It's early rising on Saturday morning. Even though Mom and Dad have no trouble waking early, I am another story. My alarm goes off at five forty-five and I immediately hit the snooze. And again. Mom bustles in right as the time flips to six on the dot. She shakes my shoulder and says, "Come on, get up. We need to be at Dawn's by seven," and then leaves the room. I don't move. Dad comes in a couple minutes later, flicks on the light and says, "Hurry up and get a move on," which I also ignore. It's six-oh-eight when Mom returns, throws back my blankets and firmly says, "Up, up, up. Right now," and smacks my bare arm with her open palm.
"Ow! That hurt!" I whine.
"No, it didn't," Mom replies. "And you're awake now."
Mom leaves and I roll out of bed. I stumble into the bathroom and disrobe, still half-asleep, and step into the shower. I wash my face three times until I feel fully awake. I turn slowly beneath the warm spray, relishing the early morning quiet and my waking thoughts. Until my mother's voice barks, "Hurry up, Grace! No marathon showers today!"
"Do you mind?" I shout in irritation and the bathroom door closes hard in reply.
In the weeks since our Fiji trip, I'd forgotten how militant my mother is about schedules. I don't know how Dad stands her every morning.
I finish in the shower, quick as possible, and jump out, toweling off in a rush. I should keep a tally as to how many times Mom scolds me this morning. I wrap the towel tightly around myself and switch on the hairdryer. At least the sound will drown out my mother should she decide to pop in again. I brush out my hair when it's almost completely dry. That's good enough. I brush it back and wrap a hair band around my wrist. I notice, as I do so, that the bruise Gran left there has gone. It's erased from my skin. Like it never happened.
I push it from my mind as I begin French braiding my hair. I wrap the hair band around the braid's end and then turn away from the mirror. I turn away because there are other things to do besides mope and pout and fret. It's done and today I move forward.
I dress casually in jean shorts and a fitted lilac-colored tee. I still am uncertain as what to expect in the Hamptons and if I'm wrong, I've packed my largest suitcase. I can change as needed. It's six fifty-five when I lug my suitcase into the hallway. Dad appears at the top of the stairs in chinos and a light blue-striped shirt and his panama hat. I thought I hid that after Fiji.
"I'll take that, Grace," Dad offers, swinging the suitcase like it's full of air.
"Are you wearing that hat?" I ask.
"Of course. It's my vacation hat," Dad answers and heads downstairs.
I will die if my friends see him in that dorky hat. But before I can protest, Dad's gone. I start down the stairs with my purse and cosmetics case and meet Mom when I reach the bottom.
"Finally!" she says when she sees me. She looks much different than usual. She's wearing dark jeans and a lime green polo shirt and white tennis shoes. She looks so much like a mother. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she asks, but rushes on. "Are all the upstairs lights turned out? I'll check. Wait in the car with Hal." Mom bounds up the stairs.
In the garage, the Wallingford's minivan sits in the spot usually occupied by the Lexus. Dad slams down the trunk just as I enter the garage. I climb into one of the middle seats, setting my purse and cosmetics case beside me. The Wallingford's minivan has two front seats, two middle seats, and a bench seat for three in the far back. Dawn and I decided last night that we would sit in the far back, so that the three of us would be together. Then, no one would be left out.
Mom hops into the passenger seat just as Dad starts the minivan. She turns around to look at me. I can't see much of her face behind her enormous sunglasses. "Got everything?" she asks me.
"Yep," I reply with a nod.
Dad backs out of the garage and onto the street, heading toward Burnt Hill Road. Mom puts down her visor and checks her reflection in the mirror. "You don't think anyone will recognize me in this godforsaken mini-monstrosity?" she asks no one in particular. Mom almost had a seizure when Dad pulled into the garage last night in the Wallingford's minivan. The minivan was bad enough, but she didn't expect the JIMNDOT personalized license plate, the My Daughter Is a CHEERLEADER at Stoneybrook High School bumper sticker, the Mickey Mouse antennae ball, or the Tinkerbell decals on the windows. She pretended to puke behind my Corvette. Then she hid the antennae ball in the glove compartment. There wasn't anything she could do about the rest.
