“This way,” he murmured after we parked. Even this late, the air was hot and humid, a lackadaisical breeze barely stirring the heavy air. Noah took my hand and led me to the end of the pavement. A sandy path took over, squeezing its way between two sets of tall hedges marking different properties. This no-man’s-land ended at the top of wooden steps built into a dune and leading down to the beach. Standing at the brink, we had a sweeping view of the water.
I froze. Turned out I didn’t always hate surprises. “Oh my god.”
Noah wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side. “I know.”
The water glowed with neon blue sparks, washing to shore and back, eerie and beautiful and unearthly. Awe cascaded through me. I hadn’t known the world could be like this. “What is it?”
“Bioluminescent jellyfish. They’re called comb jelly.”
We walked down the steps to the sand, kicking off our shoes and approaching the water. The waves crashed against the shore, beautiful and glowing and strange, pulling at something deep within my gut. Sometimes, when I saw nature like this, stunning and bizarre, I felt like I’d been presented with an aching secret I didn’t understand, something tremendously ancient and important.
Only this time, I didn’t ache as much as I often did. Noah’s presence filled the hole in my chest. With him, I could appreciate the beauty. And it didn’t make me long for something I would never have.
Noah pulled off his shirt, and my thoughts narrowed back on him. “What are you doing?”
“Going in.” Happiness lit his face as he grinned at me.
“Are you serious?” I gaped at him, then at the glowing water. “Is it safe?”
He walked backward toward the water. “Guess we’ll find out. Unless you’re scared?”
“Fighting words, Noah Barbanel.”
His grin was as bright as the moon. “Guess you’ll have to fight me, then.” And before I could protest, he dove forward and picked me up, throwing me over his shoulder and running into the water, the spray splashing up at me. I struggled valiantly, laughing and hollering. “Don’t you dare!”
“Can’t stop me.”
I smacked his butt. “I will bite you—”
He dumped me in the water.
It closed over my head, suspending me in a silent, isolated world. My limbs stretched out and my hair drifted slowly away.
Then I burst up and jumped on him.
“You’re wet!” he yelped. “And cold!”
“You deserve it.” I tried to off-balance him and knock him into the water by kicking at his legs. He caught one of mine and pinned it to his side. Then, for some reason, hoisting my other leg around his waist seemed like a good idea, and then I had both legs wrapped around him, his arms holding me in place, and we were grinning wildly and staring into each other’s eyes.
Then we were kissing and laughing and back in the water, swimming and playing, until we tired ourselves out. Slowly, the glowing green-and-blue jellyfish we’d scared off surrounded us once more. We floated on our backs, suspended by water and salt, drifting in between water and sky.
Here was the thing.
His family didn’t like me, or the idea of the two of us together. But I did. I liked Noah so much I thought my entire body might break if I went more than a day without seeing him. I liked him so much I pictured him every time I closed my eyes. I craved his touch, his laughter, his gaze. Maybe other people didn’t think we were a good idea, and I’d given their opinion due consideration. But we were a good idea, the two of us.
We might be the best idea in the world.
Twenty-Five
“How do you feel,” Noah asked a few days later, as we lay on the beach after I’d finished work and he’d finished crew practice, “about garden parties thrown by obscenely wealthy people?”
I propped myself up on my elbows so I could gaze down at him. He was so beautiful, this boy, with his curly hair and his dark eyes and his smile, which came so easily and often when we were together. “Like, say, the one I served drinks at?”
“Swap out summer-beginning for summer-ending. My grandparents throw one every year.”
“I am slightly skeptical of going to a party with your family.”
“They’ll get over themselves the more they see you. Exposure therapy.”
“Hm.”
“My mom likes you. My dad’s just salty because of botany, but he’ll chill out. Especially if he realizes we’re serious.”
Serious. There was something tantalizing about how he said it, so matter-of-factly. He had no doubt about us. He wanted his family to know me. He was serious.
Still. “And your grandparents?”
“We’ll avoid them.” He tugged me closer, his tone imploring. “Please. I have to go. And it’s my last night on the island before I leave for Boston. I want to spend it with you.”
A pang shot through me at the idea of him leaving so soon. I’d leave a scant week after, and then we wouldn’t see each other for who knew how long. I forced my lips up. “How very full circle.”
“Please. We can even break in to the study again if you like.”
This time my smile was more genuine. “If you’re lucky.”
He grinned up at me. “You can serve me champagne, too.”
I smacked his chest lightly. “I’ll pour it on you.”
“Oh, I think I’d like that, too,” he murmured. When my mouth fell open he laughed and pulled me down for a kiss.
“You’re bad.”
He rolled us over and pressed his lips to the underside of my jaw. “Only if you’re lucky.”
So we went to the party.
This time, I wore a gauzy pink dress and heeled sandals. Instead of sneaking through the house, I arrived early and hung out with Noah and cousins during setup. And instead of early summer flowers, we were deep in August, everything lush and green, soaked with color like the world couldn’t hold itself back.
