It was no wonder that emotion ran so high in these first golden days of summer. In the words of the great Sam Cooke, change gonna come, and everyone knew it, felt its hot breath drawing near. Most of the island kids had been together since grade school, and their friendships ran deep. They were torn now, wanting both to stay here, where life was safe and known, and to fly far, far away, testing the wings they’d just recently grown. Each passing day, each hour, brought the end of high school that much closer. They felt the need to make lasting memories together. That was what mattered most to them, getting together. It was the same thing that scared the parents. Parties were rampant.
To combat the whole party obsession, Jude had taken her cue from the plain old garden spider: she created an attractive web. She’d had Miles haul out the Jet Skis and the ski boat and ready them for use. She made endless trays of food for ravenous boys and set out bowls of chocolate-covered dried cherries for the girls. She made it easy for her kids’ friends to spend the day and night here, under her watchful eyes. For the most part, it had worked. Also, she had learned to trust her kids. Sure, they snuck a few beers at parties, but they kept their word: someone always stayed sober to drive, and they had never missed a curfew.
She put her gardening supplies away—everything in its place—and paused in her greenhouse. There was the petunia Lexi had given her the night of the dance; it looked leggy and forlorn. She made a mental note to plant it, and then went back into the house. There, she showered and dressed in a pair of low-rise black pants and a fitted white T-shirt. She placed the movies she’d rented on the kitchen counter: Along Came Polly, Starship Troopers 2, and Return of the King.
She was just about to go to the garage for a Coke when the front door banged open.
Footsteps thundered across the wood floors of the great room and thudded up the stairs.
What the hell?
Jude put down her dishrag and walked out of the kitchen.
The front door stood wide open.
Jude closed the door and then went up the stairs. Zach’s door was open; Mia’s was closed.
She paused outside her daughter’s room, heard the unmistakable sound of crying. Sobbing.
“Mia?” she said. At the silence that followed, she opened the door.
Her daughter lay sprawled facedown on her bed, crying into the stuffed pink puppy that had been her favorite childhood toy.
Jude went to the bed. “Hey, Poppet,” she said quietly, using the nickname that had been lost along the way, tucked in somewhere alongside baby teeth and patent leather shoes.
Mia made a howling sound and cried harder.
Jude stroked her daughter’s silky blond hair. “It’s okay, baby,” she said, over and over.
Finally, after what felt like forever, Mia rolled over and looked up at Jude through puffy, bloodshot eyes. Her face was damp with tears, and her mouth trembled unevenly. “H-he … b-broke … up with m-me,” she said, bursting sobs.
Jude climbed up into the big bed beside Mia, who curled up against Jude’s side like one of the potato bugs they used to hunt for.
Her bright, beautiful, almost grown daughter looked like a little kid again, curled up, crying, holding Daisy Doggy as if it were a talisman, and maybe it was. The mementos of one’s past had serious magic.
Mia looked up, tears streaking down her face. “In class,” she added, as if it somehow doubled his crime.
Jude remembered this pain. Every woman had felt some version of it: the end of first love. It was when you learned, for good and always, that love could be impermanent. “I know how much it hurts,” Jude said. “Keith broke up with me the week before senior prom. The week before. He took Karen Abner, and I sat home and watched Saturday Night Live by myself. I cried so much I’m surprised the house didn’t float away.” She remembered that night with clarity. Her mother had come home late, taken one look at Jude and said, Oh, for God’s sake, Judith Anne, you’re a child, and kept walking. Jude looked down at her daughter’s teary face. “A broken heart hurts.” She paused. “And it heals.”
Mia sniffled loudly. “No one else is gonna want me. I’m such a dweeb.”
“Oh, Mia. You haven’t even begun to find out who you really are, and, believe me, other boys are going to fall in love with you. If a guy can’t see how special you are, he isn’t good enough for you.”