I stand barefoot at the edge of the shore where our path, lined in beach grass, meets the sand. The sun-soaked granules burn the bottoms of my feet, but I don’t mind. I’m used to it. It’s far worse at the beginning of summer when the soles are still tender. 

Today, this part of our semiprivate beach is sparsely occupied. Certainly, it’s not to the capacity it is on most weekends. That’s when the owners, our neighbors, come in from the suburbs to escape the hustle and bustle. At least, that’s what my parents always say. Our cottage has been in my family since my father’s parents passed it down to him, as I suppose my father will pass it on to me and my brother one day. But this week, I called dibs, something I’m newly allowed to do since I’m in college and all.

Like airplane wings, my arms stretch out to the breeze coming off the shore. It dries up this August sweat that has cling-wrapped my crop top to my skin. I place two fingers at the center of the scoop neck, just above my cleavage, to fan my chest. Ahh. I can breathe again. The salty air tingles my bare arms and legs. Piping plovers sing their high-pitched pipe-pipe-pipe against the seagulls' low, reverberating huoh-huoh. The sweet scent of fuchsia beach roses fills my nose with vanilla and citrus. Translucent paper shells, green sea glass, and burgundy seaweed paint the beach like a tapestry. Every tapestry tells a story. 

This beach, the water, the sand, the sky, and especially our house have been holding the story of me and my four friends since we were fifteen. Every summer since we bonded in sisterhood, we’ve come back here again and again. Of course, when we were young and didn’t have jobs and the summer was still wide open, we spent a great deal of time here. My parents were generous that way, mostly because they knew I would be bored out of my mind and get in their hair if my friends weren’t with me.

The tide is on its way out. I walk down to the water to cool my feet on the flat sand. I could stand here for hours watching the water fall around me then pull back with the sun high up in the sky, kissing my summer skin. A ripple of regret washes over me that this is the first time and most likely the last I’ll be here with my friends before junior year begins. My mom was sure right when she said, “The older you get, the faster time flies.” I’m not even twenty, yet it’s already getting away from me.

I hear my name, “Lynn,” called from a distance and turn to see Jules waving wildly. I run toward her, and she runs toward me. When we meet, we embrace, both of us grinning.

“Where’s Helene?” 

She told me they were coming together, which honestly annoyed me a little because I was hoping Jules would ride with me, early enough to set up for our sun-drenched rendezvous.

“Putting our stuff in your house.”

I smile and bend down to pick three roses for each of us to wear in our hair. I insert mine in my curls. Jules sticks hers under the elastic band holding her ponytail up high.

We meet Helene in the middle of the yard on the hill. Her Bohemian beach bag is flung over her shoulder. “Are Annie and Riley coming together?”

I nod because Helene has a habit of not knowing what’s going on outside her own periphery, and we always have to clue her in. “Mm-hmm,” I say instead of making it a thing. 

Riley is notoriously late while Annie is early, so their arrival time will depend on who’s driving. It’s just past noon, so they aren’t late yet. 

Glancing at my Fossil watch, a gift from my boyfriend, Scott, makes my stomach constrict. Why did I have to wear this watch? I’d promised myself a Scott-free few days. Mostly because I’m pissed at him after I saw him kissing Bethany-what’s-her-name at the midsummer college party we attended a few weeks back. He swore up one side and down the other that it would never happen again. Because it was a college thing, I didn’t tell my girls, not even Jules, who knows absolutely everything about me. Scott’s already in the doghouse with them for being an “eh-boyfriend.” Their term. Not mine. Well, he’s an absolute shit boyfriend right now and needs to earn back my trust. My girlfriends don’t need to know that while I’m trying to figure it all out.

There’s a good view of the beach from the backyard. We sit in three of the Adirondack chairs I set up after I arrived. I mix drinks for us: a full glass of lemonade, a shot of vodka, and a sprig of mint from my mother’s herb garden. Helene and Jules pass the suntan lotion back and forth. The distinct aroma of cocoa butter wafts past my nose. “Aah,” I say, feeling my muscles relax in the warmth of the sun. “Better late than never.”

“I’ll say.” Jules takes one of the cups and hands the other to Helene. She sips the drink. “This is heaven.”

“It certainly is.” Helene stretches out her lanky legs, throwing off her sandals. “I can just do this for the next three days.” Between her fingers, she twirls the flower I gave her.

