“That’s fair.”
“Merry Christmas!” I laugh. “Here are some book galleys.”
“‘And a nickel bag from me!’” Anna squeaks in a high voice, imitating Mary.
We run down the steep dune toward the sea, shouting into the wind, ecstatic, faster than our legs can carry us. At the bottom, our momentum is slowed by the deep crunch of flat beach.
Anna falls forward onto her knees, raises her arms into the sky, victorious. “This, I miss.”
“This, I miss.” I fall onto my back next to her, making a snow angel in the sand. Anna’s cheeks are flushed pink, hair wind-tangled. “You’re looking absurdly gorgeous.”
“Don’t let me get drunk and fuck some hot guy in the dunes,” Anna says.
“I think you’re safe. Everyone here’s a thousand years old.”
“Still.”
I push up onto my elbows, look out at the sea—the pooling sun, the whitecap flecks, the crest and swell. Every single time I see the ocean, even if I’ve been there in the morning, it feels like a new miracle—its power, its blueness always just as overwhelming. Like falling in love.
The wind shifts, carrying the smell of burning driftwood and brine. Anna gets to her feet, brushes sand off her knees. “Right. Let’s go get our linen on.”
“I refuse to be seen in public with anyone who says, ‘get our linen on,’” I say.
“It’s repulsive, I agree,” Anna says, cracking herself up.
I worship my sister.
The first person to come into focus as we walk up the beach is Jonas’s mother. She’s standing slightly apart, her back to me, but I recognize her grizzled, aggressively undyed hair, the worn-suede Birkenstocks she’s holding in one hand, the line she’s drawing in the sand with one big toe. She must feel the vibration of our steps in the sand, because she turns, like a snake, and smiles. She’s talking to a girl I’ve never seen before: young—maybe twenty—pretty, petite, dark hair frosted blond at the ends, skin tanned a perfectly even brown, wearing shorts and a cropped T-shirt. Her belly button is pierced with a large diamond stud.
“Cubic zirconia,” Anna says as we approach them. “Do we know her?”
“No.”
“Hello, Anna, Eleanor,” Jonas’s mum says, lips tightening. She’s always disliked me. “I had no idea you two were here.”
“I’ve been avoiding the beach,” I say. “It’s like Coney Island this summer.”
“I got here yesterday,” Anna says.
Jonas’s mother puts a proprietary arm around the girl she’s been talking to. “This is Gina.”
Anna puts her hand out to shake, but instead Gina steps forward and gives her a big hug. “I’m so happy to meet you finally,” she says, hugging me next. Behind her back, Anna gives me a look of mock horror that Jonas’s mother catches.
“I ran into your mother at the A&P,” Jonas’s mother says. “I gather you’re planning a winter wedding.” She says the words as if they are in quotes, making sure I don’t miss her tinge of disdain.
“Yes,” I say. “We’re thinking ice statues and a chocolate fountain.”
“And not a moment too soon.”
“I’m sorry?” I say.
“Well, let’s face it, none of us are getting any younger.”
“Elle still has a few weeks left before she becomes a withered crone of thirty,” Anna says, sweet as a punch. “But we take your point. Are any of your boys here?”
“They’re men now,” Jonas’s mother says, as if she’s explaining something to a dunce. “No climbing on the dunes,” she shouts at some children playing at the bottom of the steep dune.
“It could collapse on them,” she says to Gina. “I do worry.”
“How’s Jonas?” I ask her.
“He’s very well.”
“He’s awesome,” Gina jumps in. “He got a gallery in Chelsea. We are both totally psyched. And we found this amazing loft. It was a ribbon factory.”
“What kind of work is he doing these days?” Anna asks.
I vaguely hear Gina saying something about acrylics and found objects, but my mind refuses to focus. The thought of Jonas living with this Gina person fills me with a jealousy I have no right to feel. Physical, palpable. Jonas belongs to me. It’s all I can do not to kick her in the shins.
Jonas’s mother looks as if she’s just swallowed a large tasty bird. “We are all absolutely delighted.”