Marin dug her toes into the wet sand.
“Some days I just pick up whatever strikes my fancy,” Amelia said. “An oyster shell. A channeled whelk. A sand-dollar skeleton if I’m lucky. Other days, I’m on a mission. Maybe it’s green sea glass, or white pebbles.”
Marin nodded, bending down to roll up her cargo pants, then tying the drawstring tight to keep them high on her hips. The edges were soaked. The pants had enough pockets to hold whatever she collected that morning. She checked that the bandanna tied around her wrist to shield her tattoo from the sun was still in place, then tilted her face to the sky.
“I have this idea of getting a mason jar and filling it with sea glass from this week and then keeping it next to my bed at home,” she said.
“Well, it’s a lovely thought, but you won’t find that much sea glass in the time you have here.”
“I guess I could start with what I find and then just buy the rest to fill in.”
Amelia looked at her like she had two heads.
“Buy it? Doesn’t that defeat the purpose? When you find it yourself, it has meaning. It marks this day, this walk—this moment in time. Your hands pluck it from the place that produced it and make it your own.”
Well, when she put it that way. “I guess I’ll just see what I can find.”
Amelia nodded her approval.
They walked in silence, both scouring the sand. It crossed Marin’s mind that maybe she should ask about Amelia’s son. It wasn’t that she particularly cared to know—he was nothing more to her than twenty-three chromosomes. An anonymous sperm donor that would have remained anonymous if it weren’t for damned technology. But was it rude not to at least acknowledge him? Surely he had walked that very stretch of beach. She shook the thought away; she would not let the donor take root in her mind, in her heart. To ask about him made him too real. It was a betrayal of her father.
Marin spotted something round and pale green. She scooped it up, wet sand getting underneath her fingernails, and showed it to Amelia, who held it up to the sky and pronounced, “It’s a pebble, not sea glass.”
“How can you tell?”
“No light is coming through it.”
Marin stuck it in her back pocket anyway.
Amelia stopped walking. “So Kelly and I were talking last night, and we’d really love it if you would consider staying another week or two. Maybe until the Fourth? It’s a fun day here in town and would be the perfect way to end your trip.”
Marin’s first impulse was to say no, to give her a litany of reasons why she had to get back to New York. But she couldn’t come up with a single one.
“That’s really generous of you, Amelia. Thanks. I’ll talk to Rachel and my mother about it.”
“It might not be my business, but I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you that I think you need to forgive her.”
“What? Who?”
“Your mother.”
Marin looked at her sharply. “No offense, but you really don’t know the first thing about it.”
“Maybe not,” Amelia said, using her hand to shield her eyes from the sun so she could look at Marin. “But I know that life is complicated, that people make mistakes, and that it never pays to judge those who love you.”
“She lied to me—and my father—my entire life. That’s not a mistake, it’s a choice.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “You know, my son, Nicolau, was not speaking to me at the time of his death. We hadn’t spoken for several years.”
“I didn’t know that. What happened?”
“I fell in love with Kelly. While I was married to his father.”
Okay, not ideal. But still, it paled in comparison to Blythe’s deception.
“Well, I can see how that would be…upsetting. But I still think what my mother did was worse. Way worse. I mean, you can’t help who you fall in love with.”
“I think Nick believed he was in love with Kelly.”
“What?”
“They were contemporaries. Kelly was my daughter’s best friend. We were all spending the summer here.”
“At the inn?”
“Well, it wasn’t an inn back then. It was our family home. And yes, at the house.”
Marin couldn’t believe it. The drama that had taken place under that very roof! Her biological father, now cast in the light of a tragic romantic figure.
“That sounds…difficult.”
“After more than a quarter of a century with Kelly, it’s hard to look at our relationship as a transgression, though I suppose it was that. Regardless, I never meant to hurt my children. But I did, and I’ve had to live with that for thirty years. That’s why I don’t want to see history repeat itself with you and your mother.”
“It’s not the same thing,” Marin said. “Not at all.”
And truly, thirty years of anger didn’t seem out of the question to her.
The front porch of the Beach Rose Inn was people-watching central.
Rachel had found a book about Provincetown on the shelf in her room, Land’s End, by Michael Cunningham, and brought it to the porch rocking chair along with a mug of coffee to settle in for an hour of reading. But how could she focus on reading about Provincetown when it was unfolding in front of her in all its dramatic glory? The thing that amazed her the most was the way everyone seemed to know one another. It was so unlike LA, that sprawling metropolis where you kept seeing people you thought you knew and then realized they were just actors from TV shows you once watched.
