by Clare Hutton
For Fiona, Elise, and Lila, my daughter and nieces.
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Copyright
Things We Absolutely HAVE To Do:
Well, that will be easy, Emma thought, wiggling her feet under the airline seat in front of her. By the time she and her parents finally got to Waverly, Uncle Luis would be flipping burgers on the grill while her mom’s twin sister, Aunt Alison, and all the cousins arranged salads and desserts on the big outdoor trestle table.
Last year, her family had gotten there the evening before the annual family barbecue, and Emma and her two favorite cousins, twins Natalia and Zoe, had made up their own brownie recipe. They mixed in not just walnuts and chocolate chips, but dried pineapple, coconut, raisins, peanuts, and marshmallows. It had been Natalia’s idea—Zoe had been skeptical, and Emma had thought maybe they should play it safe and follow the real recipe—but Natalia had insisted, and she’d been right. The brownies had been delicious. Emma’s mouth watered at the memory.
Back home in Seattle, the water was too cold to swim in the ocean. Emma swam in indoor swimming pools, competing in relays and races. It was fun, and she was good at it. She liked the smell of chlorine and the stretch of her muscles. Swimming in the warm, sun-splashed water of the Chesapeake Bay with Natalia and Zoe was even better, though.
At night after the barbecue, everyone—even the grown-ups—would light sparklers out in the front yard of Zoe and Natalia’s house, writing their names in light. It was tradition, and their family cared about tradition.
Some evening this week, when the weather was just right, they would build a fire of driftwood on the beach and toast marshmallows to make s’mores. Natalia liked hers so dark they were almost black, and Zoe preferred hers untoasted, but Emma would turn hers patiently until they were a perfect, even golden brown all the way around.
Over Christmas, Grandma had started all three of them making scarves. Emma had chosen blue and white; Zoe, black and purple; and Natalia, red and turquoise. Emma had tried to finish the scarf on her own after she and her parents had gone back home, but the yarn had gotten tangled and she’d dropped too many stitches. Finally, she’d given up in frustration. It was too hard, and not as much fun by herself.
A pang went through Emma’s chest at the thought of her grandmother. Back in the spring, Grandma Stephenson had fallen on the stairs of Seaview House, her big, wonderful Victorian home, and broken her hip. She was okay—everyone said she was going to be just fine—but she had left Seaview House and moved in with Zoe and Natalia’s family, where their other grandma, Uncle Luis’s mom, Abuelita, already lived.
Emma’s mom had told her the living situation was only temporary, but it had been going on for months now. What if Grandma wasn’t really okay? No, her mom wouldn’t have said Grandma was going to be fine unless it was true.
But the beautiful house where generations of Emma’s family had lived was shuttered and silent. Emma’s mom said that Seaview House would be too big for Grandma Stephenson to take care of by herself even when she was fully recovered.
At the thought of Seaview House empty, Emma felt her throat go tight, and she swallowed back the feeling before it turned into tears. It would be silly to cry over a house when the important thing was that Grandma was okay. Determined not to think about Seaview House, she turned back to her list.
Emma hesitated, her pencil resting on the paper, not sure about whether to leave knitting on the list. They could knit just as well in the living room of Natalia and Zoe’s house as they had in the parlor at Seaview House, of course. But maybe Grandma didn’t feel like doing projects anymore since she’d been hurt. Should she scratch that one out?
Even if Grandma hadn’t changed, knitting wasn’t really a summer thing, and Natalia and Zoe might have already finished their scarves with Grandma while Emma wasn’t there. Emma pushed away the fleeting thought, Not fair. She knew she couldn’t expect everyone in Waverly to just wait for her to come back before doing anything fun together.
Next to her, Emma’s dad gave a little snore, and she glanced up as he slouched farther down against the airplane window, his glasses perched crookedly on his nose and his mouth open. Emma’s mom looked up from her laptop screen at the same time and caught Emma’s eye just as her dad snorted. They both giggled.