"Not if we don't call attention to ourselves, my dear," Dad answers and then honks the horn and waves at Mr. and Mrs. Black as they jog past with their yellow lab.
"I hate you," says Mom.
It's almost seven fifteen when we pull up in the Schafer-Spier's driveway. Dawn and her mom come out before Dad's even stopped the van. Mr. Spier follows after them, glancing at his watch.
"Oh, honestly," Mom grumbles.
All three of us leave the van. Dad and Mr. Spier greet each other and shake hands. Dad shakes hands with Sharon next and Mom with Mr. Spier. Dawn and I stand back, each waiting for what passes between my mother and her mother. Some clue. Mom and Sharon don't extend their hands, but exchange a casual Hello, Sharon and Hello, Fay. Then Mom walks away and opens the back of the minivan and Sharon begins fussing with the back of Dawn's shorts, insisting that they're gapping. Dawn escapes as fast as possible.
Mary Anne never makes an appearance.
"Thanks a lot for inviting me," Dawn says to my parents once we're inside the van and backing down the driveway. "I've really been looking forward to this."
"You're welcome," Mom answers without turning around.
Dawn wipes her brow with mock exaggeration. "Whew! I'm glad to be out of there," she whispers to me, then giggles. "I never thought this day would come." Dawn giggles again.
A giggle escapes my lips unexpectedly. I cover my mouth and then whisper back, "This is going to be so much fun."
"Hey! What's all the whispering back there?" Dad calls to us. "Is this how it's going to be the entire trip? All whispers and giggles?"
Dawn leans in close and whispers, "Your dad's hat is great."
We've dissolved into a giggling mess by the time Dad turns onto Rosedale Road.
Dawn goes quiet when we pull into the Bernstein's driveway. Maybe I should have planned better. We should have picked Emily up first. Why don't I think?
Emily waits for us on the front porch, seated on the porch swing. She stands and waves, then goes inside the house through the open front door. She comes out again with her parents in tow, Mr. Bernstein carrying her suitcase, grinning and looking like a woodchuck.
Dawn looks over her shoulder, out of the tinted back windshield at the Marshall house. "I'll wait here," she tells me.
"Okay," I say, easily, and unfasten my seatbelt and slip out of the van. Dad's already out, helping Mr. Bernstein load Emily's suitcase into the trunk. Mom doesn't budge from her seat.
"Hey, Emily," I greet her.
"Hi, Grace," Emily replies, tossing her bookbag into the van. "Hi, Dawn."
Mrs. Bernstein's behind Emily, in the middle of a speech Emily's ignoring. "Don't forget to take your vitamins," she tells Emily. "And don't stay out after dark. Don't talk to strange men or normal-looking men, or actually, any men at all. You never know, Emily Elaine. And stay out of the water, even if there's a lifeguard on duty. Listen to the Mr. and Mrs. Blume and don't go into town without them. Don't go outside without sunscreen or a hat and don't walk barefoot on the beach. And don't…."
My mother rolls down her window. "Hello, Marian," she says, tightly. "Would you like us to put Emily in a plastic bubble?"
Mrs. Bernstein regards my mother. "Of course not," she says, grouchily, and walks away.
Mom rolls her window up again.
"Dad! What's taking so long!" Emily demands, rushing around to the back of the van, where my father and Mr. Bernstein are rearranging the luggage. It's a tight fit since Mom insisted on bringing two large suitcases, a cosmetics case, her briefcase, and a garment bag. There's only so much room.
"Don't smash my bag, Dad!" Emily orders.
Finally, Dad and Mr. Bernstein decide to store Emily's suitcase and Dawn's duffel bag in the middle seats. It's a much better fit then and the trunk door actually closes. Mrs. Bernstein rattles off a long list of instructions for my father regarding what Emily is and is not allowed to do. Basically, it boils down to that Emily is not allowed to have fun ever. I climb back into the minivan, hoping that Mrs. Bernstein will get the hint and shut up. It doesn't work.
