A giant pink whale made of papier-mâché and wood took up most of Bart and Thomas’s front lawn. Bart was administering to it with a tape dispenser while Paul spray-painted its tail.
“For heaven’s sake, it looks like a giant sperm,” Kelly called out her window as she pulled her truck into their driveway. “Gotta love Fourth of July,” she said to Rachel. “It’s Mardi Gras, New Year’s Eve, and the Gay Pride Parade rolled into one. And that’s before the fireworks.”
Bart and Thomas were borrowing Kelly’s truck so they could transport their Fourth of July float to the East End for the start of the parade at eleven.
Rachel opened her door and hopped out. On a morning when she should have been packing up to leave the next day, she was instead throwing herself headfirst into summer, Provincetown-style.
“A giant sperm is exactly the look we were going for,” Paul said, spraying the lowermost point of the whale’s belly.
Rachel couldn’t help glancing around for any sign of Luke.
“Luke’s out back,” Bart said.
Damn! Was she that obvious?
“Oh? I was just…great whale.”
“Thanks, kid. Go on back to the pool.”
She looked at Kelly. “Do you need me to—”
“I’m all good. I just want to hear their justification for this pink monstrosity, then I’m walking home.” She winked at her.
Okay.
Rachel walked around the side of the house, following a flat-stone path to the pool. The walkway was lined with purple flowers; they smelled like the blooms her mother had had outside of the first house they’d lived in, when Rachel was in elementary school. She felt a pang of nostalgia for a time she didn’t particularly want to revisit; somehow everything was starting to feel precious and acute, and she wasn’t sure what to do about the emotions that seemed to wash over her every five minutes.
Luke was perched on the edge of a lounge chair, just as he had been the day of the party. But today he wore swim trunks and a heather-blue T-shirt that tugged at his wide shoulders as he typed into his phone.
“Hey,” she called out, trying to sound casual.
He turned around, surprised—understandably—to see her.
“Oh, hey, Rachel,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“Kelly just brought her truck over so Bart and your dad can get their float to the East End. Are you going to the parade?”
“Probably. But first I want to get a few laps in. Back home I go to the gym, but here I have to be disciplined and get what exercise I can from swimming.”
“Totally, I get it. I should exercise more.” Ugh. She felt like an idiot.
“You’re welcome to stay and use the pool.”
Her heart leaped. Sure, it might just be a pragmatic invitation from someone who believed in the importance of exercise. Or maybe it was more.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to, like, get in the way.”
He smiled, dimples and all. Oh, she wanted to get in his way.
“You’re not in the way. I give myself an hour or so out here in the morning before I get to work.”
She shrugged her beach bag off her shoulder and sat on the lounge chair next to him. He looked up at the sun.
“I was waiting for it to get warmer, but I guess I should stop being such a wimp,” he said.
“You really should.”
“Oh yeah? Okay, Esther Williams—you first.”
“Who’s Esther Williams?”
“You don’t know who Esther Williams is? She was a major actress in the forties. She swam in most of her big roles.”
“Never heard of her.”
“How old are you?”
“Not old enough to have gone to the movies in the 1940s.”
He laughed. “Okay, so maybe I’m a little extra into old movies because of my dad. Anyway, stop stalling. Into the pool.”
Rachel pulled off her T-shirt and cutoff denim shorts. Underneath, she had her favorite tie-dyed bikini from Beach Bunny on Robertson. It had been a rare splurge; she’d seen it in the window driving by and couldn’t resist.
She had a feeling it was about to pay for itself.
Luke was definitely noticing her body, but as soon as he saw her noticing him noticing her, he looked away. She loved that reticent quality he had—so unlike most guys! Maybe it was because he was older. Either way, it just stoked her slow burn.
She would have loved to do a big, splashy dive, but the pool wasn’t deep enough, so she settled for wading into the shallow end and pushing into a quick breaststroke.
Damn, it was cold. She let out a little yelp despite herself.
“Hate to say I told you so,” Luke called from the side of the pool. She kept moving, her heart pounding from the cold and from her acute awareness of him watching her. She stopped in the deep end, treading water. She felt her hair fanning out around her like a mermaid’s. Luke had gotten into the shallow end and was moving into his own set of laps.