Yet I couldn’t forget how fall would soon arrive. In the morning, Noah would leave for Cambridge, and soon I’d return to South Hadley. I tried to picture the world cold again. It seemed impossible winter would ever come here, where the sun seeped so thoroughly through to my bones. Perspiration beaded on my skin, and the heady perfume of flowers soaked the air. Yet I could feel the seasons readying to turn, the world shifting. My world shifting.
“Stay close,” Noah said as the guests started arriving, scanning the incoming adults from our safety within the pack of cousins.
“What happens if I don’t?”
“I won’t be able to protect you from conversations about whether or not snakeskin print is in or out.”
I blinked. “Which is it?”
“Okay, maybe I should leave you to those conversations.”
But none of the conversations were so mundane—or maybe they were, but I hardly noticed, because each time we merged into a new group of people, Noah said, “This is my girlfriend, Abigail,” and by the time I’d come down from the high—his girlfriend—we’d moved on to the next group.
I did stick to his side, and closely, because I didn’t want to lose a moment of this night, even if we had to share it with other people. But at one point I found myself across a circle from him—and the next thing I knew, Noah’s mom stood before me.
“Abby. I’m so glad you came.”
Mrs. Barbanel was probably the only member of the Barbanel clan who might be happy to see me, so I returned her tentative smile. “Hi, Mrs. Barbanel. Everything is so nice.”
“Oh, no thanks to me. Noah’s grandmother does all of it.” She tilted her head, rather birdlike. “Noah tells me he’s going to take a biological diversity class next year.”
I tensed, afraid of being politely reamed out.
“It sounds nice,” she added, to my surprise. “He was telling me about the program
and he’s very excited about it. He’s always been fascinated by nature. His grandmother taught him all about gardening, every summer we came here.”
“Oh?” I squeaked.
She smiled. “She tried to teach me, when I first married Harry, but the outdoors isn’t really my thing. She was thrilled when Noah showed interest. It’s a bit of a family tradition—my husband’s grandmother taught Helen.” Mrs. Barbanel’s clear, steady gaze made me wonder how much she knew about this summer. “It was one of the few things the two shared.”
“I’m glad,” I said, and I meant it. Because even though most of my support belonged to O’ma, part of me hurt for Helen, for anyone made to feel like a second choice. Because of course she’d wanted to fit in; of course she wanted her mother-in-law’s approval. And my heart hurt for Eva Barbanel, too, who used to show my grandmother the flowers she planted. Had Eva felt like she’d lost a daughter when O’ma left Edward?
The sun sank into the sea, and the moon intensified, a perfect pearl in the sky. The night whirled on in laughter and conversation. At a little past ten, I stopped by the hedges on my way back from the bathroom and breathed in the night air, taking in the scene. People filled the lawn, adults, teenagers, the occasional child. A palpable joy and delight in summer traveled like a current between guests. Even the windows glowed with a cozy, warm light. For the first time, Golden Doors looked like a home to me.
I pulled out my phone to capture the moment, framing Noah where he stood with a group against the house. An email alert flashed across the top of my screen: a new message in my exchange about the Holtzman House. I sucked in a breath, and surprise and anticipation jolted through me as I tapped the email open.
Dear Abigail,
Hi, my name’s Megan Wolfe and I’m the collections intern at the New York Jewish Archives. I was forwarded your request for photos from 1939 from the Holtzman House. I’ve digitized the collection of images from those years and attached the file. I hope this contains what you’re looking for! Please let me know if there’s anything else we can help you with.
I was going to send this intern a gift basket.
Noah was still talking with people halfway across the lawn, laughing with two men in seersucker. He wouldn’t miss me for a few more minutes. I opened the PDF.
The pictures loaded slowly, so I scrolled the same way, taking in each one. Children and teenagers, girls my age holding toddler boys, solemn expressions, heavy coats, old-fashioned hats, the rare smile—
And there she was. O’ma. I wouldn’t have recognized her if I hadn’t already seen a picture of her in the Barbanel scrapbooks, which had showed me what she looked like at only four years old. She wore a heavy jacket and a cloche hat.
And—
My breath caught in my chest, like my heart had snagged on a rib bone. I enlarged the photo, bringing my phone closer. A furrow dug deep between my brows.
There, resting across her collarbone, hung the necklace.
But. She was four years old. Why would a four-year-old be wearing a necklace? And—she didn’t have the necklace yet. She hadn’t met Edward yet. Edward gave her the necklace.
Unless he hadn’t.
Unless it really was O’ma’s necklace. And it had to be—how else could she be wearing it in this photo? That was the only option.
And it made sense, didn’t it? Because why else would she have wanted it back so much? She’d wanted it back because it had always been hers. It had belonged to her all along.
Why had Edward lied? How dare he? For what possible reason could he have had to lie to us?
Except—
Actually, Helen had told me Edward gave O’ma the necklace. She, technically, had been the one to lie. Had she done it to keep Edward from looking like a thief? To protect the family reputation, which Noah said she valued so much? But for god’s sake. They shouldn’t have lied. Maybe they’d had a reason, but they should have owned up to it, especially now, years later. Was it really easier to try to sweep the truth under the rug and hope I would go away?
I had to tell Noah.