"Mom!" Emily finally interrupts. "We need to go!"
Mrs. Bernstein purses her lips into a very thin line, but leans in to give Emily a hug. Mr. Bernstein hugs her next, holding her hard, and kisses her forehead. I watch until I have to look away.
Emily jumps into the van and waves to her parents. I settle back into my seat and begin searching for my seatbelt. It was here a minute ago. "You have to slide the door shut. Hard," I tell Emily.
"Wait! Wait for me! I'm coming, too!"
Emily leans out the van door and Dawn and I leap up and crowd behind her. Outside, Stacey McGill races across the Bernstein's lawn, suitcase in hand, purse beating against her side. Mrs. McGill's station wagon sits at the curb, parked crookedly behind Emily's Toyota.
"Wait!" Stacey calls again, as if my father might actually slam on the accelerator, leaving her behind and shouting, while Emily, Dawn, and I hang out the door.
Stacey reaches the van and stops, standing beside Mr. and Mrs. Bernstein, breathing hard. "Let me catch my breath," she says.
"That winded you?" I ask her. "It's not like you just ran from your house. You're in terrible shape!"
Stacey pretends I didn't speak. "Can I still come to the Hamptons?" she asks, directing her question to everyone, not necessarily at me. Mrs. McGill jogs up behind Stacey, sloppily dressed in sweatpants and one of Stacey's math club t-shirts, hair clipped messily atop her head. Mom finally gets out of the minivan, just as Emily and I hop out, too.
"We tried to call," Mrs. McGill explains, apologetically.
"You'd already left," Stacey adds. "Then I called Mary Anne's and Mary Anne said you'd already gone from there, too. We hoped we'd get lucky and catch you here."
So, Mary Anne was home. Ha! Nice of her to say goodbye. "Mary Anne gave you permission to come?" I ask Stacey.
Stacey offers me a brief glare, then gives her attention to my mother. "May I still come, Mrs. Blume? My plans just changed."
"Of course," Mom replies. "Let's see if we can fit your suitcase in the back."
Mr. Bernstein opens the back of the van just as Dad gets out again. They begin moving the luggage again, grumbling to each other.
"I'm really sorry about this, Fay," Mrs. McGill apologizes. "Stacey's father called just this morning. I hate to be as discourteous as that man but – " Mrs. McGill is quickly silenced by a deathly look from Stacey.
Stacey climbs into the minivan and the seating arrangement quickly changes. Emily abandons Dawn and I to move to the middle with Stacey. Dawn's duffel bag and Emily's suitcase get the boot and end up scrunched in Emily's old seat between Dawn and I. Outside the minivan, Mrs. McGill gives Mom long-winded instructions about Stacey's diet and medication. Stacey looks annoyed. I don't blame her, but I don't blame Mrs. McGill either. I remember last summer when Stacey got so sick while on vacation in Vermont. Everyone thought she might die.
"I'm glad that you could come after all," I tell Stacey.
Stacey looks back at me and smiles. "Thanks."
After what seems like far too much time to load luggage, Stacey's suitcase ends up in the trunk and Emily's suitcase in Dawn's seat by the window. Dawn moves into Emily's vacated center seat. And Dawn's duffel bag gets stashed behind Mom's seat, sort of in the way and out of the way at the same time.
"Shopping is banned on this trip," Dad says before he slams the trunk shut.
Mr. Bernstein thinks this is hilarious.
Finally, everyone and everything is safely loaded in the minivan. Mr. Bernstein slides the passenger door shut and we wave goodbye to the Bernsteins and Mrs. McGill. As Dad backs out of the driveway, Mrs. McGill yells something we can't hear. Mom rolls down her window and shouts, "What?" and Mrs. McGill calls back, "Have fun and be careful!"
Stacey groans. "She's so embarrassing."
