The Girl Who Chased the Moon

music playing.

“It’s so loud!” Emily said. “I like it already.”

“Your mother liked it out here, too, as I recall. I remember hearing about a place in the cove where Sassafras would meet and rule over the beach all summer,” she said as she swung her beach bag over her shoulder and led Emily across the hot, gummy parking lot.

They walked down to the boardwalk, and from there to the beach. Because of the crowds, they had to walk in single file. Julia kept looking back to see if Emily was keeping up. Emily smiled the entire way, stopping to take off her shoes, then running to catch up.

They finally stopped at a place halfway between the boardwalk and the cove. There were houses above the beach on this end of the lake, large houses with glass walls overlooking the glittery blue water. As Julia took two towels out of her bag and spread them on the sand, Emily shaded her eyes from the glare of sun and looked around. “Were you meeting Sawyer here?”

“No. Why?” Julia asked as she shimmied out of her white shorts, revealing the bottom half of her red bikini. She left her gauzy long-sleeved shirt on over her red bikini top, though.

“Because he’s coming this way.”

Julia immediately turned to see him walking down the beach toward them. Sawyer stood out too much to blend in anywhere, but the closest he came was here, with the sun and the sand. He was golden. A sun king.

“He’s nice,” Emily said wistfully. “The moment I saw him, I knew he’d have an accent like that. I don’t know why.”

“Some men you know are Southern before they ever say a word,” Julia said as she and Emily watched Sawyer’s progress, helpless, almost as if they couldn’t look away. “They remind you of something good-picnics or carrying sparklers around at night. Southern men will hold doors open for you, they’ll hold you after you yell at them, and they’ll hold on to their pride no matter what. Be careful what they tell you, though. They have a way of making you believe anything, because they say it that way.”

“What way?” Emily asked as she turned to her, intrigued.

“I hope you never find out,” she said.

“You’ve been spoken to that way?”

“Yes,” she said softly, just as Sawyer stopped at their towels.

“Hello, ladies.”

“Hi, Sawyer,” Emily said as she sat down.

Julia sat on the towel next to her and stuffed her shorts into her beach bag. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Julia,” he said. “Bear hunting?”

She squinted up at him. “Is that a euphemism for something?”

He ignored that and sat on her towel at her feet. She could see her reflection in his sunglasses as he stared at her. What was he doing? Why was he being so familiar? The eighteen years of silence while she was gone, along with the year and a half of cold shoulder she’d given him since she’d been back, should have been more than enough to discourage him from sitting on her towel on the beach, inches away from her bare legs.

Yet here he was.

And all because she’d told Stella that she made cakes because of him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“My sister is in town for the weekend,” he said. “She and her daughter are staying at the family’s lake house. I came to see them.”

“So this has nothing to do with my telling you I was taking Emily out here today?” she asked skeptically.

“Now, that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?”

“Everything is easy for you, Sawyer.”

“Not everything.” Before she had a chance to respond, he nudged his chin in the direction behind her. “There’s my niece. Ingrid!” he called.

Julia and Emily turned to see a pretty redheaded teenager change course and walk over to them. Julia seemed to remember Sawyer’s older sister having red hair.

“This is Julia Winterson,” he said to his niece.

Ingrid smiled. “I recognize the pink streak in your hair. I see you sometimes in town when my mom and I visit,” she said. “I love it, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Julia said. “This is Emily. She just moved here.”

“Some kids over in the cove are having a cookout party and they asked me if I wanted to come. I’m going to ask my mom. Do you want to come, Emily?” Ingrid asked.

Emily looked at her blankly. “What is it for?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is it a club?”

“It’s a party,” Ingrid said, giving Emily a questioning look as she turned to leave. “I’ll be right back.”

Emily still looked confused.

“You’re making this out to be harder than it really is,” Julia said, laughing as she patted Emily’s hand. “All you have to say is ‘I’d love to come!’”

“Like this,” Sawyer said. “Julia, would you like to go out with me Monday night?”

“I’d love to!” she playacted. “See? Easy. It’s just a party. Didn’t you go to parties at your old school?”

“Well, I helped organize parties with my mom. Usually fundraisers. And some community service clubs at school used to have end-of-the-year parties.”

“What kind of school did you go to?”

“Roxley School for Girls. My mom helped found it. It’s a school based on social activism and global awareness. Volunteering is part of the curriculum.”

There again was that hint that Dulcie might have done some good with her life. Emily had mentioned something about it before, about Dulcie and her causes. As unbelievable as it seemed, Dulcie must have changed when she left here. “Well, there’s no reason for this party. It’s just for fun.”

Emily gave her a dubious look.

Julia laughed again. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be right here when you want to go home. No pressure.”

Ingrid came back shortly and said, “Are you ready, Emily?”

Emily stood, put on a smile Julia was sure she didn’t mean, and walked away with Ingrid.

“Who would have thought Dulcie would have raised such a decent girl?” Sawyer said.

“She is a nice kid, isn’t she?”

“You’re good with her. And no, I’m not surprised.”

Julia shrugged uneasily, realizing she was alone with him now and she couldn’t run away from what she knew he wanted to talk about. “I figure she needs someone she can turn to until she gets settled. I remember what it was like being that age. And believe me, I’m profoundly grateful to be on this side of it now.”

Sawyer was quiet for a moment as he studied her. She wished he would take off his sunglasses. She didn’t like seeing how uncomfortable she looked.

It was natural, she supposed, to be tense around him. Your peers when you’re a teenager will always be the keepers of your embarrassment and regret. It was one of life’s great injustices, that you can move on and be accomplished and happy, but the moment you see someone from high school you immediately become the person you were then, not the person you are now. When she was around Sawyer, she was the old Julia-the messed-up daughter of a man who hadn’t finished high school and cooked barbecue for a living. Sawyer never did anything to make her feel that way, but it inevitably happened. She could blame a lot of things on him, but not that.

“Why don’t you take off your shirt?” he finally asked.

“I bet you say that to all the girls.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “You know why.” She reached over to her beach bag for a bottle of water, but Sawyer caught her arm.

He held her arm and slowly pushed the sleeve up. It took great effort not to snatch her arm away. She had to remind herself that he’d seen them before. Most people had. She couldn’t hide them all the time.

He trailed his thumb over the scars. Some were as thin as wire, others were thick and raised. It was a surprisingly tender thing to do and it made her heart ache, just a little.

“Who did you turn to when you were her age, Julia?”

You. “No one. That’s how I know.” She slid her arm out of his grasp. “I don’t like to