And now, someone she did know appeared on the steps. Luke Duncan.
He carried two serving trays.
“Oh, hi!” She jumped up to help him and took one of the trays, a heavy ceramic hand-painted dish she recognized from the day of the party.
“Thanks. My dad sent me to return these to Amelia.”
“Great,” she said. Great? Her heart thumped. And it wasn’t the strong coffee.
He looked around the porch. “What are you guys up to today?”
“I’m just…reading.” She pulled her book off the chair and waved it at him.
“That’s a good one.”
He started to say something else but was distracted by voices just beyond the stairs, and then Marin appeared, trailed by Amelia.
Rachel realized that Marin was truly beautiful. She wore drawstring pants slung low on her hips and a white tank top; her cheeks were flushed from either exercise or the sun, the bright color serving to highlight the deep brown of her eyes. Her shiny dark hair was in a messy knot on top of her head, a few tendrils escaping so artfully it was as if she had been styled for a beach photo shoot.
And Rachel was not the only one who noticed.
“Hey.” Luke smiled at Marin, literally turning his back to her.
“Hey,” Marin said, focused on unwrapping the red bandanna around her wrist.
“Let me get those from you, dear,” Amelia said, taking the trays from Luke and Rachel and leaving the three of them to shuffle awkwardly on the porch.
Marin continued to attend to her wrist, unveiling her tattoo, while Luke watched in rapt attention. Rachel struggled to think of a way to dismiss her.
“Did you just get that?” he asked her.
Marin nodded. “Yesterday. After we left the party.”
He reached for her hand and held her wrist at an angle so he could see better. Rachel’s stomach lurched with jealousy.
“A beach rose?”
“Yeah.”
“Awesome.”
Rachel wondered how she’d become the third wheel when she was the one who’d originally been talking to him!
“I can’t get it wet or in the sun, so probably not the best timing,” Marin said. “But whatever. All right, I’m going back to sleep.”
With that, she marched into the house, the screen door slamming behind her.
Luke’s eyes followed her, his tongue practically hanging out. Rachel sat back in the rocking chair and resumed reading. Or, rather, she pretended to resume reading.
“Your sister’s a character,” he said finally.
“Half.”
“She’s half a character?”
“She’s my half sister.”
“Yes. I remember.” He ran his hand through his hair, a gesture she found riveting, like everything else about him. “I’m going to get something to eat. Want to come?”
She looked at him in surprise, and then, with great effort to sound casual, replied, “Sure.”
Luke led the way down Commercial. They stopped at a souvenir shop, where Rachel was delighted to find a postcard with the Beach Rose Inn on the front. She bought it and decided she would send it to her mother. One block later, Luke stopped in front of a small restaurant with a windowed storefront and a prominent rainbow flag: Café Heaven.
“When you try the food, you’ll see it’s aptly named.” He smiled.
Food or no food, she was already in heaven.
Inside, the blue ceiling was painted with puffy, cartoonish clouds. Every table was full. The host told them it would be just a few minutes and pointed out the specials written on a wall chalkboard.
“Everything is great here, but my favorite are the homemade English muffins. You’ll never buy one from the store again.”
She nodded. A table was cleared and they were seated.
“So is Amelia taking you sightseeing? Whale watching? There’s a lot for you guys to get in while you’re here.”
“I’m not sure,” she said. Even if Amelia had committed them to a jam-packed daily schedule, she would not have admitted it. Was he volunteering to show her around? “What are you doing all summer?”
“Well, I want to help my dad out. And I’m writing a book.”
“Like, a novel?” She imagined a sexy spy series—something like James Bond, but American. Or maybe something more literary. The Corrections, set in Cape Cod.
“Nonfiction. About the decline of American cities. Sort of an update on Jane Jacobs’s classic The Death and Life of Great American Cities. Did they make you read that in school?”
“Um, no.” Maybe if she’d finished college, she would have gotten around to that one.
“Well, we’ll see how productive I can be out here. This is my first summer since high school I’m in Provincetown for two months straight. It’s a little bit of an adjustment for me.”
“Did you just need some time away from Rhode Island?”
“No. It was actually difficult and complicated to pack up and move here for two months. But when I visited at Christmas, my dad didn’t seem to be doing very well. I have this weird feeling it might be my last summer with him.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But he must be so happy you’re here. I’m sure it means a lot to him.”
