“I wasn’t crying that bad!” Mary protested.
Griff interlaced his fingers, stretched his arms toward the ceiling. “Okay, I’m not here to argue.”
For the next thirty minutes, Mary babbled in a steady stream of words. She told him everything about what had been going on with Jonny, dating back a couple of years. The car accident—he claimed he got sideswiped in a hit-and-run—taking pills, quitting sports, his depression-slash-rehab stint at Western Winds, and so much more. But mostly, she talked about missing her brother. How that felt. Griffin was kind and sympathetic and a good listener.
Mary held her hands together in front of her chest, as if she were carrying a small bird that had fallen out of a nest. “When I was little, he used to come into my bedroom and read picture books to me. Or he’d make up his own stories—about brave frogs and a moose named Bruce!” She laughed at the memory. “I’d fall asleep listening to him. And every day he’d sing to me, ‘Mary, Mary, quite contrary. How does your garden grow?’”
“Wait, I know that one!” Griff held up a hand. He closed his eyes and haltingly said, “With silver bells and something-something smells … and the cow jumped over the moon?”
“Kind of like that, yeah,” Mary said. The place was thinning out. The workers were wiping things down, the music had been turned up, a guy in a paper hat pulled out a mop. “I should really get home.”
Outside Roberta’s, which was tucked into a strip mall, Griffin said, “You should take my bike.”
“What about you?” Mary asked.
“Ah, no worries,” Griff said. “I actually don’t live far from here, and you are, like, pfff,” he waved a hand, “way out by … I don’t even know.”
“Magnolia Street,” Mary said. “Not far from the middle school.”
“See?” Griff said. “It makes sense. You take my bike. I’m good to walk. Seriously.”
“I could just call home and get picked up,” Mary offered.
Griff frowned. “Yeah, don’t do that. It’s better to be independent. Otherwise it’s like you owe them something. Just take the bike, that way I know you’re safe,” he reasoned. “But you have to promise me something.”
Mary waited. “And what’s that?”
“You have to text me when you get home. Otherwise I’ll worry myself into a tizzy.” He flashed that infectious smile again.
“A tizzy, huh?” Mary smiled back. They took out their phones and traded contact info. She lifted a leg over the bike frame, preparing to leave. It was a little taller than she would have liked, but Mary was sure she could manage.
“Hey, Mary,” Griff said, grabbing onto the handlebars. “He’s going to be okay.”
Mary tightened her lips, wishing she could believe it. “Thank you. I mean it. You came along at the perfect time. And you were … really kind.” Maybe because she felt vulnerable and off-balance, Mary felt an impulse to lean in and give Griff a quick peck on the lips. He had such nice, full lips. It would have been such a bold move, and totally unlike her, but that was how she felt in that moment. There was something going on between them.
It was exciting, pedaling home, to think about something positive for a change. In this case, a very not-bad-looking boy who could be extremely sweet when he wanted to be.
12
[excluded]
“They’re here, I’m leaving for the beach now!” Mary shouted upstairs. She waited a beat, heard no reply. No surprise. It was an uneasy feeling, though, this acute awareness that her mother wasn’t paying attention. Mary didn’t know what to do about it, if anything. Maybe it was a good thing. Part of growing up. Freedom, not neglect. Besides, her mom could always text later if she needed details.
Mary climbed into the backseat of Mrs. Brown’s blue Lexus. Chrissie slid over to make room. The air inside was immediately cool. Alexis sat in the front passenger seat. “Mom, you’ve met Mary, remember?”
Mrs. Brown turned to flash Mary a bright smile. “Of course, the birthday party, am I right?”
“Yep, that’s me! I was the one who ate six red velvet cupcakes, I think,” Mary joked. “I love your sunglasses, Mrs. Brown. Very fashion forward!” And it was true. Mary truly did like Mrs. Brown’s sleek, dark sunglasses. Mrs. Brown had one of those faces Mary saw in magazines: sharp cheekbones, flawless skin, perfect nose—even a football helmet would have looked stylish on that head. Mary prided herself on good manners with parents. Complimenting Mrs. Brown’s sunglasses was simply part of Mary’s “manners-plus” policy.
