“They’re having fun.” She watched a group of mothers play with their children in the shallows, an activity punctuated by much delighted squealing.
“You sound surprised.”
“I guess for me beaches are more about fear than fun.”
“I didn’t expect you to be here.”
“Would you rather I hadn’t come?”
“No.” He was beginning to wonder why he was fighting it. He glanced at her, wondering if she felt it, too, but she was staring at Lizzy, her green eyes focused on the child. Emily’s hair was loose and softly curling, strands
of blond and caramel floating around blush-tinted ivory skin that reminded him of the strawberries-and-cream flavor Lisa served in Summer Scoop.
If she were a dessert, he would have eaten her in two mouthfuls.
She stirred, her arm brushing against his. “I came because of you.”
“Me?” For a moment he thought she was propositioning him, and then he realized their minds were working along different tracks, and she was still thinking about Lizzy.
“You told me she needed to have fun and lead a normal life. On Puffin Island a beach picnic is normal. I don’t want her to be afraid of the water.”
“Can she swim?”
“I have no idea.” She turned slightly green. “You’re worried she might fall in?”
“No, but swimming is an important life skill. It will give her confidence. In the summer, the pool at the Ocean Club is closed to the public in the mornings so that Rachel can give swimming lessons to the kids as part of Camp Puffin. I’m sure she’d take Lizzy.”
Emily’s expression showed an agony of indecision, and then she nodded. “Yes. It’s a good idea.” She said it as if it were the worst idea in the world.
“Every kid should be able to swim.”
“Yes.” She stared straight ahead, and he knew she was wondering whether she might have been able to prevent what had happened if she’d known how to swim.
“It wouldn’t have made a difference.” He spoke softly, so they couldn’t be overheard. “You were too little. Most grown-ups don’t know what to do when they’re caught in a riptide. Even if you’d been able to swim, there is no way you would have been able to save her.”
“I’ll never know. You’re right. I’ll ask Rachel if she’ll teach Lizzy.” She watched as Lizzy scooped water from a tide pool into her bucket. When it was too dark to play any longer, they picked their way back across the rocks, juggling children, brimming buckets and sandy feet.
Anton and his team were layering potatoes, onions and garlic on top of the lobster in four large kettles over open fires. Then came corn and hot dogs and finally the whole meal was sealed to keep in the steam. Small tables were groaning under the weight of various appetizers, freshly baked bread and mixed salads. As well as hot dogs, the menu included hamburgers for the children, and the smell of cooking scented the air, mingling with the scent of the sea.
At the far edge of the beach, the forest crowded the edge of the water, and the setting sun sent a mosaic of warm light over the treetops and the sand.
Lizzy was clutching the bucket Ryan had given her, now filled with shells and other interesting objects she’d found in the pools.
As they sat down on blankets near the fire, Emily examined the contents of the bucket.
“That’s pretty.” Skylar leaned across and helped herself to a piece of turquoise sea glass, the ends of her hair sweeping the sand. “Polished up, that would be gorgeous.”
“Ryan, look!” Lizzy crawled over to him and dropped a shell in his lap.
He picked it up and duly admired it. It was impossible not to respond to Lizzy’s enthusiasm, and he caught his sister watching him curiously.
It was obvious from her expression she was wondering what he was doing.
He was wondering the same thing.
To give himself space from Lizzy’s impromptu show-and-tell, he rose to his feet and excused himself on the pretext of checking in with Anton, but Rachel reached him before he made it halfway across the beach.
“What’s going on, Ryan?”