. We talked things out with Roger, so if you feel safe, we’ll hit the road.”
Roger’s eyes glint with concern. I’d overheard Dad on the phone with him a week ago, and they talked about my violent night terrors and the five years I’ve spent seeing a psychologist regularly. I don’t blame Roger for being nervous about looking after me for an entire summer.
“We can stay if you want us to, Livvie,” Mom says. “We could Airbnb a cottage. And remember, it’s never too late to go home.”
“No, it’s okay, Mom. You should go—Dad’s right, it’s a long drive. I’m fine, and I can handle this.”
But I’m still not a hundred percent sure I can. On the cliff down by the beach, the lighthouse is blood red against the ocean backdrop.
Since Caldwell was founded in the 1800s, fourteen documented deaths have occurred on that cliff. It’s because of the unique shape: a semicircle eroded in the rocks. When the waves are heavy, they swirl to create a vortex.
I know what it feels like to be swallowed by it: freezing and violent.
Mom touches my arm. “You’re right, you can do this. I have faith in you. And I trust you and Keely to stay safe.”
“Of course we will.”
After smothering me with hugs, my parents drive away. Roger and Keely smile warmly, disintegrating my doubts. After all, it was Roger Myers who pulled me out of the water all those years ago. Miles told me that after I fell, he’d been frozen. Bawling, he screamed for help until police lights flashed up the street and Roger hurried out of his cruiser. Even with the dangerous rapids, Roger dove into the ocean without hesitation and managed to save my life without getting hurt.
I wish I knew what it felt like to be carried to land, but the last thing I remember before waking up in the hospital is the feeling of water in my lungs, and the eerie calm that fell over me. Not even two weeks later, my parents packed up and moved me away.
Roger places his hand on my shoulder. I’m as close with him as I can be with my best friend’s dad, but to me, he’ll always be a hero.
Downtown is only a short drive away, but every street brings back memories. The wheel of Roger’s SUV clunks in the same pothole that’s always been there, and we pass the old fire hydrant painted to look like an otter. The fish ’n’ chips shop shaped like a pirate ship still hasn’t repaired its electric sign, and the ropes lining the sidewalks are frayed and thinning. But not everything lines up with my memory. That burger shop used to be my parents’ store. That tree in the park was just a sapling. Most of all, the way I feel is so different, it’s hard to believe I ever lived here at all.
Roger parks outside of Coffee Cabin. “All right, Olivia, I’ll put your suitcases in the guest room. And Lemon”—he looks at Keely with “cop eyes”—“you be responsible tonight, okay?”
“Yes, Dad. I know.”
We get out of the car and watch Roger disappear around the corner.
“What does he mean be responsible?” I ask. “I thought we were getting iced capps and going to your place.”
“Are you kidding? It’s your first night back, Liv. As if I’m boring enough to not have plans for you.” Keely unzips her yellow backpack. Inside is a huge bottle of Smirnoff vodka.
“Wait, your dad lets you drink?”
“No, obviously not. But he trusts me. I’m his Lemon. Don’t worry, he won’t blame you if we get caught. Now c’mon—I told Miles to meet us, so he should be here any minute.”
Oh man. Miles. I’m not the headstrong girl I used to be. Will he even like me now?
The warm interior of Coffee Cabin hasn’t changed a bit, and the smell of espresso roasts in the air. After we order our drinks, we grab a booth by the window. Keely tugs at the bracelet around her wrist; hers is yellow and purple while mine is green and blue, but it’s around my ankle. We made them with Mom’s kit last summer as we’d sat cross-legged on my living room rug.
“Nervous to see Miles?” Keely asks wickedly.
“What? No.”
“Yeah, right. Still think you two are going to get married?”
“Oh my God, Keely. Stop. Don’t say anything like that to him, please. I never said Miles and I would get married, everyone else did.”
“Oh, chill out. You know I’m not that much of a bitch.”
The door dings, and a guy in a seafoam-green T-shirt and tan shorts walks in.
“Olivia?”
“Miles?”
I stand, but stop myself from saying something stupid. Miles Hendricks used to be shorter than me. Not anymore, but he still has the same pale skin kissed red from the sun and sandy blond curls.
“Miles, you’re so . . . different!”
“So are you.” He flicks a strand of my hair, just like he used to when we were kids. A string of shark teeth hangs around his neck, and his dimples pronounce when he smiles. Of course I’ve seen pictures of him, but he looks better in person. Keely scooches over in the booth so Miles can sit across from me.
“All right, Miles,” Keely says, “I’ve got the booze. Can we hang out at your place, or will your dad freak out?”
“Aren’t we going to Carter’s?”
A pause.
“Well . . . no,” Keely says. “I don’t know.”
“Why? What’s going on at Carter’s?” I ask.
“Houseboat party,” Miles says. “Everyone from our grade is going. It’ll be the perfect time for you to like, re-meet everyone, Liv.”
“But, Miles.” Keely slaps his arm. “It’s on a boat.”
“Oh, right.”
I tug at the elastic on my wrist. Being the center of attention is the worst. And crapping all over Miles and Keely’s plans just because I’m scared of water would be so lame. I can’t be who I was in New York, not here.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m here to get over my fears, Keely. Not hide from them.”
“Wait, so you’re down for the party?” Keely says. “Oh my God, yes, seriously Liv, you’re going to love it.”