“Hi, Chrissie. I love that top. It matches your eyes,” Mary said. That was another thing good friends do. They compliment each other. “Are we picking up Chantel?” Mary asked.
Chrissie glanced at Alexis. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Not today!” Alexis chirped, eyes twinkling with mischief.
Chrissie snickered.
Mary could tell there was something swimming beneath the surface. A shark in these waters. She glanced at Mrs. Brown, who didn’t seem to be listening. “Did something happen?”
“Let’s just say, she’s not included anymore,” Alexis said. “We’ll leave it at that.”
Chrissie nodded in agreement.
“But—” Mary began.
“No one is telling you what to do, Mary,” Chrissie said. There was something rough in her tone, though for dissonance she placed a warm hand on Mary’s forearm. “You can be friends with whomever you want. It’s just … Alexis and I are not happy with Chantel. So whatever. We can talk about it later.” The way Chrissie leaned into those words—you can be friends with whomever you want—caused Mary’s heartbeat to accelerate. There was something going on. Mary didn’t want their summer friendship to slip away.
For the rest of the ride, zipping down Wantagh Parkway to Jones Beach, Mary played with her seat’s individual climate-zone controls and pondered the Chantel situation. Could a person be in at one moment, and then out the very next? It sure seemed like it. Mary wondered what Chantel had done wrong. It must have been pretty bad.
Mrs. Brown pulled into the Field Four parking lot. It was clear that she was one of those highly organized Beach Moms. She popped the trunk and out came a cart with two fat wheels, filled with towels and brightly colored bags and beach chairs. “Grab that cooler, will you, Lexi?” Mrs. Brown instructed. It was also on wheels and had a long white handle. Mrs. Brown tilted her flawless head and let the sun smile down upon her like an old friend. “Every day at the beach is a good day,” she purred, slinging a large beach bag over her shoulder. “Let’s see: sunscreen, book, cooler, blankets, purse, phone. I think we’re good to go, girls. What do you say? Let’s beat the rush.”
There were lots of different types of mothers in the world, and their children were basically stuck with what they got. Which was perfectly fine. It’s not like Mary looked around and thought, I’d like to trade in mine for that one. Mrs. Brown was a classic Long Island sun worshipper. In other words, totally different from Mary’s mother, who sunburned easily and thus walked around with globs of zinc oxide on her nose—indoors!
Alexis sidled up to Mary and whispered, “Don’t worry, we’ll ditch my mother once we get there. She reads for a while, has a plastic glass of wine, then she lays out for serious tanning. We can hang out on the boardwalk and do whatever we want.”
13
[boardwalk]
Once they arrived at Mrs. Brown’s usual spot, not far from the lifeguard stand, they stripped down to their bathing suits (even Mrs. Brown, who looked yoga-toned in a lime green bikini). Mary gazed toward the ocean. The waves rolled in shapely, tight curls. A little big, but not too scary. “Want to swim?” she asked.
“Maybe later,” Alexis said. “Do you have any money, Mom? We’re feeling snackish. And we might wanna play putt-putt.”
Mrs. Brown absently dug into her bag, snapped open a small purse, and handed her daughter fifty dollars. “I have sliced watermelon, grapes, drinks, and health bars in the cooler, so don’t buy too much junk.” Mary
felt a warm flash of embarrassment rise to her cheeks.
“Sure, Mom,” Alexis said. In a flash, the girls were weaving through the beach blankets that covered the white sand, crowded with bodies of every shape and size. Hairy men with bursting bellies who looked like they’d swallowed basketballs, beefy frat boys with red plastic cups, young families who set up little pup tents to keep their toddlers safe in the shade. The three girls eagerly strode up to the boardwalk, which ran two miles from end to end and had concessions and freshwater pools alongside tennis and basketball courts. The sun sizzled and the place was packed. On a summer Sunday on Long Island, Jones Beach was a glorious place to be.
After purchasing soft drinks and a bountiful supply of candy—Nerds, Sour Patch Kids, shoelace licorice, and some rapidly melting taffy—the girls found an unoccupied bench that looked out over the famous white sand beach. Seagulls wheeled overhead, ready to scavenge fallen french fries and hot dogs and pizza crusts or whatever other litter they could devour.