Quick and light-footed, I crossed the lawn, and took a small step up to his side. I placed my hand on the back of his arm. “Hi.”
He beamed at me and took my hand. “This is my girlfriend, Abigail Schoenberg.”
Girlfriend.
I nodded politely during the introductions—ah yes, Representative, nice to meet you, and you, too, news anchor who looks shorter in person, best not to mention—quivering with suppressed tension. When the others returned to their conversation, I stood on my tiptoes and whispered in Noah’s ear. “I have to tell you something.”
He looked at me, took in my expression, and nodded. “Nice talking to you,” he said to the others, and let me drag him away to the edge of the lawn, where the privet hedge rose. We stood in an archway leading to the gardens and roses and gazebo and ocean, a spot of privacy with the rest of the guests drifting before us.
“What?” he asked, half laughing.
“Look at this.” I showed him the photo on my phone, practically bouncing on my toes. “That’s my grandmother’s necklace.”
His eyes focused on mine, confused, intent. He transferred his attention to the screen. “What?”
“The nonprofit I emailed, with the records from the Holtzman House, where my grandmother went. They emailed me their pictures from the year she arrived.”
He took the phone from my hand and enlarged the photo, just as I’d done. “This is her?”
“Yeah. From when she first arrived in the States.” Unable to resist, I gave a little jump. “Noah, she’s wearing the necklace. It was hers.”
His mouth worked, a frown swallowed. “But my grandfather gave her the necklace.”
“He didn’t. He clearly didn’t, because they hadn’t even met at this point. He must have—” The word lied died on my lips.
His gaze clouded with confusion. “I don’t understand.”
He did. But I couldn’t force him to admit his conclusion. He had to decide to take it in himself. “Noah.”
He nodded, pressing his lips into a thin line. “I don’t suppose we suspect it’s a bizarrely identical necklace.”
“We don’t. I’m sorry.” To be honest, I cared less about the deception than finding out it had been Oma’s. She’d been right to want it back; I’d been right to try to find out what happened. “Maybe they got confused, who knows, I don’t care.”
“Why would he have said he’d given it to her, then? Why wouldn’t he have returned it when she asked?”
“I have no idea. But we have to talk to him, again. This is proof, Noah. If we show him this photo—if he knows we know the necklace belonged to Ruth—he’ll have to tell us the truth.”
He nodded. “Abigail . . .”
“Yes?”
He blew out a breath and shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t understand. I just . . . I didn’t think they would lie. I thought—I thought they must have reasons for keeping things to themselves.”
“Maybe they did have reasons.” But probably not good ones. “We’ll find out what we can.”
He rubbed his temple. “I need a drink.” He grabbed two glasses of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray, taking an alarmingly large swig. He didn’t meet my eyes, and finished off one flute in a matter of seconds.
“Noah, what is it?” I’d spent too much time with this boy not to know something was off. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing.”
“I’m not sure I believe you.” I studied him. I’d never seen his face like this, or his body so stiff. Ice began to spread through my veins. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I don’t believe in—I don’t know, airing family business.” His gaze flicked over my shoulder and his face went even more expressionless. “Let’s go over here.” He took my hand and tugged me
one way, but I dug in my heels and turned in the direction he’d been facing.
And went cold.
I hadn’t seen his grandmother yet tonight, but now she glided out of the crowd toward us, immaculate in a blue gown, her white hair blown out. Around her neck, a necklace glittered, cold and clear as ice. “Hello, dears.”
I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.
Slowly, slowly, I pivoted to Noah. He stood utterly still.
“Tell me,” I said, remote and precise, “you didn’t know she had it.”
He closed his eyes. He was impossibly handsome, this statue of a boy, with his artful curls and crisp white shirt. When he opened his eyes, he didn’t need to speak.
He knew. He had known this whole time. We’d found the photo of my grandmother wearing the necklace as a teen, and he’d thought, I know this necklace and Better not tell this girl, and he’d never changed his mind. He’d known his grandmother had the necklace, and he’d concealed it, despite knowing how badly I wanted to find it.
I had to escape and there was nowhere to go, no way to get through the mass of guests to the exit. So I did the next best thing. I turned and walked through the arch in the hedge into the deep, flourishing garden.
“Abigail—”
I picked up my skirts and ran.
Flowers and trees whipped past me. Juniper trees, with their sharp needles. Late summer blooms, orange and yellow, reminders of the autumn to come. I turned into the rose garden. Now what? I’d pinned myself in. There was nowhere to go, just the gazebo, the high ground in the storm. I bolted up the steps, as though it could protect me, this structure with no walls, no entrance or exit.
“Abigail!”
I whirled around, the sheer fabric of my dress swirling around my legs. Each detail of the evening intensified, like I’d put on glasses after walking through the world without. Ivy choked the gazebo’s posts; golden light gilded the deep green leaves. Rose perfume saturated the air. Tawny sunlight stretched in long lines across the gazebo’s floor. “You lied to me.”
Beneath Noah’s golden tan, his face was pale and set. “I didn’t lie.”
The Summer of Lost Letters Page 28