“He’s been working hard on the new menu,” her mom said. “This nap is just what he needs. He’ll be ready to ride the waves with you girls by the time we get there.”
Emma grinned. Her dad had the most ridiculous bathing suit—bright pink with wild purple and turquoise tropical flowers on it—but she liked how he came out into the water or onto the beach in his crazy bathing suit and played with them, instead of just hanging out with the other grown-ups. Last summer, he’d helped them and Zoe and Natalia’s little brothers build a huge sand castle with a pebble-covered drawbridge and turrets reaching up to the sky.
She felt a sudden surge of affection for her parents. She liked their tight little unit of three: her mother, her father, and herself.
But sometimes she couldn’t help envying Zoe and Natalia for having not just their parents and each other, but also their little brothers (even if Tomás and Mateo were bratty sometimes), and Grandma Stephenson, and Abuelita, and living near Uncle Dean and Aunt Bonnie, whose own kids were mostly away at college and brand-new jobs. They had tons of family, right in their town. Right in their house.
They—the whole of her mom’s side of the family, except for Emma and her parents—all lived in Waverly, a small town on the Chesapeake Bay, where the family had lived for generations. Natalia and Zoe went to the school where Emma’s mom and their mom (Aunt Alison) had gone, along with their brother (Uncle Dean). The school was right down the street from Seaview House, where her mom’s grandparents, and more generations before that, had lived.
It must be nice to belong somewhere so much that everyone knew you and you knew every inch of the whole town. Emma lived in Seattle now, but two years ago they’d lived in San Francisco, before her mom got a job at a different law firm. Natalia and Zoe had lived in the same house their whole lives.
Emma’s mom went back to her computer screen, squinting at a long, boring-looking work document. And Emma picked up her pencil and looked down at her list again.
She and Natalia had started a story last summer—all about a girl named Violet who had a talking dog that only Violet could understand and the trouble he’d gotten her into. They had laughed a lot writing it, and Zoe had drawn really funny pictures of steam coming out of Violet’s ears because she was so angry and of her innocent-faced dog looking as if he had no idea what had happened or why everything was such a mess.
Did Natalia still have the story? They hadn’t had time to work on it over Christmas. A little ball of anxiety expanded in Emma’s chest. There was never enough time. In just a week, she’d be on a plane heading back to Seattle again.
The pilot’s voice came over the intercom, interrupting her thoughts. “We’re now approaching our final descent into Baltimore. Please return your seatbacks to their upright position and secure tray tables to the seatback in front of you.”
There was a ton more she’d meant to write, but she was out of time again. Quickly, Emma scribbled the most important thing.
There were s
o many more things she could have listed, so many things she wanted to fit into the one week they’d have with the rest of the family. But they’d make time for the pact.
She latched the tray table and put her seat upright as her mom shut down her laptop. Next to her, her dad yawned himself awake.
“How’re you doing, kiddo?” he asked. “Excited to get to the house and see everybody?”
“Yeah,” said Emma. She folded her list and stuffed it into the pocket of her backpack. “I just wish we could stay longer this time.” She saw her parents exchange a look and added, “I know we can’t. It would be fun to be with Natalia and Zoe for longer, though.”
She understood why they could only come to Waverly for a few days over Christmas and for a week in the summer. Her dad was the head chef at Harvest Moon, a restaurant specializing in comfort food in Seattle, and her mom was an environmental lawyer who worked to protect the wetlands. They didn’t get much time off, and Waverly was far away from Seattle. Her parents had gone over it with her a million times when she was younger and didn’t understand why she couldn’t see her cousins more often.
“There’s a lot of stuff I want to do when we’re there,” she tried to explain, “and I know I won’t see Natalia and Zoe again till Christmas. I try to cram everything in, but there’s never quite enough time.”
Emma’s dad patted her back, and her mom reached out and tucked a strand of Emma’s long hair behind her ear. “We never get quite enough time with the people we love,” she said sympathetically, “but try not to worry about deadlines and fitting everything you want to do in. Just concentrate on spending time with your cousins and having fun.”
