She sliced through the tape with an X-Acto knife. The first thing inside, at the top of the pile, was the blue-and-white blanket her mother had crocheted. Then a blue sweater with a red elephant on the front. Oh, she remembered that one. She couldn’t recall who gave it to her, but Nick looked so adorable in it. A baby-blue knit cap, a navy sailor suit, a hand-knit onesie. Footed pajamas with a turtle pattern. Another blanket, baby-blue cotton edged with a navy satin trim. She shook them all out, then folded them in her lap.
There was something else she wanted, and she felt around at the bottom of the box until her hand reached cool metal. It rattled as she pulled it to the surface, a sound that took her back to another life.
She gathered it all in her arms and headed back down the stairs to the second floor. She found Marin in her room, sitting by the window with her packed bags at her feet, scrolling through messages on her phone. She looked up sheepishly when she saw Amelia.
“I’m already half back in the real world,” she said.
“I know it’s that time, my dear. But before you go, I wanted to give you a few things.” She sat on the edge of the bed, and Marin set her phone down and joined her.
Amelia unfolded the blue-and-white crocheted blanket.
“My mother made this when Nick was born. I was afraid to use it in the crib when he was an infant because I loved it and didn’t want him to spit up on it. So I ended up just keeping it folded on his dresser. When he was about one he began sleeping with it. And he had it on his bed until he was, oh, I’d say, twelve? I want you to have it for your son.”
Marin’s cheeks flushed pink. “Oh, Amelia! I don’t know what to say. It’s so…thank you.” She reached out to touch it, then brought it to her lap.
Amelia reached into the center of the pile of clothes and blankets and pulled out a tarnished silver rattle.
“This was his too. It’s been in our family for many generations. From Portugal.”
Marin began to say something, then stopped. When she finally spoke, it was halting. “Amelia, I have to admit, thinking about Nick as my father has been really difficult for me because I have a dad. But now that I know you, I can think of him as your son, the person that links me to you. And that makes me so happy.”
“Life is so strange,” Amelia said, her eyes tearing. “It gives, it takes. I’ll never understand it.”
“Me neither,” said Marin. “But I guess I’m realizing that’s okay.”
Amelia nodded, missing Kelly with an ache that took her breath away. Marin leaned across the bed and pulled Amelia into a hug, and it felt like a deep inhale after being underwater. Amelia let herself cry—for Kelly. For Nick. For the passage of years and for the turning generations. It seemed she cried for a very long time, and all the while, Marin held her close.
Provincetown
Spring
They had reserved the rooms ahead of time, way back in February when Rachel called to say the inn was being booked up solid and she was turning down reservations.
“I know it’s hard to think of it now, but you have to pick a week and just commit.”
Marin—with a three-day-old baby in her arms, attached to her like a new limb, and half a foot of snow outside the window of their Sixty-Eighth Street town house—could not imagine a trip to the neighborhood grocery store, never mind a drive to Provincetown. In full nesting mode, she hated leaving the house.
Marin had never dreamed, when Julian gave her the key that night that seemed so long ago, that the house would one day be her home. Their home, a family of three.
“You really want to take this show on the road?” she asked Julian later.
“It will be the first chance for everyone to see him at the same time,” Julian said. “And besides, we promised we’d go back.”
Yes, they had. And if Julian, with his demanding hours at the office, could commit to the week away, certainly she could. After all, Marin made her own work schedule. Marin had surprised no one more than herself by inching, piece by piece, into becoming a mosaic artist. She’d made her first sale, a tile-and-smalti Portuguese good-luck rooster, the week before Jake was born.
And so, in early May, they loaded up the car and set off for Provincetown, Julian at the wheel.
Had it been only a year ago that she’d packed in fifteen minutes for a spontaneous weeklong trip? Driving in a straight shot, stopping once for a couple of quick lobster rolls (only to have them snatched away by seagulls). Now, packing took as much forethought and precision as a military operation. How to fit a stroller, a Pack ’n Play, Jake’s bouncy seat, and her breast pump all in the backseat? One entire suitcase was just diapers, bottles, bath toys, and burp cloths. She packed enough baby clothes so she wouldn’t have to completely hijack Amelia’s laundry machine.
Marin barely slept the night before the trip, and the drive itself, with all of their stops for feeding and changing, took close to nine hours.
And it was all instantly worth it the second Amelia set eyes on baby Jake.