Will I, though? Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up. Wanting to change the subject, I face Miles. “So, how’s your dad? Or Faye? And your brother?”
“Everyone’s fine. Faye has her Summer Intensive for ballet, so she won’t be around until tomorrow.”
“What about West? He seems to have dropped off the earth even more than I have.”
I’m trying to play it cool, but my curiosity about West has been eating at me for literally years. His name sounds so foreign on my tongue now. The truth is, I don’t even know what West Hendricks looks like anymore. After I moved away from Caldwell Beach, I followed everyone who wasn’t already on my list on Instagram, and almost everyone accepted. Miles’s older brother didn’t. He picked up his phone, with its request from Olivia Cathart, and clearly ignored it. Years later, he’s still never accepted the request.
After he didn’t say goodbye to me, it wasn’t surprising, but God, it still stings. It really, really stings. Because West was the strongest person I knew, and I’d thought our friendship—on at least one level—meant something to him, even with our problems. Not accepting my stupid request was the final nail in the coffin.
“West is . . . actually, my parents kind of disowned West,” Miles says. “I haven’t spoken to him in a while. But I’m sure he’ll say hi if you see him.”
Miles obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, so I don’t press, but disowned is such a strong word. I have no idea what happened with West and his parents, but it doesn’t take much to fill in the blanks of what went wrong with him and Miles—mostly because their relationship was never “right” to begin with.
Somewhere down the shoreline, in an inlet where the rapids are calm, there’s a floating dock off the beach where we used to play Pirates and Mermaids as kids. Miles, West, and I always went out on days when the sun glistened like crystals off the ocean and the sky was clear and blue. I would be the mermaid in the water; West the evil pirate king on the dock, and Miles the prince I needed to save. The battle always ended up between me and West. If Miles was on the dock, West was winning. If Miles was in the water, I was winning. It was more Pirates of the Caribbean than Peter Pan.
But one day, after West had grabbed him, Miles threw a tantrum on the dock. I climbed on, my limbs constricted by my life jacket and floaty wings. Other kids were involved, too, so when Miles started screaming, the dock quickly filled up, mostly with boys in West’s grade. Miles and I were eight, so West would have been ten.
“It’s not fair,” Miles sputtered, boogers dripping from his nose, his big blue-green eyes filled with tears. “You guys always decide everything. I’m going to be the pirate king this time! This game is stupid.”
“No way, you little freak,” West spat, his black hair spiked in wet blades over his forehead. “I’m the pirate king and you’re the wimp. That’s just how it is.”
“I’m telling Dad you said that!”
“If you do, I’ll ruin your life!”
“You already do!”
Then Miles directed his anger at me—maybe knowing he couldn’t take his big brother—and shoved me into the water, making me cry. West gave him a wedgie and booted him in after me. Miles screamed that he hated both of us, then cried and paddled to the beach, where the parents had already gathered as they noticed the conflict on the water. Then, because of Miles’s crying, they called everyone back to shore. I crawled out of the water, West at my side. Miles and Faye were attached to their mom’s hip.
“It’s Olivia’s fault!” Faye exclaimed and pointed at me. “She did it, she made Miles cry!”
“What? I didn’t do anything!”
“That’s right,” West agreed. “Miles is being a baby. If he can’t play by the rules, then he can’t play with us.”
“Exactly!” I said. “West is right!”
I was angry at Miles for pushing me in the water. I stood my ground, but the sight of Miles whimpering behind his mom’s leg was enough to make me question whose side I should be on. He was my best friend, after all. West was just his older brother. Yet whenever West was around, I felt this unearthly need to impress him.
Faye kicked sand at me with her pink flip-flop. “If you love West so much, why don’t you marry him? Come on, Miles, you don’t need those jerks.”
But Miles ignored her. “It was all West, Mom,” he said.
“It was not!” West shouted.
“That’s enough,” Beatrice snapped, and we all fell silent. She had that effect on every kid, even West. So when she snatched West’s forearm and dug her nails into his skin, I said nothing, despite the warning bells that clanged in my head. My mom had never grabbed me like that.
“Your father will deal with you, Weston,” Beatrice said and pulled him away.
“Stop!” West’s feet dragged through the white sand. “You’re hurting me!”
She tugged harder until his legs went limp, and I wondered if this was all my fault—that if I wasn’t there, Miles wouldn’t have pushed me in, and then maybe West wouldn’t have pushed him, and he wouldn’t have ever gotten in trouble.
My parents soon found me through the crowd, but I was already crying. That was probably one of the last times we ever played like that together. It didn’t take long for West to think of us both as “little kids” and stop hanging around with us in favor of the boys from Scouts. He left me in the past.
But the older I get, the more that day bothers me. I never told my parents about the way Beatrice grabbed West because somehow, in my childish mind, I thought I’d get in trouble.
Still, even with their dysfunctions, I imagined Miles and West would grow older and figure out their relationship. Maybe it’s not my place to feel sad that they don’t talk anymore; maybe I never understood their family at all.
“Hey, don’t worry about West, Liv.” Miles nods toward the window. “He’s not dead or anything. He’s working right over there.”
The sun blares over downtown. At the auto body shop across the street, a guy with dark hair wipes his blackened hands on a rag as he ducks from under the hood of a rusty pickup truck. I don’t recognize him at all.