The three of us eat ham-and-cheese sandwiches and have two more drinks each before Riley and Annie arrive shortly after two. Riley drove. Annie is already pouting when she joins us, carrying a suitcase, beach bag, backpack, and grocery sack. 

Jules laughs at the sight of her trying to balance it all. “How long are you staying?”

“I thought it was just three days.” Helene’s eyes squint as if word bubbles of question marks dance around in her head.

Annie stops in her tracks and cranes her neck. “What? I need all this. And I brought food.”

Behind Annie, Riley runs to catch up. Riley’s hair is blonder than ever. Did she color it? Or is that the California sun? She’s only been home for a “whole four weeks this summer,” which she says like she’s doing us a favor.

Riley sits beside me. Annie, dropping everything onto the grass with a grunt, falls into the chair on the far side, next to Helene. 

“I was waiting at my house for over an hour.”

I pass a drink down the line to Annie to calm her.

“I told you I have shopping to do. My flight back to Cali is in a week. Talk to the hand.” Riley puts up her hand like a stop sign aimed at Annie. This is not the first complaint Riley’s heard.

Suffice it to say I’m glad I wasn’t in their car. “Hey, it’s fine. We have three glorious days to catch up. Before we separate again.” Based on the status of Scott and me, I would like to extend this summer as long as possible since we attend the same university. We still have so much to sort out. He’s been kissing my ass for three weeks now, but I still can’t forget the image of his tongue in Bethany-what’s-her-name’s mouth. Stop, Lynn. Be present. I turn my attention to my friends. “Suits and beach?”

A cooler filled with beer, flip-flops, sunscreen, and tanning oil are strewn on a communal blanket behind us. We set up towels in our usual row: Helene, Jules, me, Annie, and Riley. Something about a routine suits me. There’s comfort in it, like when I was little and my mother tucked me in every night and we said our prayers together. This is the same kind of feeling. I have my very best friends. We’re here, lying by the Rhode Island shore like sun goddesses. Everything is perfect.

Annie, Riley, and I make a run for the water and call out to Helene and Jules to join us. Over my shoulder, I catch Jules shaking her head emphatically, eyeing Helene, probably to make sure she follows her lead. Whatever. 

We dive into the cool water to avoid the waves, which, when they come in, bring streaks of warmth that feather against our bodies. We swim and splash and jump up to avoid getting sucked under by the swells. When I look back on the beach, I see the two fuddy-duddies leaning into one another, Jules with a hand hiding her mouth. They appear to be whispering. I wonder what they’re saying. What would they have to keep secret from us? With clenched teeth, I dive under the water and come up real close to Annie to tickle her at the waist and make her laugh. Maybe one of the secret keepers will look at us and want to join in on the fun.

We return to the beach twenty minutes later and sit on our towels. Helene is already lying on her back with her eyes closed, soaking up the rays. Jules scoops handfuls of sand and pours them out as if she’s mesmerized. I lean over to her. “Penny for your thoughts,” I say in a hushed voice so the others don’t hear. Annie and Helene are busy discussing the lasting effects of the freshman fifteen.

Jules turns to me with a dreamy-like smile. I can tell it’s forced. “Nothing, really.” She’s still watching the granules fall between her fingers.

“Is it Todd?” Lately, her relationship with her boyfriend has been a sensitive subject, but that’s as much as she’s told me.

Silence.

“You’re somewhere else, Jules. I just want to know you’re okay.”

“I am.” She rubs her hands together to brush away the sand.

I consider confiding my own problems with Scott. Maybe then, she’ll open up to me. A secret for a secret. These are the things we’ve always shared. When did we stop telling each other stuff?

Riley distracts us when she stands up, turns her bronzed body to the side, and presses her hand down her bare stomach. “I lost weight. The freshman fifteen didn’t get me. Besides, I had to for modeling. Believe it or not, I’m considered on the thick side.”

“The only thing thick about you is your attitude,” Helene barks with her eyes still closed.

“My attitude? You aren’t even part of the conversation.” In a huff, Riley sits back down. 

“Where are you modeling?” Jules asks.

“My last gig was a JCPenney ad, but I’ll get bigger ones.”

“Always shooting for the stars,” Annie says.