Emma nodded, feeling anticipation begin to spread through her. She would have fun. The plane’s wheels hit the runway with a bump, and she realized that the whole golden, glorious week with the family was spread out before her, about to begin.
By the time their rental car pulled into the drive at Natalia and Zoe’s house, Emma was vibrating with excitement. Through the window, she saw Zoe and Natalia running down the steps from the wide porch, their family’s old sheepdog, Riley, ambling slowly after them. As the car came to a stop, Natalia was already pulling at the handle of the back door.
“Girls! Careful!” Emma’s mom scolded, but Emma yanked her seat belt off and tumbled out into the sunshine and her cousin’s tight hug.
“You’re here! You’re here!” Natalia shouted. Her hair was dripping wet—she’d already been swimming today, clearly—and she smelled like sunscreen and ocean water. She had pulled a T-shirt and shorts on over her wet bathing suit, and they were damp and cool.
Zoe crossed the lawn and hugged Emma, too, softer and quieter, but with an identical smile of welcome. “I’m glad to see you,” she said. “Natalia’s been driving me nuts. At last I have someone normal around.”
“Hey!” Natalia fake-punched her sister in the arm, pretending to pout. “I’m the most normal person you know. And Emma is mine.”
“Whatever.” Zoe rolled her eyes, but she squeezed Emma’s hand.
Emma smiled at both of them, taking in the changes since she’d last seen them in December. Zoe had cut her dark hair into a sleek bob, but Emma had seen that when they’d Skyped. The summer sun had brought out Natalia’s freckles, and her bathing suit showed through her shirt in damp pink patches. Zoe was cool and clean in a white T-shirt and mint-green shorts, looking as crisp as if they had just come out of her drawer.
The twins were identical, but hardly anyone ever mixed them up. Natalia’s long hair flew everywhere, whipping across her face, part of it yanked back into a careless ponytail. Zoe’s swung neatly to just below her chin. Natalia’s eyes sparkled and her mouth was never still—she was always laughing loudly or talking as fast as she thought, words spilling from her lips. Zoe was more reserved, quieter. Her smiles were just as warm, but smaller, and she kept a lot of her thoughts private. When Natalia was talking, Zoe was sketching and drawing instead, or watching everyone with an amused expression on her face.
When they were all together, Emma liked to think of herself as the balance between her cousins. She was quieter and less reckless than Natalia, but less watchful and reserved than Zoe.
Natalia grabbed her arm. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go down to the beach. I’ve got a plan.”
“It’s a very wet plan,” Zoe said, a smile lurking at the corners of her mouth.
Riley finally made it across the lawn and sniffed at Emma’s fingers before licking them. She petted him. “Good boy, good boy,” she said. “Did you miss me?”
“Riley can help with the plan,” said Natalia as she tugged Emma away from the car.
“Hang on, girls,” said Emma’s mom. She hugged Natalia and Zoe hello. “Emma has to go say hi to her grandmother and everybody before she can do anything else.”
“Plus, the cookout is the first thing on my list,” Emma said brightly. Even though she was dying to know what Natalia’s plan was, she was starving.
“Oh, you and your lists,” Natalia said, and sighed.
“I like the lists,” Zoe said. “It’s very orderly. Very Emma.”
The cookout was just as Emma had pictured it. Grandma Stephenson and Emma’s aunts and uncles fussed over her, talking about how they couldn’t believe she and Zoe and Natalia had all graduated from fifth grade and were ready to move on to middle school. To them, it seemed like the girls had been babies just a few days ago.
Abuelita hugged and kissed her and told her how beautiful she was and how much she had grown, before loading Emma’s plate with homemade tamales. Abuelita had grown up in Mexico, and she always said traditional dishes from there were the best.
“Try a brownie,” Natalia said, handing her a plate.
“Huh,” said Emma, poking at it. There were weird purplish bumps sticking out of the top.