"You think?" I reply. "Have you seen my dad's hat?"
"What about my hat?" Dad asks.
"My dad liked that hat," Emily tells us.
"Take the hat off now, Dad! Take it off!"
Emily turns around and smacks me with her purse.
"Can I be let out at the corner?" Stacey asks.
"Is this what the whole trip will be like?" Mom sighs.
Everyone shuts up.
My mother could at least pretend to be fun.
Dad gets on the I-95 and we're headed for Bridgeport and the ferry that will take us across to the Hamptons. As soon as we're on the freeway, Mom takes out her laptop and fills the car with a tickity-tapping sound. I furrow my brow at the back of her seat. Mom and Dad promised last night, no working while in the Hamptons. I start to protest, but think better of it. Not in front of my friends. I won't make a scene for them to whisper about in private. Besides, I already know what Mom will say. We're not in the Hamptons yet. I haven't broken any promises. So, I sit back, relax, and switch my thoughts to something else.
In front of me, Emily and Stacey are catching up on the last few days. I haven't seen much of Emily since the incident on Wednesday, or much of Dawn either. The thing with Mr. Marshall had us shaken, an awkward bridge temporarily between us. Emily and I went about our own lives, dealing with it in our own ways. Dawn mostly wanted to be left alone.
She still can't say for sure what happened.
I saw Stacey on Friday evening at Pizza Express. Mari and I were sharing a pizza after a long workout on Gran's tennis court. Stacey was picking up a pizza for her and Mrs. McGill. She sat with Mari and I while waiting for her order. If Mary Anne told her anything about Dawn's accusations, she didn't let on. I can only assume that Stacey's in the dark and I almost feel bad for her about that. I listen to her now, talking on and on about her summer classes at Stoneybrook University, which Emily seems to find fascinating. I've not seen much of Stacey this summer, much less than usual.
We reach the Bridgeport ferry in a little over an hour. Once we're loaded onto the ferry, we leave the minivan to stretch our legs. It's a beautiful, sunny day and we head straight for the outside deck. Emily and I have never ridden a ferry and we'd like to go exploring, but Mom insists we stay in sight. It's slightly irritating, but at least she and Dad don't hover. They remain across the deck from us, keeping an eye on us while expertly pretending not to know us. We give them the same courtesy. Dad quickly strikes up a conversation with a dowdy, middle-aged couple and Mom cringes when he introduces themselves as "Jim 'n Dot".
Stacey leans back against the railing, arms spread wide. She sniffs the air and smiles, satisfied. She looks the picture of the Hamptons, how I imagine it in my head. Her wavy blonde hair blows in the breeze as she tilts her face skyward. She dressed for the day in white peddlepushers and a loose strapless top in a gorgeous shiny royal blue. I mistepped with my ensemble.
"My father took me to Fire Island one summer," Stacey tells us. "I wonder if Westhampton Beach will be anything like it."
"Oh, please," I snort. "It will be so much better."
Dawn hasn't said much since Stacey's unexpected arrival, but now ventures to say, "I've not been to many East Coast beaches, but I've heard that Westhampton's are superb. I can't imagine it'll be more amazing than California though."
"Hardly anything is," Stacey replies a bit snottily. She surprises us and perhaps herself. She doesn't look like she meant to sound that way. But her intent doesn't matter. She's put that tone out there and into the world.
Dawn looks out over the water and doesn't say anything.
I'm not so sure Stacey should have come after all.
"I thought you were supposed to visit your father," I ask Stacey and it's probably to get back at her.
Stacey's taken aback. She recovers and realizes my intent. "Maybe I shouldn't have come," she says.
"That's not what Grace meant, Stace," Emily jumps in. "We're all just wondering what happened to your plans and Grace is being unnecessarily rude about it." Emily the diplomat gives me a nasty don't-ruin-my-vacation look.
"That's right," I agree.