They swam in opposite directions, passing each other every half minute or so, their bodies far enough apart not to collide but close enough to thrill her. But too soon, she felt herself grow tired, and she cursed her lack of stamina. More cardio, less yoga, she told herself. Breathless, she was finally forced to paddle over to the side of the pool and hold on to the ledge.
Luke swam over to her.
“Quitting time already?”
“Just a little break.” Their faces were inches apart. His eyes were the color of the pool and the sky. His skin, tanner than it had been just two days ago, glistened with water. The word godlike came to mind.
Get a grip!
She felt like she should say something along the lines of Don’t let me slow you down, but she didn’t want to break the moment. It was eye-lock, and she didn’t dare breathe, let alone speak.
Was he going to kiss her?
And then a tapping sound, metal on glass. They both looked up; Thomas waved to them from a second-floor window.
“He must need something. I’m going to check.”
He hoisted himself out of the pool, his arms all lean muscle. She had to force her eyes away, knowing that Thomas was watching them.
“Are you going to Paul’s party tonight?” he asked, toweling off.
“Paul’s party? No, I think we have some dinner thing on the East End.” Damn. Why weren’t they going to Paul’s party?
“Well, maybe I’ll see you guys at the pier for the fireworks after.” He grinned.
She would definitely be at the pier if she had to go on her own. If she had to ride there on her own on the back of a pink whale float! Rachel climbed out of the pool by the metal ladder in the deep end, and Luke handed her a towel. “Thanks. And thanks for the swim. Clearly, I need the cardio!”
“Anytime. See you at the fireworks.”
She dressed and walked back out front to her bike, more buoyant than she’d been in the water.
Marin woke up feeling as exhausted as if she hadn’t slept at all, even though she’d gotten ten hours. She wanted to go back to sleep, but at ten in the morning, Commercial Street sounded like Times Square on New Year’s Eve at midnight. Somewhere in the distance, an early firework exploded.
She groaned and burrowed under the covers.
By this time tomorrow, she would be driving back to New York City. She had to admit, there were a few things she would miss about Provincetown. At the top of the list, Kelly.
Marin looked at the flower inside her wrist. Kelly had pulled her right out of her funk, if only for a little while. She was thankful she’d run into her in the hallway the morning she’d meant to slink off and drive away. That ride to the East End, the wind blowing through the truck’s open windows, the sun on her face—it had been a pure moment of summer, a deep exhale.
She decided she would get her alone so she could thank her—if it wasn’t too late. She’d probably left to watch the parade. And then they were all going to Sandra Crowe’s house that night, so she might not have time alone with her at all.
At that hour, breakfast was over. She looked out her window, and, sure enough, only her mother and Amelia were still at the table. They looked deep in conversation; Amelia was downright transfixed by whatever her mother was saying. Good. Hopefully they’d be at it for a few more minutes and she’d have time for some private words with Kelly.
She went down to find her.
The sound of blaring pop music and raucous cheering on Commercial Street reached them even in the back of the house. There had been a time when Amelia wouldn’t have missed a second of the parade. But she felt oddly removed this year. Perhaps it was because she didn’t have the pressure to show Beach Rose Inn guests the way the Fourth of July was done in Provincetown. Or maybe because she was so consumed with meeting her new granddaughters, figuring out what it all meant. The usual P-Town revelry was no match for the happiness Rachel and Marin had brought her.
“I really appreciate you having us here,” Blythe said.
Amelia poured them both more coffee. “Oh, my dear. You can’t imagine how much it’s meant to me. I’m sorry to see you go! Though if you have to leave, we will at least give you a spectacular send-off tonight. We do the Fourth of July like no one else.”
Blythe nodded. “Yes. Well, before we leave, I feel like there’s something I should tell you. That you deserve to know.”
Amelia looked at her expectantly, but it took Blythe a moment to speak. It was clear she was struggling with whatever it was she had to say. Amelia had to hold herself back from prompting her, afraid she would shut her down completely. The sounds from the street seemed to grow more boisterous in the silence.
“Nick wasn’t my sperm donor,” Blythe said.