“You look so suspicious,” Zoe said. “I promise it’s good. We added dried blueberries and butterscotch chips this time.”
“Interesting,” Emma said. That explained the purple bumps, anyway. She took a cautious bite. “Good,” she said, chewing. She wasn’t entirely sure about the blueberries, but they weren’t terrible.
Aunt Alison called Zoe and Natalia away to help in the kitchen for a moment, and Emma took her loaded plate and sat next to her grandmother. Grandma Stephenson seemed thinner and smaller than she had at Christmas, but her blue eyes were as sharp as ever.
“Hello, Granddaughter,” Grandma Stephenson said, solemnly, looking her over.
“Hello, Grandmother,” Emma answered, in the same formal voice. They grinned at each other, and Emma felt something relax inside herself—Grandma hadn’t changed, not really.
Emma told Grandma Stephenson about how the school year had been (she and her best friend, Amelia, had both been forwards on the school soccer team, and they’d won most of their games) and about her plans for the rest of the summer (camp, mostly, and she had a long summer reading list for starting sixth grade). Grandma had taught English at the high school in town for forty years, and she had a lot of opinions on the books Emma was supposed to read: “Oh, The Giver, that’s a classic” or “I think you’ll like Because of Winn-Dixie; it’s got a dog in it.”
It was all really normal, and Emma felt the little anxious tightness in her stomach—the worry that Grandma Stephenson would have changed since her fall—relax. Despite the heavy gold-topped cane hooked over the arm of her chair, she was still Grandma.
The conversation paused. “Um, Grandma?” Emma began awkwardly. “Are you feeling okay? Since you had to move in here?” She poked hard with her fork at Aunt Bonnie’s potato salad, not looking at Grandma, in case she was upset.
Grandma Stephenson laughed a little, and Emma looked up. “I don’t think had to is quite the right phrase. I’m glad to spend time with Alison and her family. Although it is a little crowded.” She took a sip of her lemonade. “And Abuelita was wonderful about looking after me while I was recovering. If she wasn’t a registered n
urse, I probably would have had to stay in the hospital a lot longer than I did. I’d probably still be there, doing physical therapy and fighting with my doctor.”
“But don’t you miss Seaview House?” Emma asked, and then blushed. Of course Grandma did, and it wasn’t fair to bring it up, not when she wasn’t well enough to live alone anymore. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that—well, you grew up there, and so did your parents, and I always loved the house so much. And I liked the garden especially.”
Emma thought back to last summer. Set in terraces going down the hill down to the beach, the garden at Seaview House was filled with sweet-smelling flowers: trailing honeysuckle and wisteria on one level, roses on another, bright yellow black-eyed Susan on another. Standing on the lawn of the house, all you could see were flowers, all the way down to the bay.
“The garden, of course. I always loved it, too,” Grandma Stephenson said, looking a little dreamy. “I was married in the garden, you know. We set up an arch on the path along the lawn, and were married under it. It was a sunny, hot day, and all the roses were in bloom. The scent was everywhere.”
Emma could picture it, because she’d been at Seaview House on hot summer days when the smell of roses hung, heavy and sweet, all through the air. It made you sleepy, until the cool salt breeze came off the bay and woke you up. The rose-and-sea scent made everything seem about twice as romantic as it was in real life.
“What’s going to happen to the house?” she asked suddenly. She hadn’t really thought about it—she’d just thought about Grandma not being in the house anymore. Her uncles and aunts had their own houses, and she couldn’t imagine them leaving and moving into the huge, rambling house on the top of the hill. But it couldn’t just sit empty forever, either. Was Grandma really okay with not going back? “Are you going to sell it?”
That terrible, tight, almost-crying feeling was in Emma’s throat again, but she blinked back her tears. It wouldn’t be fair for her to cry, not when it was Grandma who might be losing her house. “It’s just hard to think of it not being ours anymore,” she whispered. “I don’t like things changing.”