The girls divided up the loot and chewed thoughtfully. “Did you really want to play putt-putt?” Mary asked. “I didn’t bring a lot of money, but I’m happy to watch.”
Chrissie waved a hand. “Oh, Alexis always says that to get more money. We never play.”
“But if my mom asks,” Alexis said, smiling, “you have to lie!”
“As long as I can say that I won,” Mary replied, and the three of them laughed. The beach, the sun, the lifeguards, and the sea. Three friends with the whole day in front of them. You couldn’t beat it. Like the T-shirts said, LIFE IS GOOD.
Chrissie gave Alexis a look. She turned to Mary, “So we heard you’ve been with Griffin Connelly.”
“With Griff?” Mary echoed. She was shocked. They had heard? “One time, we had ice cream together. How did you know?”
Chrissie grinned. “We know everyone, Mary. Small town, people talk. There are no secrets.”
“So?” Alexis said. “Tell us. What’s been going on with you two?”
“Nothing, jeez,” Mary said.
Chrissie laughed. “Now, now. We’re all friends here.” She made an X across her chest. “We won’t say anything.”
Mary felt a flush of embarrassment on her cheeks.
“We ran into each other, that’s all,” she said. Mary thought back about that night, how upset she had been about Jonny, and how Griffin had been so nice. It wasn’t something she wanted to share with Alexis or Chrissie or anyone. They were great friends, but not for sharing stuff like that. Besides, there was nothing, really, to share.
“No texting?” Chrissie prodded.
“A little,” Mary admitted.
“Flirty pictures?”
“Gross! No!” Mary squealed.
“Ooooh!” Alexis teased. “A little texting, huh? Mary O’Malley and Griffin Connelly, very interesting. I didn’t see that coming.”
“Come on, it’s not anything,” Mary countered, a little annoyed with their teasing. But it left Mary wondering if maybe she had missed something important. If maybe their meeting was bigger than she’d realized? Was it a date? What was a date anyway? “I borrowed his bike. So we had to coordinate.”
“Mm-hmmm,” Chrissie said.
“Uh-huh,” Alexis cooed.
“Strictly professional,” Mary said, slashing the air with a flat hand.
“Well, since we’re talking boys,” Alexis confided, “I’ve decided I’m interested in Hakeem.” She allowed her gaze to linger on Mary for an extra moment. It was as if she had pointed out a cute pair of shoes in a shop window. The next day, or soon after, you knew they’d be on her feet.
Hakeem. That is surprising, thought Mary. And in her mind, two dots connected. The trouble with Chantel. And now this. “Does he like you?” Mary asked.
Chrissie laughed. “Ha! I’m sure he does—Hakeem just doesn’t know it yet!” She acted as if this was hilarious, the funniest thing anyone could have possibly said.
“Stop,” Alexis said, but she was laughing, too.
Mary’s phone buzzed. A text from Chantel, explaining that she was going away to camp for two weeks. She wanted to say goodbye. Mary ignored it. Chantel would figure it out soon enough.
She’d been unfriended.
14
[missing]
And so the last weeks of summer rolled along. Mary’s way of dealing with discord was to stay away from home as much as possible. She thought of the turmoil of her house as a garbage disposal. You didn’t want to stick your hand in there. Keep busy, keep doing stuff, that was the strategy. When Mary had to be home, she lingered in her room or blobbed in front of the TV, passing a bowl of pretzels back and forth with Ernesto. He was a nuggets man, and Mary approved. Mary felt relaxed only when she hung out with Alexis and Chrissie. She didn’t have to think about things. Lately Tamara Agee had joined them. She was a perfectly nice girl who functioned as Chantel’s replacement. Together they served as the easygoing distraction that kept Mary from remembering how bone-deep miserable she really felt. She laughed, thinking, It’s like eating marshmallows.
After a trip to the mall on Wednesday with Chrissie—it was just the two of them, not a triangle or a rectangle but a straight line!—Mary paused on her modest front stoop. It was always like that now. Take a deep breath. Back straight, shoulders squared. She pushed open the door, eased into the silent house. Her mother looked up expectantly. She sat in the living room on a cushioned bench tucked beside the bay window that looked out over the front yard. Mary’s mother leaned forward, knees together, a phone cradled in her hands. Mary saw the spasm of disappointment on her face.
