He’d only been around two weeks, and already half the population of Wheaton had their eyes on him.
And he wanted to go on a date. With Erin. And her brain.
Grinning, Erin turned onto her grandparents’ long, leafy driveway. Spotting Tea’s birdhouses nestled among the ivy, she felt at home. Wooden wind chimes hung over the open porch where Grandma Tea sipped from a mug. She ran to Erin, and enveloped her in a hug.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“I’m happy to be here at last. Where’s Grampa?”
“He’ll be around,” Tea said. “I just talked to your mother. She says you have to practice cello the instant you get here. Where’s George?”
“In the car. I’ll get him in a minute.”
“You could probably take a day off,” Tea said.
“Not a chance. I’m closing in on two thousand days.”
Tea put her arm on Erin’s shoulder as they walked into the cottage. Projects and artwork filled the rooms. The cottage always had secrets to explore or invent; it was magical.
“I’m in my suit, you?” Tea asked.
“Not yet. Give me a sec.”
Erin slipped into her room and scanned more texts from Ben.
A few minutes later, Erin’s Grampa rapped on the door.
“Getting slow in your old age, Fish?”
“Nearly ready!” Erin dropped her phone on the bed and slipped into her swimsuit. She opened her door and wrapped her grampa in a hug.
“Back to Harvard this summer, I hear. Astrophysics!”
“I am beyond excited! I have to study human anatomy at College of DuPage the rest of the summer. Prep for med school, you know.”
Her grandparents exchanged a look.
Tea passed Erin a towel, and they walked to the dock barefoot.
“You do the honors!” Tea said.
Erin hooked her toes over the edge of the dock as if she were about to race. She dove into the crisp water.
Summer at last.
Ten days after that dive, she had her first date with Ben.
Eleven days after that dive, she left for Harvard.
A month after that dive, Grandma Tea died of a massive stroke.
Seven months after that dive, Erin’s Grampa died in his sleep.
FIFTY-FOUR
Driving to the north end of the South Island was a six-hour trek in the RV, and a two-punnet journey for Erin. She’d been completely fine until Takaka Ridge, where switchbacks and steep declines forced her to vomit twice in the span of fifteen minutes.
Cresting a peak, Erin spotted Golden Bay, stretching on forever. After spying the crescent beach, Erin scanned the horizon for ocean at every turn and didn’t need another punnet.
Though the caravan park had, indeed, been booked, Hamish inquired about walk-up options. While Pippa and Felicity used the toilet, Erin studied dozens of RVs parked in rows, half-dressed children roaming in packs, and lines of laundry billowing in the wind.
No longer was she offended by laundry lines because everyone in New Zealand hung their laundry out to dry; it saved heaps of energy, and—like uniforms—if everyone aired their underpants outside, there was no shame in it. Hamish had taught Erin to use a washing machine, and schooled her in the fine art of hanging laundry in the sun.
Hamish got the last spot—furthest from the water and adjacent to a fence. Felicity negotiated the caravan park’s narrow paths past adults in camp chairs, a small playground, a rugby scrum, and people barbecuing.
Felicity backed into their spot, and Pippa was off and running, leaving Felicity, Erin, and Hamish to set up camp.
The sun warmed Erin’s skin as she rinsed her punnets at the spigot and returned them to the caravan for the trip home.
Last spring break, six months ago now, Erin’s family had spent ten days in Cancun, where Erin admired the glistening ocean from her balcony but had little time to swim. She’d had ten days to complete her AP government project, two research papers, a stack of calculus problems, and two thick ACT prep books.
This spring break, Ilam’s teachers had bid Erin farewell with zero homework.
“Do you guys mind if I check out the beach?”
“Sweet as,” Hamish said.
“Super low tide today,” Felicity said. “Be back in time for tea.”
Erin responded to her fellow campers’ happy greetings with quiet hellos. By the time she reached the edge of the caravan park, she was smiling.
Between the caravans and the beach, a squat building housed laundry, kitchens, a small convenience store, toilets, and showers. On the other side of the building, Erin walked between large rocks to sandy Pohara Beach.
As promised, Golden Bay stretched on forever. It boasted no cabanas or ocean-side pool. No eager waiters served lunch on the sand. It was a long, flat beach. Full stop.
As a child Erin had considered tides only when they made for dangerous snorkeling in Hawaii. But when she’d studied the moon—really studied it—she’d learned about proxigean tides. Her classmate from Japan had been thrilled to learn why some tides are extremely high.
Learning not all tides were created equal fascinated Erin, and here she saw its effects. Tide was very low, so Erin walked a long way out through wet sand and tide pools. Near the gentle surf, she removed her shoes and walked in the shallows. Three months into her journey, she finally dipped her toes in the ocean. She walked along the water’s edge, gazing from the ocean to the beach to the mountains beyond. Pippa and her new pack climbed among the rocks that separated the beach from greenery.
Inhaling crisp New Zealand air, Erin enjoyed her vacation—a true vacation, from her life.
She pulled out her phone to see who was online. Marama and Jade hadn’t posted all day. Erin checked on Good-Time Girl and, to her utter chagrin, recognized her own ass in the last snap from a few days earlier. She’d captioned it Everyone is doing it, so why don’t you?
Gloria was Good-Time Girl.
Erin scrolled back and caught glimpses of Gloria’s life orbiting her own: pics from Castle Hill last February and a shot from Satellite Club several weeks ago. Gloria’s July skiing trip had been to Queenstown;