Stacey looks uncomfortable. "Oh…well…Dad canceled," she replies. She stares at her right arm, stretched out over the railing. There's a hint of color in her cheeks. "He called this morning as Mom and I were getting ready to leave for the train station. Dad has to fly to Cleveland this afternoon for an emergency meeting Monday morning. He was supposed to have cleared his schedule for me. There will be other weekends."
With Mr. McGill, there are always other weekends. Those weekends just never seem to roll around.
"You'll have more fun with us anyway," Emily assures Stacey. "Fathers are so dorky." She jerks her thumb in the direction of Dad and his panama hat.
I roll my eyes. There aren't enough hours in the day for me to get started on her father.
"It's no big deal," Stacey says. She turns away from us and leans over the railing with Dawn, staring down into the water. They stand a distance apart, all long tanned limbs and golden hair whipping in the wind. They look like they belong together. Emily takes out her camera and snaps a picture. It's an odd moment for her to want to remember.
When we reach Port Jefferson, it's a bit of a wait getting the minivan off the ferry. The moment Dad pulls out onto dry land everyone in the backseats cheer. Mom puts away her laptop and takes out a map. We hit a small traffic jam early on, but once we're out of it, it's smooth driving. Mom navigates, Dad drives, and the rest of us chatter happily. All the tension and awkwardness from before evaporates. We bubble over with excitement.
"Look at that cute roadside stand!" Dawn exclaims, leaning over me.
"Did you see those tomatoes?" Stacey asks her. "They were as big as my head!"
"Ah, maybe not quite that big. More like the size of Emily's," I correct.
"Hey!" Stacey and Emily shout together.
"Even better," Dawn cries, "look at that hunk at the side of the road!" Dawn leans over me again, pointing to a shirtless guy standing on the corner, backpack at his feet, thumb extended toward the road.
"Oh, gross, Dawn! He probably hasn't bathed in weeks!" I shriek.
"You're such a snob." Dawn falls back into her own seat. "My friend Sunny met one of her boyfriends when we picked him up near the Santa Monica beach."
"Sunny's still super classy," Stacey says, not turning around.
Like Stacey's one to talk. I know all about her, even if she doesn't know I know.
Dawn takes the comment in stride and goes back to looking out the window. Emily barrels straight over the setting strain to point out a woman pumping gas in a thong. Then I spot three little boys, lined in a row, peeing at the side of the road. Soon, we're all shouting out weird things we pass by until the noise in the van is deafening. It quickly downward spirals into silliness with space aliens on mopeds and bearded ladies pulling wagons. I don't know how my parents stand us.
"Westhampton Beach!" Stacey shrieks, lunging across Emily, arm outstretched, pointing at the sign.
We cheer.
Dad slows considerably as we drive through what must be the Main Street area. The streets are lined with restaurants and boutiques and other little shops. Stacey has her face practically glued to the glass as she drinks in the window displays. My feet are already itching to hit Main Street and exercise my credit cards. I wonder how soon we can start shopping.
"There's Anna Stevenson!" Emily shouts as we roll past a sidewalk café.
"And Kristy!" Dawn adds.
I turn around for a better look, but Dad's sped up and they're out of sight.
We leave Westhampton Beach village and enter the residential area, winding through streets lined with summer homes of all sizes. Mom's put away the map and instead reads to Dad from a sheet of Fiona Fee letterhead. Stacey rolls down her window and outside, we hear and smell the ocean.
"Make a sharp right, Hal," Mom instructs and Dad obeys. The minivan heads up an incline and then curves around a corner, following the sound of the ocean. "That's it, Hal," she says and Dad slows the van.
We lean forward, angling for a clearer view of Fiona Fiore's Hampton home, our home for the next few days. "You've got to be kidding me," Stacey breathes.
The home sitting in front of us is monstrous. It isn't a summer house as Mom's been calling it for a week. It's a summer estate. A summer fortress. The bushes and trees bordering the driveway are a tad overgrown, but no amount of foliage could hide this place. White wooden steps lead up to a wraparound porch. The house itself is stark white and modern-looking, box-like with odd angles. The house looks like it may go on forever.
