Page 51 of Count My Lies

“Now?” asks Jay. He looks at his watch, then back at me. “We really should get going.”

I nod. “It’ll be quick. Just in front of the stoop is fine. Go on, get together.” I motion for them to stand next to me.

Jay sighs but picks up Harper and carries her back to the stoop. Sloane doesn’t move, waiting by the car.

“What are you doing?” I say. “I meant you, too, silly! Get up here! Can we use your phone?”

Sloane hands her phone to the driver and hurries back up the stoop to stand next to me. “Cheese!” I say as the driver holds the phone up.

When the photo’s been taken, we all load into the car, packing in like sardines. Harper sits between me and Sloane, headphones plugged into an iPad. Her neck is bent, eyes focused on the cartoon show on the screen. Sloane and I grin at each other over her head. We’re both excited, but only one of us should be.

Four hours later, the car drops us at a sunny dock, swarming with other travelers. We unload the suitcases from the back of the trunk and begin lugging them toward the boat.

“Smile, you two!” I say to Sloane and Harper. I hold up my phone. Sloane squats to Harper’s level and puts her arm around her small shoulders. I want there to be as many pictures as possible of Harper with Sloane, Harper with Jay and Sloane. I want there to be evidence of them as a family.

The ferry ride is just under an hour. While Jay is inside the cabin, pretending to work, Sloane, Harper, and I spend the trip on the top deck, counting seagulls and looking for whales. It’s hot and cool at the same time, the sun pounding down on us, the wind blowing, skimming across the cold salty ocean surface. When a cloud passes overhead, we all shiver, huddling together for warmth.

I keep snapping pictures, mostly of Harper and Sloane, a few selfies of the three of us, waving Sloane off when she offers to takeshots of just Harper and me. “I’m a mess,” I say, “I overslept,” covering my face with my hands, “seriously, don’t aim that camera at me!”

A short while later, the ferry docks and everyone pours off the ship, down the ramp. I stop at the bottom, breathing in the taffy-sweet, sea-spray air. My grandmother used to wait here for us, her arms open wide. I close my eyes, picturing her big smile, her hand on top of her big floppy hat so it wouldn’t fly away in the wind. It’s hot here, just as hot as in the city, but it feels different. There, the heat makes you want to crawl out of your skin, but on the island, it makes you want to take off your clothes, slowly unbuttoning your shirt, sliding your shorts down over your hips, panties on the floor. It’s a sultry heat, unwinding everyone, loosening everything.

We wait with the luggage while Jay goes for the rental car. When he pulls up, I insist Sloane rides next to him, up front. “So you have the best view of the island!” I tell her, climbing into the back seat of the car. Harper looks exhausted, her eyes glassy, drooping at the corners. I pull her close to me, letting her head rest against my body.

The car moves slowly down the gravel driveway, from the boatyard out onto a paved road, our windows down, the salty air warm and pungent. I’m home.

Soon, we reach the town’s main street, a bustling block of ice cream parlors, souvenir shops, restaurants with signs offering lobster rolls and fried clams. People are strolling on the sidewalks in sunglasses and sundresses, wide-brimmed hats, licking their melting cones, slurping cups of lemonade and crushed ice. It feels half real, half like you’ve walked onto a movie set. At the end of the block, I direct Jay to turn onto a one-lane road that runs next to the ocean. To our left is the water; to the right, beach cottages, all in a row, withwooden porches, wet swimsuits and towels slung over the railings to dry.

As we drive, the houses become farther apart, separated by stretches of bushy seagrass, tall stalks of feathered plants swaying in the wind. I glance down to see that Harper has fallen asleep, her head lolling forward, mouth slightly open, her body heavy. Sloane catches my eye in the rearview mirror and we smile at each other.

A few minutes later, we slow toward the end of a long block. I look down at the map on my phone. “It’s the next house,” I tell Jay. “The one with the shutters.”

Jay turns slowly into the gravel driveway then kills the engine. Carefully, I unbuckle Harper and lift her onto my hip, her head resting on my shoulder. She shifts, then snuggles her face into my neck.

Jay, Sloane, and I pause in the driveway, staring up at the house. It’s a two-story cottage with blue thatched siding, a bleached roof, and white shutters around the windows, not unlike my grandmother’s. There’s a covered porch with two Adirondack chairs facing toward each other. Across from it, a trail leading to a stretch of white sandy beach, the ocean.

We walk up the cobbled path to the porch in a single, quiet line. There’s a lockbox attached to the front door, just like Gina told me there would be. I tell Jay the code, and he lets us in.

Gina hasn’t disappointed. The inside of the house is as picturesque as the outside. It’s large and airy with whitewashed wood floors and shiplap siding, rattan furniture, cushions upholstered in pastel blues, nautical stripes. The décor is classic beach cottage: framed pictures of wooden lifeguard towers and old VW vans parked on sandy shores; a rusted anchor hanging on the wall next to the front door; conch shells and starfish in a glass bowl on the coffee table. On the bookshelves areclassic vacation reads: summer romances, and detective novels, their covers sun-faded and worn. The kitchen, at the back of the house, is charmingly vintage with retro black-and-white-tiled floors, an old-school stove and matching refrigerator, teal-blue cabinets. It has a round table with four chairs and a back door that looks like it might lead out onto a deck. I almost expect my grandmother to walk in, a pitcher of iced tea in hand.

I tilt my head toward the stairs to let Jay and Sloane know that I’m going to take Harper up to her bedroom. I take each step carefully. Upstairs, there’s a beachfront bedroom to my left, a small bedroom across from it, and, to my right, at the end of the hall, another big bedroom. I take Harper into the small bedroom with a twin bed and lay her gently down on top of the covers. She rolls onto her stomach, sighs, and settles back to sleep.

I shut the door behind me and head back downstairs. I step back into the living room just as Jay and Sloane come through the front door, their hands full of suitcases.

“Upstairs?” Jay asks.

“Here is fine.” I motion to a corner of the living room. “We can take them up when Harper is awake. Poor thing iswiped.” I plop down on the living room couch. “So am I, actually. I was thinking about making a run to the store to stock up on a few things, but”—I look to Jay—“would you mind going instead?” I give him a hopeful smile.

Jay shrugs. “Sure.”

“Thanks.” I smile at him. “Maybe some hot dogs for dinner? Milk, eggs. Bread for toast tomorrow.”

“Anything else?”

I shake my head. “No, but hey! Why don’t you take Caitlin?” I say. “You could give her the full tour of the island! There should becruisers in the garage. Take her by that little ice cream store! Oh, or that café next to the kayak rental!”

“Oh, it’s okay…” Sloane starts to protest. She looks nervously from me to Jay. “He doesn’t have to—”

“Jay doesn’t mind, do you, Jay?” I interject. And before he has a chance to respond, I continue, “The whole island is less than a two-hour bike loop. Then you can stop by the market on the way back. You can ride a bike, right, Cait?”

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