“Yeah, but I felt bad imposing on Bart. I don’t want to, like, crowd him or take away from his time with my dad. I talked to him about it beforehand, and he agreed I should come. He said it was a good idea.”
Of course Luke would think of Bart. Luke was considerate. Luke was, as far as she could tell, perfect.
“I wish I could stay,” Rachel said. “I thought a week would seem like a long time to be in a strange place with people I don’t know. Now it feels like I’ve been here my whole life.”
“P-Town has that effect on some people. I couldn’t live here year-round, but my dad came here for a three-day writing retreat and literally never left.”
If Thomas Duncan could just pick up and move to Provincetown, leaving behind a wife and son, surely Rachel could extend her visit.
“Maybe I’ll stay another week or two,” she said carefully. She didn’t want to scare him off. It’s not like she was staying for him. Three days into her trip, she still had almost no idea what her dad had been like. The photos were a first step. But a small one. She barely felt any closer to answering the question: Who was he?
More important, she felt she needed to start answering questions about herself. Not the least of which was whether or not she was falling in love for the first time.
Marin slept straight through the afternoon and through dinner, and now, at nine at night, she was wide awake.
She stood on the balcony of her bedroom, looking out at the backyard. Hours earlier, Amelia, Kelly, and her mother had had dinner out there together. Their voices had woken her from her last nap of the day. They spotted her up there, gazing out, and they waved her down. They were happy; it was a done deal—everyone was staying until the Fourth of July weekend.
Marin ignored them, though she would have liked to spend some time with Kelly. Instead, she retreated back to bed.
Now the backyard was dark and empty, lit only by the moonlight reflected off the bay. Maybe she should go outside, sit by the water for some fresh air. Afterward, she might be able to return to her room and slip easily back into sleep.
Movement caught her eye. Two shadowy figures close together near the roped-off, outermost edge of the property, just beyond the farthest point of the long table. Her first thought was that people were trespassing, and then she wondered if maybe that’s what people did around there. She wouldn’t be surprised. Everyone’s boundaries seemed a tad fluid, to say the least.
Laughter floated up to her. That’s when Marin realized it was Rachel and Luke Duncan.
I could have closed that deal, Marin thought, and then she hated herself for it. That was heartache talking. Oh God. It hurt. She missed Julian so much, she felt in that moment she would do anything to make it stop. Even something stupid, like call him again.
She closed the balcony doors and sat on the edge of her bed. Heart pounding, she dialed.
“Hello?”
His voice brought pain and relief in the same instant.
“Hey,” she said. “Sorry it’s so late.”
“It’s not that late,” he said. His voice was warmer than it had been on their last phone call—she could tell that already. Or maybe it was wishful thinking.
“How was Chicago?” she asked.
“Well, the job’s a long shot. So it went as well as could be expected.” Silence.
She was about to say, I’ll be back in New York this weekend, but then remembered they were staying. It was probably for the best. He wanted time and distance, and he was getting it.
“How’s your vacation going?” he asked.
“It’s not really a vacation.”
Julian didn’t ask her to clarify. She felt she would have given anything in that moment to be with him in person, to see his face. To look into his eyes and tell him everything. She remembered their last morning together, the Sunday after her visit to Philadelphia. Telling him how odd it was that her mother practically shoved her out the door. There had been a warmth and wisdom in his eyes that had calmed her then, and she needed it now.
“Can we FaceTime?” she said. It felt like a juvenile request, like they were teenagers talking surreptitiously under the covers in their respective bedrooms on a school night.
“Marin…”
“What? You don’t want to see me even on a screen with two states between us?”
He sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to see you. It’s not that I don’t care about you—because I do. But our relationship was a distraction, one that cost us both. I don’t know about you, but I need to regroup.”
She felt a surge of anger. “Regroup? You have no idea what I’m dealing with here. Genie turned my whole life upside down!”
“Genie? What does that have to do with anything?”
In that instant, her sorrow turned to fury. She had lost more than he had. She’d lost her identity, the man she’d thought was her father, her relationship with her mother. And, yes, her job. What had he lost? Nothing that couldn’t be replaced.
“Yeah, so, I’m sorry our relationship was a distraction. I won’t distract you further with more phone calls.”
She hung up.
And, remarkably, she felt better than she had in weeks.