We scramble out of the van and head straight to the porch, rushing around the side. We find ourselves staring out over the ocean.
"No way," gasps Dawn.
The house doesn't sit right on the beach, but above it, so we look down on the ocean. But the beach is just a leap away. We have it in full view. There's a white staircase winding down from the second floor and Stacey's runs up its steps. Near the top, she hangs over the railing, calling down to us, "There's a pool up here! It looks right onto the ocean!"
We need a whole week here. No. I want to live here.
"Girls!" Mom's voice calls for us. She appears on the porch, holding Dad's car keys. "Don't you want to see inside?" she asks.
Of course we do.
Mom unlocks the front door and jumps back, so we won't trample her. We tumble into the house, falling into each other. We hurry through the tiled foyer and into a formal sitting room and then into a living room. From there, we splinter off, Dawn and I going to the left, Stacey and Emily going to the right.
"There's a sauna!" Emily shouts to us.
"And an exercise room!" Dawn shouts back.
"Gourmet kitchen!"
"Library!"
"Sun porch!"
"Indoor tennis court!"
"Indoor tennis court?" I squeal.
"Just kidding!" Stacey laughs.
We meet again in the foyer, where Dad's brought some of the luggage. Dawn goes outside to help him while Stacey, Emily, and I show Mom the downstairs, even though she's been here before. When Dawn returns with her duffel bag slung over her shoulder and one of Mom's suitcases dragging behind her, we head upstairs. Upstairs has only bedrooms – two master suites and three regular-sized rooms. One of the master suites is Fiona Fiore's private rooms and Mom lets us walk through, but she won't let anyone sleep there. My parents claim the master suite at the other end of the hall. It has a balcony that leads to the swimming pool and a hot tub.
"Where are we going to sleep?" Stacey asks me.
"Yeah, there are only three bedrooms and four of us," says Emily.
I glance at Mom, but she shrugs and says, "Work it out," and heads downstairs, calling for my father.
"Well, obviously, two people will have to double up," I tell them. "And since I'm the reason you're all here in the first place, I should get my own room." Clearly.
"That's fair," Dawn says, although Emily and Stacey don't appear too thrilled. We're all only children. We aren't used to sharing.
Stacey and Emily glance at each other then at Dawn. Obviously, they'll have to share with each other, or one of them must pair with Dawn. Stacey looks a little uncomfortable, either because of Dawn or because she knows that if she hadn't come, this wouldn't be an issue.
"I'll share with Emily," Stacey says, just as Emily says, "I'll share with Stace."
No one wants Dawn. I understand what that feels like.
I choose the bedroom at the end of the hall and Dawn takes the one next door. Emily and Stacey are across the hall. We bring our suitcases upstairs and agree to unpack before exploring. My bedroom's decorated in baby pink and white stripes with dark wood furniture. It looks like a girl's room, but Fiona Fiore doesn't have a daughter. I wonder whom the room was meant for.
"Hey!" Dawn cries, popping out of my bathroom.
"How'd you do that?" I demand.
"Look!" Dawn motions for me to come into the bathroom.
I poke my head in. At the other end of the spacious bathroom, a door opens into Dawn's violet-patterned bedroom.
"It's a Jack-and-Jill bathroom," Dawn tells me.
I'm disappointed that I won't have my own bathroom. I've always had my own bathroom. But Dawn looks so happy to be sharing something with someone that I feign excitement. After all, there are two sinks and plenty of counter space. It's not like I planned to live in the bathroom.
Emily races into my room. "We have a Jacuzzi tub!" she cries. "Do you have a Jacuzzi tub?"
Dawn and I rush to our own tub. It's a Jacuzzi.
"This is awesome!" Emily shrieks and runs back to tell Stacey.
Dawn finishes unpacking first and comes into my room to help me. Every so often, one of us wanders to the window to look out at the partial ocean view. Dawn looks not like herself while at the window. There's something funny about her face, something thoughtful or even…wistful.
