Sam’s holding her, and when she notices me looking all overwhelmed and speechless, she smiles and makes her way over. Patrick is even more weighted down with beach junk than Torrin was. I can barely make out his face from beneath all of it.
Mom stays back a bit, letting Sam and me have a minute. I haven’t really talked to Sam since the day I went nuclear on the reporters swarming her car, but she doesn’t look at me like we’re on opposite teams anymore. She stops in front of me and looks at her daughter bouncing in her arms. She looks a lot like Sam did as a baby except she’s got brown eyes. I suppose one part of her dad had to make it into the genetic pool.
“This is Maisy.” Sam bounces her a few times, which makes her giggle and screech. Then she nuzzles her nose against her daughter. “This is Aunt Jade.”
A ball pops into my throat out of nowhere. Off to the side, Mom has to turn around as she wipes at her eyes. I know this is a big deal—Sam feeling comfortable enough to bring her daughter around me. I know that this is Sam’s way of accepting me back into the family, and when all I want to say is thank you, all I can do is wrestle with that ball.
Maisy stops bouncing and tips her head at me like she’s trying to figure out who this Aunt Jade person is. Then she giggles again and reaches out so far for me Sam has to tighten her hold so she doesn’t fall out of Sam’s arms.
“Um,” I say as she continues to wave her little arms at me, “is it okay?”
Sam looks at her daughter, and when she shallows, I’m pretty sure that same ball’s in her throat. “Of course it’s okay.” Her voice is tight when she hands Maisy to me. “You’re her family.”
I freeze once Maisy’s in my arms. She’s heavier than I’d guessed, and wigglier. She bounces against me like she’s giving me a hint. I’m so worried about dropping her or hurting her or anything else bad that can happen to a little baby I stay frozen a moment longer.
“It’s okay, Jade.” Sam touches my arm. “You won’t hurt her.”
I swallow and let go of the ball. “You want to bounce?”
Maisy blinks her brown eyes and makes a funny noise with her mouth. Sounds like a fart. It makes me laugh, and when I bounce her against me, she laughs with me.
“You’re a silly girl. You really must be my niece.” I keep bouncing her, and from the look on her face, I don’t think she’ll ever get tired of this.
When I turn a little so she can see the ocean, I see him.
Torrin’s watching me with an intensity that pulls my breath straight up out of my lungs. I want to look away because I think I know what’s going through his mind—in another life, under other circumstances, the baby laughing in my arms could have been ours.
When I smile at him, for the first time I’m met by something that looks almost like pain on his face. He turns away and wanders down to the water.
NOW THAT I’M outdoors, in the open, I can’t imagine crawling back inside my room and locking myself away from the world.
I’ve always loved the beach. Even the beaches up north that don’t know sunshine and blue skies the way the ones in the south do. The ones that are rocky and blustery and spend most days shrouded in gray.
I think, after everything, I love the beach even more now. And I love this day, with these people, shaping these memories.
We’re just about finished with the veggie burgers my dad grilled on his little charcoal grill when Mom gets that look on her face. I’ve seen it aimed my way a lot since coming home.
“Have you looked at the GED test dates and thought about registering for one yet?”
I lower the burger I’ve actually managed to eat half of. I think it’s the ocean air making me hungry, but there’s nothing like the pressure of picking-up-where-I-left-off to curb an appetite. “No, actually I haven’t.”
Torrin’s beside me on the beach blanket, and he sets down his plate.
“When do you think you might get around to doing that?” Mom plays with the cap of her water bottle.
“Once I figure out how to be in public without passing out, melting down, or blowing up. Once I figure out how to quiet my head enough to think about literature and algebra. Once I find a tutor who can catch me up on everything I missed and everything I’ve probably forgotten.”
Mom waves at me. “Oh, Jade, you were an honors student. You’ll have no problem passing the GED.”
“Yeah, I was an honor’s student in high school. Ten years ago.” I tip the brim of the big hat Mom insisted I wear lower down on my forehead.
Torrin leans back and casually spreads his arms wide so one’s behind me. I don’t lean into it because I know I can’t with my family scattered around us, but I feel its support.
“You’re a smart girl.”
I look at her without blinking. “No, Mom, I’m not. Smart girls don’t get fooled into walking right up to strange men in vans. Smart girls don’t stay trapped in a house when . . .” The words lodge in my throat, creating a barricade. They still don’t know. But Torrin does.