“Hoping for someone else?” Mary said.
“Jonny’s been gone for two days without a word,” Mrs. O’Malley said. Her face was drawn, with gravity and stress pulling it down.
* * *
“He’s been gone almost forty-eight hours.”
Mary sank into a chair across from her mother, waited.
Mrs. O’Malley continued, “I’ve called all the hospitals, the police. I’ve checked with his old friends. Nobody knows where he is.” She looked out the large front window, as if willing her son to skip up the path. There was nothing, no one.
“You look tired, Mom,” Mary said. “Have you eaten?”
Mrs. O’Malley wasn’t listening. She swiped at her phone with a forefinger, stared down, frowned. “He hasn’t posted anything on social media,” she said, not bothering to look up. As if she were alone in the world, talking to herself. “It’s like he’s vanished.”
“He’s probably all right,” Mary said. “He’s done this before.”
Mrs. O’Malley nodded, sucked on her lower lip.
“You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Mom,” Mary said.
After a pause, Mrs. O’Malley looked up. Confusion swam in her eyes. “What? Did you say—?”
“I’ll make you tea,” Mary said, rising. “What kind would you like?”
“You decide.”
“Mom?”
No reply. Mary stood, annoyed. “Mom!” she repeated in a sharper voice.
Her mother looked up from the phone, startled. Her eyes shimmered, like wet stones in a riverbed. “I don’t know, I don’t know what kind of tea. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters,” she said. And her hands reminded Mary of nervous birds, plump little wrens hopping about the understory, pecking away for seeds and bugs. Her mother didn’t know what to do with her hands.
“I’ll make Raspberry Zinger with honey,” Mary decided. “Do we have cookies? Never mind. I’ll look.”
In the kitchen, Mary waited for the water to boil. She texted Griffin: Hey, favor. We’re trying to locate my brother. Do you think maybe one of your sisters might know? The one who lives in town? I forget her name. Could you check?
No signs of dinner tonight. It was almost six. Ernesto didn’t seem to be around; his orange pickup truck wasn’t in the driveway. So mac and cheese again, Mary thought. There are worse things.
A moment later, Griff text
ed. Sure. Vivvy. I’ll let you know.
And seconds after that, another one followed: You okay?
The teapot whistled.
Mary stared at the screen, not knowing how to answer. Was she okay? Not great, no, she finally replied, then pocketed the phone.
It was nice of Griff to ask. More than what she was getting from anyone at home. Mary piled four Triple Berry Fig Newtons on a plate—a massively underrated cookie, in Mary’s opinion—and brought two cups of tea into the living room.
“We went to the mall,” Mary informed her mother. “It was fun.”
Mrs. O’Malley nodded. Lifted the cup, but neglected to take a sip. “Did you get anything?”
“A T-shirt that says ‘Give Peas a Chance’ and some funny socks about kale.” Mary paused, then added, “I didn’t have much money. You said you were going to take me, so…”
Mrs. O’Malley brought a hand to her neck, smoothing it. “I did, didn’t I?”
“Last week,” Mary said.
Her mother seemed to absorb those words. She slumped under the weight, the downward pull of gravity again.
“It’s okay, Mom. There’s been a lot going on.”
They sat quietly for a while. Tea was a bad call on a hot day, but it seemed to fit her mother’s mood. Melancholy and iced tea didn’t mix.
“Where’s Ernesto?” Mary asked, hoping to generate some non-Jonny conversation. “I haven’t seen him lately.”
“We’re taking a time-out.” Mrs. O’Malley looked down, working hard not to betray any emotion. She carefully placed the hot cup on the table. “He needs a break from all this … kerfuffle.”
The thing with worry and sadness, Mary thought, was how they filled a room. The air became heavy with them; they formed a thick fog that was hard to walk through. When you breathed in, you brought the sadness down deep into your lungs, and when you breathed out, some of the worry got stuck inside. It became part of your body. She cautiously suggested, “You shouldn’t let Jonny talk to him like that.”
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