I got flip-flops and sunburned noses and swim trunks and sand. I did not know the winter Jeremiah or the winter Conrad, and I was jealous of everyone who did. I tried to picture them in cranberry-colored scarves and turtleneck sweaters, rosy-cheeked and standing beside a Christmas tree, but the image always seemed false. I always wondered what the boys looked like in December. The wraparound porch we used to run around on, jugs of sun tea, the swimming pool at night-but the boys, the boys most of all. The summer house was made up of lots of things. We had our own stretch of beach, all to ourselves. For me, Cousins was less about the town and more about the house. We’d been going to Susannah’s beach house in Cousins Beach every summer since I was a baby, since before I was born even. I’d hate to lose my boys to anyone else.” Susannah put her hands on my cheeks and said, “Belly, you have my unequivocal blessing. Actually, she said “lovers,” but that word made me cringe. My mother, who didn’t normally go in for that kind of thing, said it would be perfect, as long as I’d had at least a few loves before I settled down. Susannah told me that when I was born, she knew I was destined for one of her boys. And they had the scars to prove it-identical marks on their wrists that looked like hearts. They’d known each other since they were nine-blood sisters, they called each other. My mother was the only one who called her Beck. Beck was Susannah Fisher, formerly Susannah Beck. There had never been anything to tell, not really.Ĭonrad and Jeremiah were Beck’s boys. Telling Steven anything would only give him ammunition to make fun of me. “What happened with you and Jeremiah? You can’t say something like that and not explain.” Her voice had that note of finality that I knew Steven wouldn’t be able to break through.īecause he was Steven, he tried anyway. “Mom, just because two people are good friends, it doesn’t mean there’s anything going on. I wished I had a tan already to cover it up. I could feel the flush rising up from my chest. “WHAT? You and Jeremiah?” Steven looked sickened. “Belly, do you still like Conrad? From the looks of things last summer, I thought there might be something between you and Jeremiah.” My mother stuck her head in between our two seats. “Are you thinking about Conrad?” he asked mockingly.įor once the answer was no. Like it had been waiting for me to get there. The wind making my hair feel sticky, the salty sea breeze, all of it felt just right. The air tasted just the same, smelled just the same. I rolled down the window and took it all in. It held a million promises of summer and of what just might be.Īs we got closer and closer to the house, I could feel that familiar flutter in my chest. It was like coming home after you’d been gone a long, long time. Seeing the town again, Jimmy’s Crab Shack, the Putt Putt, all the surf shops.
We drove through town slowly, and even though I’d just teased Steven about it, I didn’t really mind. It was what bothered him most about our parents being divorced, being the lone guy, without our dad to take his side.
We both had terrible voices, and Steven shook his head in his disgusted Steven way. I sang even louder, which woke up my mother, and she started to sing too. “Belly, your voice makes me want to run this car into the ocean.” He pretended to swerve right. Steven reached over to switch stations, and I slapped his hand away.
Tom Petty was singing “Free Fallin’.” I sang right along with him. I found my favorite station, the one that played everything from pop to oldies to hip-hop. I was as familiar with them as I was with the ones back home, and listening to Q94 made me just really know inside that I was there, at the beach. One of my favorite things about going to the beach was the radio stations. Steven ignored me, and so I started to fiddle with the radio. “That guy in a wheelchair just lapped us!” “Hey, look,” I said, pointing out the window. “People like you shouldn’t even be allowed to drive.” “If you ever get your license,” he scoffed. “And take your dirty feet off my dashboard.”
“Go faster,” I urged Steven, poking him in the shoulder. Even when she slept, she looked alert, like at any second she could wake up and direct traffic. Meanwhile, my mother was passed out in the backseat. I sat next to him in the passenger seat with my feet up on the dashboard. My brother, Steven, drove slower than our Granna. We’d been driving for about seven thousand years.
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