“Quite the spectacle the other night,” notes my father when we catch up to them.
“We live to entertain,” says Lily.
To my surprise, my dad grabs my shoulders and looks into my eyes. “Are you okay?”
The gesture is slightly marred by the glaring sun and his bizarre outfit, but the sentiment is not. I can’t remember the last time my dad asked me a question like this—like he really wanted to know the true answer.
“I’m okay,” I tell him, emotion making my words thick.
He gives me a firm pat on my left shoulder, almost knocking me over. Sometimes I forget how tall he is, and surprisingly strong, too. “I’m here for you.”
Irrationally, my throat gets tight. “Thanks, Dad.”
“So, how does this work?” interrupts Elizabeth. “We just wait and hope we happen across a whale?”
“Pretty much,” I say.
“That feels like a tremendous waste of time,” she grumbles. Her hat tries to take off again, lifting inches into the air.
Lily grabs it and pats it back down on her head. “Have some faith, Elizabeth. We’ve got Lottie’s magic on our side.” She looks at Mrs. Clay’s carrier. “Also, don’t cats, like, notoriously hate water and beaches?”
“Mrs. Clay is no ordinary cat,” says my dad in a solemn, serious voice.
We lug our belongings down the street to the beach path, resting the hot metal of the chairs against our shoulders. As soon as we are planted in the sand, Lily runs off to jump in the ocean. When she returns, her hair is wet and tangled, and she looks giddy, like a little kid.
“Are you really going to complete the entire bucket list in one day?” asks Elizabeth. She is lathering herself with tanning oil. It gleams on her skin.
“Doesn’t that cause skin cancer?” asks Lily. She’s covering her face with a baseball cap. Compared to my sister and dad, we look like marble statues. Elizabeth ignores her.
I pull out a copy of Lottie’s list to show her:
Watch the sunrise at Siasconset Beach.
Drive to Great Point Lighthouse.
Get onstage at the Chicken Box.
Win pickleball tournament.
Go whale watching.
Visit the Loines Observatory.
Have a beach picnic.
Name the cottage.
Crash a wedding.
Do something brave.
“We already finished number one, number two, number six, number seven, and number nine earlier in the summer. Number four didn’t exactly work out, but I still consider it a valid attempt. So, all we have left is number three, number five, number eight.”
“What about number ten?” asks Lily.
I lift an eyebrow. “I think we’ve done enough brave things this summer.”
She looks doubtful but shrugs, returning to inspect the ocean.