“Oh my heavens. Pictures don’t do him justice. Oh, he’s just the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” She reached for him, and he hesitated for just a second before giving in to her embrace.
“Meet your great-grandma,” Marin said. “How do you say that in Portuguese?”
“Bisavó,” Amelia murmured, kissing the baby. “He looks just like you, Marin.”
Marin smiled, but she knew it wasn’t exactly true. He looked more like his father, with his long-lashed brown eyes and his perfect, tiny, chiseled little Clint Eastwood nose.
“Come along—everyone’s out back.”
It was strange to step into the yard. The communal table, the stretch of beach, and the water all looked exactly the same, while so much in her life had changed. The only hint of the passage of time was the robust vegetable garden.
“It survived the winter,” Marin said, hugging Rachel.
“I know—and so did I!” Her hair was shorter, her formerly bronzed skin a paler shade of honey. But her big brown eyes were just as bright and mischievous as they’d been the day Marin had first met her at the Starbucks in Times Square. She’d seen her only twice since last summer, one weekend in October on Rachel’s way back from visiting Fran’s parents in Philly, and the week Jake was born, when Rachel had weathered the freezing cold and an impending snowstorm to meet her new nephew. Amelia had planned to go with her but had come down with a bad cold and wasn’t able to make it. Rachel said Amelia had made her nervous a few times during the winter months, taking to her bed for long stretches, seeming frail in body and spirit. But now, in the spring thaw, she seemed more like her old self.
Luke pulled Marin in for a hug, with Kip and her mother right behind for their turn.
“Where’s the baby?” Blythe asked.
“Inside,” Julian said. “Marin already has Amelia on diaper duty.”
“In my defense, she volunteered!”
Julian and her father settled into a few minutes of shoptalk. Now that her father was retired, he liked nothing more than to strategize vicariously through Julian’s work. And he never stopped trying to talk him into going back to a big firm.
Marin put her hand on Julian’s arm. “Maybe my dad and Luke can help you with that stuff out front?”
“Good idea.”
Left alone with her mother, Marin sat at the table and wondered how long it would take her to notice the ring on her finger. Blythe was too busy eyeing the door.
“Mom, relax. I’m sure Amelia will be right out.”
“There he is!” At the sight of her grandson, Blythe jumped up like the bench was on fire, arms outstretched.
“He is such a good boy,” Amelia cooed.
He was a very good baby. But the trip had thrown him off his nap and feeding schedule, and Marin was afraid the clock was ticking on a major meltdown.
“I should feed him,” Marin said, reaching for him.
“You’re not still nursing, are you?”
“Yes, Mom. He�
��s only three months old.”
Her mother had given birth at the tail end of a time when formula was considered the right way to feed a baby, and she had made it clear that she didn’t understand Marin’s rejection of this modern convenience “that was good enough for you.”
Marin unbuttoned her blouse. She was now a pro at getting Jake to latch on while she discreetly covered herself. The kid was probably going to grow up with a fetish for eating in tents.
Blythe did a double take and grabbed Marin’s left hand.
“Marin, are you—”
“Engaged? Yes.”
Blythe let out a holler of joy that startled the baby into tears.
“Mom, come on.”
“Marin, congratulations,” said Amelia. “He’s a lovely young man.”
“Did you set a date?” said Blythe. “Places in New York book up years and years ahead of time. But if you do it in Philly, I’m sure we can get the club.”
“Actually”—Marin looked at Amelia—“since everyone’s all together this week, we were thinking of doing it here.”
“Here?” Blythe and Amelia said in unison.
Kip appeared, waving at them to come to the front of the house.
Blythe shook her head. “No, come here! Kip, Marin’s engaged!”
Her father strode to the table and kissed her on the cheek. “Congratulations, sweetheart.” He turned to Blythe. “See? And you were so worried.”
Blythe, looking busted, insisted, “I wasn’t worried.”
“What did I miss?” Rachel emerged from the kitchen carrying a fresh pitcher of iced tea and a big tomato salad. She set them on the table.
“Marin’s getting married,” gushed Blythe.
Rachel smiled, nodding. “Yeah. I noticed the ring. I just didn’t say anything because no one else did.” She hugged her.
Of course Rachel noticed the ring. She was a twenty-three-year-old woman deeply in love with her boyfriend. Marin was sure she would have a ring of her own very soon.
“Okay, switching gears for just a minute here, ladies,” Kip said. “Marin, Julian’s ready for you.”
“Great! Amelia, come out front for a second?”