I hurry with my unpacking and we move to Stacey and Emily's room. It seems they've spent most of their time talking and giggling. There's hardly anything hanging in the closet or folded in the drawers. It's all stacked in heaps inside their suitcases and on the bed. Stacey and Emily are standing at their open window, waving and yelling silly things to the people on the beach. They have a better ocean view than I.
"Want some help?" offers Dawn, picking up a dress of Stacey's. It's a sleeveless, satiny forest green and all wrong for the Hamptons.
Stacey leaves the window and snatches the dress from Dawn's hands. "Not really," she replies, icily, and takes the dress to the closet.
"You can help me," Emily tells Dawn, hurrying over, putting herself between Dawn and Stacey. "All this needs to go into the bathroom." Emily pushes a navy blue nylon toiletries bag into Dawn's arms along with a curling iron and hairdryer.
I don't know if I should step in. While Dawn goes into the bathroom, I start unpacking Stacey's suitcase. If she slaps my hand away, I'll slap her back. But Stacey says nothing, just passes me a hanger and shakes out a pair of black dress pants. "I hope there's an ironing board around here," she says to no one in particular. I don't know where she expects to wear those pants.
Dawn comes back into the room. She stands awkwardly in the doorway, watching us move around the bedroom. "Stacey," she says and allows the name to hang in the air. Stacey turns around, holding a red dress in her hands. "Do you have some sort of problem with me?" Dawn asks her.
Stacey's blue eyes widen. She doesn't respond immediately. She fidgets with the red dress in her hands. "Um…oh…." Stacey replies. "No. No, of course not."
"Because I don't think I've ever done anything to you."
"Um, no. I mean, I know," Stacey says and her discomfort shouts out to the room. "Sorry. Sorry." She turns back around and shoves the dress onto a hanger.
Dawn lets her off with that. I hang Stacey's last dress in the closet and below me, Stacey's knelt down, straightening her shoes. There's a noticeable flush to her cheeks, but she keeps her face away from Dawn and Emily's sight. I wonder if Stacey regrets coming. I don't want Stacey or Dawn to spend the trip feeling like the interloper, the one only looking in.
"Stace," I say, pleasant as possible, "do you think we should head straight for the beach? Or should we check out the pool first?"
Stacey straightens and begins messing with her clothes hanging in the closet. "Actually, I was hoping we could go into the village," she answers. "I need a few things. There was no time this morning to repack my bag. This is all the stuff I was taking to New York. I forgot to grab a bathing suit."
Well, no wonder her clothes seem weird.
"Oooh, going into the village sounds fun," says Emily.
Dawn looks disappointed. She counted on us hitting the beach first thing. "I brought a bunch of bathing suits, Stacey. You can borrow one of mine," she offers, still wanting to be friends.
"Thanks, but I'd rather have my own."
I should probably offer Stacey one of my swimsuits, but I think sharing swimsuits is like sharing your bra and underwear. It's just vaguely unsanitary and unseemly.
"I'll tell my parents." I go to the end of the hallway and into the master suite. Dad's out on the balcony, leaning against the railing, looking out at the ocean. I find Mom at the bathroom sink, rifling through her cosmetics case, tossing lipsticks and eyeliner pencils onto the counter. "What are you looking for?" I ask.
Mom jumps. "You scared me," she answers. She throws everything back into the case. "And nothing. Why aren't you in your suit yet? I thought you'd all be lathered with sunscreen and racing down to the beach by now."
"Stacey doesn't have a swimsuit. She wants to go into town to buy one. Is that okay?"
"Certainly. Hal and I were talking about going to the market anyway and if we're in the village, we can grab lunch. You girls ought to be starving."
I really haven't thought about food or eating. I've been too excited for hunger to occur to me. But now that it's been called to my attention, I realize I am rather hungry. That granola bar seems very long ago.
Five minutes later, we're back in the minivan, belted in and headed for Westhampton Beach village. And so our first day in the Hamptons begins.