What? Amelia felt an immediate sense of loss. Marin wasn’t Nick’s daughter? How could that be? She looked just like him.
“I don’t understand…”
“He was my lover. We had an affair.”
It took a moment for her words to sink in. Nick had known this woman? Loved this woman?
“Oh my God.”
Blythe nodded, openly sobbing now. “I’ve never told anyone—not in all these years. It was the summer, and he left to visit Nadine in Italy, and I never saw him again. By the time I realized I was pregnant with Marin, Nick was long gone and I was working on my marriage.”
Amelia began crying herself and reached for Blythe’s hand.
“Oh, dear. What secrets we all keep. It must have been difficult.”
Blythe nodded, trying to pull it together.
“Thank you,” Amelia said. “Thank you for telling me.” She looked at Blythe as if seeing her through fresh eyes. Imagining her as her son might have seen her thirty years ago. It was the closest Amelia had felt to Nick in a long time.
Amelia leaned forward, embracing her, and they cried together for the man they had both lost.
Marin climbed the stairs to the third floor. The door to the studio was closed, but she heard Kelly’s voice from inside.
“I appreciate the follow-up call. I just have to process—yes, I know. Look, if you need me to say that you’ve made my options clear so that you feel you’ve done your job as my oncologist, then consider it said.”
Marin froze.
The door opened.
“Hey,” Kelly said casually—so casually that if Marin hadn’t just overheard the snippet of conversation, she wouldn’t have known anything was wrong.
“What’s going on?” Marin said.
“Nothing.”
“Oh no, you don’t,” said Marin. “We got drunk that first week and I told you all my messy shit.” She flashed her wrist tattoo.
“Marin, not now.”
“Then when? I’m leaving in the morning. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m not a fixture here like everyone else in this town.”
Kelly seemed to consider this. “Fine. If you’re leaving tomorrow, you can take a secret with you.”
Marin nodded.
“I don’t want to talk here.”
“Where, then?”
The A-House was decked out in Fourth of July splendor, complete with red, white, and blue pinwheels on the bar, mini–American flag toothpicks garnishing every drink, and a shirtless bartender wearing an Uncle Sam hat. The bar was packed, standing room only. Kelly elbowed her way to a spot in the corner closest to the video screen and waved the bartender over. He poured two kamikaze shots. Marin downed hers, even though it was not yet noon, even though she’d sworn off alcohol for the duration of her trip. Because on a gut level, she knew she was going to need it.
“So,” Kelly said over the music—Whitney Houston’s rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner,” complete with video accompaniment. “It appears that my cancer is back. It’s in my lungs now.”
The words stung like a slap in the face. Think of something positive to say.
“I’m really sorry, Kelly. I know this is not good news, not at all what anyone wants to hear. But—at the risk of sounding like a massive cliché—you can beat this.”
Kelly shook her head. “Well, that’s the thing, gorgeous. I can’t beat it—the doctor was pretty clear on that. I can just maybe buy some time. Hence his follow-up call this morning to make sure I didn’t pull a Virginia Woolf.”
It took a beat for Marin to get the reference.
“Oh, Kelly! How does your doctor know for sure?”
Kelly smiled. “Marin, come on. We’re both grown-ups here.”
“You need a second opinion. Come to New York. My former boss knows the head at—”
“Marin, no. There isn’t a fancy doctor in New York or in Boston or on the moon who can fix this. It’s spread to my lungs, and my brain could be next. He said I’d be lucky to get six months. And who knows what state I’ll be in by the end.”
Kelly called out for another shot. “Can you imagine that? To me, there’s nothing worse. Actual death isn’t as bad as living death.”
“Kelly, don’t go there. You have to think positive. They say your mental outlook is really important—”
Kelly touched her hand. “Marin, you have to promise me—swear to me—that you won’t tell Amelia.”
“What? Kelly, you have to tell her. You can’t just blindside her one day, months from now. She needs to know what’s going on.” She couldn’t imagine Amelia without Kelly. With their twenty-year age difference, Amelia surely had always assumed she would be the one leaving Kelly behind. She had no doubt planned for that.
Not for this.
“I’m not going to blindside her. But I do want to enjoy this Fourth of July—and I want her to as well. Because it will be our last together.”