Marin detached Jake, touched his mouth with a cloth to clean up the dribble, then put him over her shoulder and rubbed his back to get a burp out of him as she walked. Blythe, Amelia, and Rachel followed her to the street in front of the house.
It took Amelia a few seconds to mentally register what was in front of her: Julian and Luke had removed the old wooden Beach Rose Inn sign and hung Kelly’s mosaic by a strong metal chain. Marin had finished it in late fall, had considered shipping it to Amelia. Now she was thankful she’d waited. The whole family was there, in the fading afternoon sun of a perfect spring day. When Amelia finally realized what she was looking at, she clapped her hands together and made a childlike sound of pure glee.
“Marin, you made this?”
“No. Kelly did.”
Amelia gasped. Her face clouded, and Marin reached for her hand.
“I don’t understand,” Amelia said.
“Kelly worked on this all last summer. She got the idea for it because you were debating whether or not to keep the inn going, and she was definitely in the yes camp. I helped out a little when she started teaching me how to mosaic. And then she got the diagnosis…I don’t know. I think she realized I could do the last minor parts of it for her.”
“I can’t believe it,” Amelia said, reaching out and tracing the shell lettering.
“She wanted to surprise you,” Marin said. Amelia just stared and stared at the sign, as if reading something, finding the answer to something.
“I’ve never been more greatly surprised in my life,” she said finally. “Except, of course, when you called me, Rachel.”
Everyone laughed, breaking the intensity of the previous few moments. Jake began fussing, and Marin handed him off to her mother.
“I miss her so much,” Amelia whispered.
“I know,” Marin said, putting her arm around her. They all stood in silence, broken only when Amelia turned to Marin and Julian.
“So. A wedding by the bay?”
Marin and Julian shared a smile. “If that’s okay with you,” she said.
“Okay? It’s more than okay. I can’t think of a better way to start the season.”
And then there was a loud warning bark before Molly bounded into the yard, pressed against Amelia, and nuzzled her waist.
“Are we late for dinner?” Bart called from the street, Thomas and Paul trailing close behind him.
“No, you’re just in time,” said Rachel. Luke put his arm around her shoulders.
“Nice sign,” Paul said, winking at Marin.
Somewhere in the distance, a foghorn sounded. Gradually, they all made their way to the back of the house, settling around the table while Rachel prepped the food in the kitchen. Amelia was the last to return to the yard, reluctant to leave her gift from Kelly. Marin saved a place at the table between herself and Blythe.
Kip opened a bottle of wine.
“To the start of a new summer,” he said, raising his glass.
“To the Beach Rose Inn,” said Marin.
Amelia stood up, holding her glass against her heart. “To my family.”
Acknowledgments
Hearing the news that The Forever Summer would be published by Little, Brown and edited by Judy Clain was an unforgettable moment. My deepest thanks to Reagan Arthur and Judy Clain. Judy, working with you is an honor and a dream come true. Thank you to the entire team at Little, Brown, especially Amanda Brower and Maggie Southard.
Thank you to my agent Adam Chromy, who believed in this book from day one and found the perfect home for it. There is no better agent in the business.
A special thanks to my lifelong friend Sherri Poall.
I want to thank all the bloggers, book-club leaders, and passionate readers out there, particularly Robin Kall Homonoff of Reading with Robin and Andrea Peskind Katz of Great Thoughts’ Great Readers. To writers Brenda Janowitz, Fiona Davis, and DeLauné Michel: I’m grateful for your camaraderie and support.
Thank you to my husband, who enthusiastically joined me on an adventurous first trip to Provincetown in the summer of 2015. To my daughters, Bronwen and Georgia, and my stepchildren, Eleanor and Addison: my stories of siblings and complicated families are inspired by our life together.
Finally, to my family in Philadelphia: Dad, Josh and Rachel, Aunt Harriet and Uncle Paul, Alison and Stewart. It means the world to me to know I can always come home.
About the Author
Jamie Brenner grew up in suburban Philadelphia, where her regular Saturday routine of brunch and a visit to the local bookstore with her father led to a lifelong love of reading. After studying literature at George Washington University, Brenner set out for New York City and a career in book publishing. Now a full-time writer herself, she is the author of The Wedding Sisters and The Gin Lovers. Brenner still lives in New York with her husband and children, whom she takes to the bookstore every chance she gets.
jamiebrenner.com
Also by Jamie Brenner
The Wedding Sisters
The Gin Lovers
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