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“I can’t think about this anymore,” she says, jumping to her feet. “Allison’s coming down in a few weeks. She’ll straighten him out. Come on. You need a drink.”

Ugh. Allison. I already hate her.

Thanks to her, I do need a drink now. Badly.

Chapter 5

James went to sleep-away camp in Maine every summer. When he left there was a curious stillness to the air, the surprising silence that ensues after a power outage on a hot summer night.

Ginny and I finally got to go ourselves when we turned nine. Much like this summer’s beach trip, my thrill was entirely related to the fact that I’d be with James. I imagined being able to participate in all of the same activities, giving him a chance to notice my surprising maturity. I also imagined wowing him with my guitar-playing, which was unlikely to work out since I don’t play guitar.

But the camp spread over several acres, and we weren’t even in the same section. And I was homesick. Aside from Ginny’s house, I’d never slept away from my mother before.

I cried and cried that night, until one of the counselors finally pulled me out of the cabin because I was keeping the other girls awake. They got Ginny, and when that failed, they got James.

He sat beside me on the front steps of my cabin, and I was ashamed of my tears but too desperate to hide them. “I want to go home,” I whimpered. He put his arm around me.

“Yeah?” he asked. “Why?”

“I don’t like it here,” I said. “I don’t like the food.”

He laughed. “So it’s the food that’s bothering you?”

“No,” I whispered. “I just want my mom.”

He nodded. “I kind of wanted mine too, when I first started coming.”

“You did?”

“Yep. She would always sing this stupid song to me at bedtime, which I acted like I didn’t like, but when I got here I missed it. And I felt bad that I’d acted like I didn’t like it.”

This made me cry harder, because my own sadness wasn’t the same. I dug my bare toes into the dirt at the bottom of the steps, wishing I could somehow stop. “My mom gets lonely when my dad is gone,” I said quietly. “She needs me there or she forgets things.”

“What kind of things?” he asked.

“She never remembers her appointments or when the trash pick-up is or to turn off the stove,” I told him, my anxiety bubbling up with every word.

I heard the tension in his voice when he replied. “She’s an adult,” he argued. “You’re too young to be worried about things like that.”

I said nothing, because him being right didn’t change the way things worked at home. He changed tack.

“My grandmother is super religious,” he said. “Have you met her?”

“The one who makes the gross cookies?” I asked.

He laughed. “Yeah, her. She gave me this medal,” he said, pulling it over his head. “It’s St. Christopher. It’s supposed to keep you and those you love safe when you’re away from home.” He put it around my neck. “You can wear it while you’re here. It’ll protect you and your mom.”

“But what will keep you safe, then?” I asked, with real concern.

He grinned at me, a grin far too cocky and self-assured for a kid his age. “I don’t need a medal. I can take care of myself.”

I still have that necklace to this day. I imagined showing it to our children, but now I see what a ridiculous, childish pipe dream that was. He’s getting ready to graduate and marry someone else. And I’m a stupid 19-year-old girl who just made an ass of herself unwittingly for the whole country to watch.

It strikes me only now that 99% of the appeal of living at the beach with Ginny was proximity to her brother. No matter what Bruce said, I should be back in DC or NYC trying to salvage my life. I think about all the summers I gave up to my career goals, all that single-minded focus and devotion. Am I really going to let it all be swept away without a fight? And do I really want to spend an entire summer with James? I’m currently experiencing a small, stabbing pain in my chest over a boy I haven’t seen in years. So what happens when I live with him?

To my relief, James no longer stands by the keg when we re-enter the party. I get my beer and Ginny introduces me to the people around us, most of whom seem to be college friends of the guys, or people who work with them. A girl named Kristy works with Ginny and James at the bar. “You’re gonna apply?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say. “Maybe. If I stay.”