Page 85 of The Summer We Mended
Jess was near the harbor walk, photographing details for the solstice social media campaign.“Hold that sign a little higher, Blaze!”she called, then snapped a picture of him holding a hand-painted board that read Summer Begins Here.He grinned, missing both front teeth.
Anna paused to take it all in.The children’s laughter.The cheerful arguments over balloon placements.The scratchy hum of guitars warming up at the bandstand.For just a heartbeat, it felt like everything was going to be okay.Not fixed, not untouched, but okay.
By late afternoon, the crowd had nearly doubled.Music poured from the stage, an upbeat folk band playing covers of classic Vineyard favorites, and couples swayed barefoot in the grass.Anna stood behind a booth with her mom and Cody, handing out paper fans with the solstice schedule printed on them.Every time someone smiled and thanked her, she felt something in her ribcage loosen.
Blaze and Nora had made a group of new friends and darted between booths, collecting stamps on their Solstice Adventure Map—another Jess invention.When Anna caught sight of them dancing with Max, who wore a ridiculous sunflower-patterned bandanna, she laughed, really laughed, for the first time in what felt like years.
Dinner was potluck-style.Tables groaned with platters of grilled corn, baked clams, summer salads, watermelon slices, and Claudia’s famous strawberry shortcake.Neighbors sat elbow to elbow, paper plates in hand, swapping stories and recipes.The sun hung low in the sky, dipping toward the water.
Claudia stood near the bandstand as golden hour set in, microphone in hand.“Thank you all for coming,” she began, her voice ringing out clearly.“This solstice party is something we’ve done for years, and I think we all know why it matters.It’s a time to celebrate light.To welcome summer, to remember those we’ve lost, and to hold close the people we still have.”
A hush fell over the crowd.Kids quieted, adults straightened, and even the band stilled their instruments.
Claudia’s voice softened.“The lantern release began generations ago, right here on the harbor.It was a way for the families of lost fishermen to send their love into the sky, to help guide their husbands and sons back home.Whether you believe in the stories or not, it’s a tradition rooted in hope.In holding on.In remembering.”
Anna swallowed hard, her eyes blurring.She looked down at the lantern in her hands, its pale shell fluttering gently in the breeze.It bore her father’s initials in her handwriting, the ink still drying.
Claudia stepped aside, and volunteers began moving through the crowd with lighters, helping families ignite their lanterns.The sky had deepened to a velvety indigo, and a few early stars twinkled above.
The first lantern lifted off the ground slowly, uncertain in the breeze.Then another.And another.Soon, dozens of glowing orbs rose into the sky, golden and flickering, each carrying a name, a message, a memory.
Anna helped Blaze and Nora with theirs, steadying the base as the hot air filled the lantern and it lifted from their hands.She didn’t speak, none of them did.The moment felt sacred.
Beside her, Blaze whispered, “Do you think Daddy can see it?”
Anna bit the inside of her cheek, nodded, and whispered back, “I think it’s going to help him find his way.”
She lifted her own lantern last, watching it float up toward the heavens.Her hand remained raised long after the lantern had disappeared into the sky, as if holding the moment itself.
She thought of Luke, of his strength, his stubborn optimism, the way he always brought her back to center.She pictured him seeing the light from somewhere far off, like a sailor spotting shore through a storm.
“Keep sight of the shore,”she could almost hear his voice whispering the words in her ear.
Please come home,she thought.The shore is still here.We’re still here.
As the final lanterns rose, the harbor glowed with their reflections, golden trails shimmering on the water like paths to the stars.The whole town stood together, backs straight, eyes lifted.
It was the most beautiful thing she’d seen in her life.She’d seen it a dozen times before growing up, but in this moment, it felt completely different from how she’d ever felt before.It was almost a spiritual movement.She could feel her heart getting lighter, opening, and almost calling out to her husband.She closed her eyes and kept the tears from falling down her cheeks.It’s almost as if she was willing Luke to see the lights in the sky and know that it was her and the kids, reminding him to keep the shore in sight.
And in that moment, Anna felt that fragile but unmistakable tether that kept them all connected.Through grief.Through joy.Through the longest day and the darkest night.
ChapterThirty-Two
Lily
The following day, Lily watched her daughter from the doorway, arms crossed loosely over her chest, her fingertips clutching the soft knit of her sweater.Anna sat curled on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, shoulders hunched, eyes trained on the untouched cup of tea in her hands.Her face looked pale in the late afternoon light streaming through the windows, her expression drawn tight with a kind of grief Lily couldn’t begin to fix.And God, how she wished she could fix it.
She had watched Anna grow into a mother, a wife, a woman of fierce loyalty and gentle strength.And now she was watching her daughter unravel, thread by thread, in the shadow of fear and the unknown.Lily longed to take it from her, to carry it on her own shoulders, to rewrite this pain into something manageable.But all she could do was be here.Sit beside her when she allowed it.Fold laundry quietly in the next room when she didn’t.
And take care of the children in the moments that became too much for Anna.There were moments when she’d drift off.Times when her mind was elsewhere, and Lily or Margot would quietly step in and take over so the kids didn’t notice.
That, at least, she could do.
Lily found herself at the studio more often these days, the children trailing behind her like ducklings, each carrying their small bags or backpacks, chattering about glazes and shapes, and whose pinch pot had exploded in the kiln last time.She hadn’t realized how much they loved it there or how much she needed it, too.The familiar scent of clay and earth grounded her, reminded her of what her hands could still do.She could center clay on a wheel.She could show the twins how to roll coils, how to blend the seams together with their thumbs.She could help Blaze smooth out his thick, lumpy bear until it looked like something that wouldn’t terrify a child.
They needed the distraction, the laughter, the tactile work of shaping something from the mess.And truth be told, so did she.She hadn’t really realized how shuttered in she had been.And in this strange pocket of uncertainty, she was letting herself take deeper breaths.Letting the world into her skin again.
She’d even gone to the farmer’s market.
