“I’m Edd.” The driver walks toward them.
Seth steps forward, smiling, vigorous shake of the hand and broad chest stuck out. This is typical Seth. A jock, but a beautiful one, she thinks, taking in the thick line of muscle in his arm.
Hana remembers the first time they met, at a coffee shop near their house. Seth had introduced himself—all faux humbleness—and then proceeded to semiflirt with her mother and sisters in turn, holding their gaze a bit too long, throwing out compliments. He’d clearly expected people to find him attractive, and while he is—tall, bearded, muscular—and she did, the expectation was off-putting. The entitlement.
She catches Caleb’s eye as the handshake finally comes to an end and they share a smile.
It’s the first time she’s looked at him properly. His safari-style shorts paired with a faded Pac-Man T-shirt display the deliberate, don’t-give-a-shit nonchalance of a Silicon Valley tech nerd. It fits somehow; Caleb’s an academic, older than them all but still clinging to the student vibe.
Physically, he’s the polar opposite of Seth—lean, sharp-featured, with the kind of nondescript mousy hair that makes him blend into a crowd. Hana still remembers her mother’s surprise when Bea introduced them last year. Her prior boyfriends had been, to use her mother’s cringy expression, “hale and hearty.”
Her mother’s analysis a few days later was undecided: There’s something self-righteous about him. Over dinner that night, they had glimpses of it: comments about politics and education that slipped under the radar because of the booze. It didn’t bother Hana. She admired his confidence in saying the things she also felt but had never voiced. She’d always cared too much about what people thought of her.
When they met again—just the sisters and Caleb this time—she liked him even more. He had a keen intelligence, a dry humor, and the kind of quiet confidence that’s often overlooked beside the chest-beating of someone like Seth. Caleb was able to match Bea intellectually and wasn’t afraid to challenge her. Most people were. Bea’s ferocious brain intimidated almost everyone—rendered them either mute or defensive.
“So how many are we waiting on?” the driver asks.
“Only one.” Jo laughs. “In fact, there she is now.”
Maya’s coming toward them, a half run, half walk down the jetty, one battered canvas sneaker trailing a lace behind it. She’s in typical Maya attire: a thin gray dress hanging loose over her tanned, sinewy frame. A hot pink scarf dotted with a white pineapple print is loosely knotted around her head, only just taming her mass of curly black hair.
“Nearly went without you.” Jo’s face splits into a grin. “I—”
She isn’t able to finish her sentence before Maya barrels into them, pulling Jo in and then Hana for a three-way hug, but they clash, elbows bumping. There’s an awkwardness to the embrace; the action rusty somehow, underused. As Maya steps back, her bag drops from her shoulder—a battered black holdall that looks suspiciously light and small.
Jo narrows her eyes. “Sure you’ve got everything?”
Hana suppresses a smile. Jo had sent them an exhaustive list of supplies for the trip. Rash guard. Cap. Water shoes. Sunscreen. It went on.
“Of course. I followed the list to the last letter.” Maya winks, catching Hana’s eye.
“All right, let’s go.” The driver is already striding toward the boat.
As Hana climbs aboard, there’s a loud noise. She jumps. Several feet away, teenage boys are plunging into the sea from the wall by the restaurant, shorts billowing up as they plummet. The sharp crack as they smash into the water goes right through her.
“You okay?” Jo takes a seat next to her, tipping her head so it’s close to Hana’s. There’s sympathy in her tone, but it’s touched with something. Annoyance? Frustration?
“Of course. Those kids startled me, that’s all.”
“Are you sure you’re not still—”
“Still what?” Hana asks sharply.
Jo shrugs, but Hana knows what she’s thinking. You’re not still anxious?
Her behavior this past year, her inability to dust herself off and go back to normal, has, in Jo’s eyes, rendered her flawed, broken. And Jo believes that this is in some way her decision, as if by now Hana should have snapped out of it.
It’s what she remembers most about last year, after Liam’s accident. Jo looking at her, not empathizing, but examining, as if she were trying to find a chink in Hana’s grief, some kind of signal that this would only be temporary.