“I guess you know I lost my parents.”
“Yes,” Daria said.
“The real estate agent who handles your cottage told us. What about Polly? How is she doing?”
“She died two years ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Rory,” Daria said.
“Me, too,” Chloe added.
“Polly was truly special.”
“Mmm, very,” he said.
“I read about your divorce,” Daria said.
He laughed. His life was open to the public.
“I guess I have no secrets,” he said.
“That must be strange,” Daria said. She sounded sympathetic. “But the news just reports the facts about a celebrity. So and so got divorced. So and so landed in a mental hospital. They don’t say how so and so feels about what happened to him.”
“Good point,” Rory said.
“Well, I can sum up my feelings about those events pretty quickly. Losing my parents was the pits—they were too young. Losing Polly was even worse, as you can imagine.”
“I bet,” Daria said.
“My divorce was… difficult, but a relief in the long run. And my son is the best thing that ever happened to me, although he hasn’t figured that out yet.”
“Who is Polly?” Shelly asked.
“My sister,” he said.
“Why did she die?” Shelly asked.
“She had Down’s syndrome,” Rory said.
“It affected her heart.”
“She was so fair,” Daria said.
“I remember she’d always burn, every summer, no matter how much lotion your mom put on her.”
“That was Polly,” Rory agreed.
“She wasn’t much of a beach person.” He looked at Chloe.
“So,” he said, “now all of you know what I’ve been up to. How about the three of you? Chloe? You were so smart. You were in college before I could even spell the word. I remember you were studying history, right? You wanted to be a teacher. Is that what you are?”
The three women laughed, and he raised his eyebrows, surprised.
“I’m wrong, I take it?” he asked.
“Well, no, you’re not wrong,” Chloe said slowly, coyly. T teach history and English at a Catholic school in Georgia during the year.
“
Shelly giggled.
“Chloe is really Sister Chloe,” she said.
“Sister Chloe?” he repeated, confused.
“I’m a nun,” Chloe said.
“Oh!” He knew he couldn’t prevent the shock from showing in his face.
Chloe Cato was a nun? He suddenly remembered that the Cato family had been very religious. Mr. Cato had gone to church early every morning, and he and his wife had been very strict, requiring Daria and Chloe and their cousin, Ellen, to come inside as soon as it got dark, while the other kids were still playing on the beach. Still, this was hard to believe.
Chloe’s head might be telling her she was a nun, but her body and beauty were doing their best to deny it. He still remembered how she looked in a bikini: those large breasts, tiny waist and narrow hips.
The boys on the beach had followed her around with their tongues hanging out. He remembered everyone ruling Chloe out as a suspect in the deserted-baby incident because, except for those breasts, she had been notoriously thin. Anorectic, almost. Yet that body was hidden now beneath long, loose shorts and a baggy T- shirt.
“I think you’ve rendered him speechless,” Daria said to Chloe with a laugh.
“I just … hadn’t expected that.” He laughed himself. That explained Chloe’s reserve in greeting him.
“So, do nuns get the summer off? Is that why you’re here?”
“I’m working at St. Esther’s, the Catholic church in Nag’s Head, for the summer,” Chloe said.
“I’ve been doing that the past few summers, running a day camp for kids.”
“Well, I’m almost afraid to ask what you’re doing, Daria,” he said.