Riley twists her lips. Then she puts Walkman headphones in her ears when I have a perfectly suitable boom box playing music we all like on WKPX. It’s the station we have listened to every summer.

“Well, it’s a mix tape,” she says. “Someone at school made it for me. You don’t have a cassette player, do you?”

“Nope.” Can’t she listen to her stupid mix tape some other time? And who is the someone? So mysterious. She can’t even say a name. She clicks on the Walkman and starts bobbing her head.

Annie turns onto her stomach with her nose in her book, splayed open on the towel. 

Jules lies down on her side, turned toward Helene. The two of them start talking about people I don’t even know at their college. Ever since they’ve become roommates, I can’t stand them sometimes. 

I roll onto my stomach to even out my tan and bury my face in my towel.

This is pretty much how the day goes. Later, I suggest going to Pappy’s Pizza for dinner. It’s a place we’ve frequented almost every time we’ve been here together, and eating here is like putting on a worn sweatshirt while looking at old photographs. If anything can bring us back to our old selves, it’ll be Pappy’s. 

We take Riley’s car because it’s a 1975 baby-blue Mustang convertible. We drive with the top down, singing “The Dream Police” at the top of our voices. Swinging our bodies from side to side in the twilight, Helene, Jules, and I sit on the top of the car with our feet planted firmly on the back seat, hands bracing the rolled-up roof. Passersby look at us and shake their heads. Some laugh. We don’t care because we’re singing and laughing and feeling especially light, like the weight of the world isn’t on our shoulders and we’re not all returning to school in a few weeks.

Over pepperoni and cheese pizza, we reminisce. It’s fun bringing up good times like the Live Aid concert we watched in our pajamas, all of us in sleeping bags while eating popcorn and imagining ourselves at every one of the arenas televised across the globe. We add to each other’s memories like we’re making a communal soup, each contributing our own magic ingredients. This is what it feels like to be us, girls with a shared past. No matter the circumstances, we always make each other feel warm and cozy—just like home.

When we get back to the cottage, Annie lights a bonfire, and we sit in a circle around it, moving our chairs frequently to avoid sparks snapping in our faces from the shifting wind. It howls so loud, my mother’s wind chimes on the back porch clang like gongs, causing Jules to jump out of her seat a few times.

When did she become so skittish?

“Do you want to play a game?” I ask.

Helene turns up her nose.

“Let’s play beer pong,” Riley says.

“I don’t want to get drunk,” Annie says, looking up from her book. She angles her chair just right under the porch light so she can read again.

“We know. You have reading to do.” Jules rolls her eyes.

“It’s not that. I don’t want to be hungover.”

“I’m driving.” Riley’s reminder is pointed, emphasizing the obvious. “Are you ever going to put that book away?”

Annie holds the book tight to her chest. “You have your modeling to get back to. I have a nursing class coming up for the last summer session. I need to get this done.”

“You’re going back early too?” I can’t hide my disappointment. This isn’t how I imagined the summer ending.

“I am. While you all are partying it up, I’ll be working on the foundation of my life. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Annie leans forward and shoves her book under her chair.

“I’ll be around,” shares Helene, always the optimist.

I wriggle in my chair, feeling restless. “When do we get to meet your boyfriend, Helene?”

“What’s his name?” Annie asks. “Cat?”

Jules and Helene look directly at one another—like twins with their own language—and burst into a fit of laughter.

“It’s Rat,” Jules says. “For Ratignolle. His last name. I can attest that they are hopelessly devoted to one another.”

Of course she can. 

When Helene gets ahold of herself, she says, “I do want you to meet him, though. He’s everything.”

“Only if Lynn could pry herself away from Scotty boy,” Riley says, moving her torso fluidly and extending her longing hand.

Seriously, did her flair for the dramatic not bother me in high school, or is this new?

“I’m going inside. It’s too cold out here.” I stand, grab my half-empty beer, and head to the house. 

Eventually, they all join me as I’m fanning through our VCR tapes to find a good movie. Helene opens the other door on the entertainment center to look at our LPs.

“How about Beaches?” I ask. We all watched it on the big screen at the small theater in Charlestown together last summer. This could bring back some good memories.

Annie fidgets with the fringes on my mother’s green-and-gold couch pillows. She sighs.

“What, Annie?” She’s testing my patience.

“It’s just so sad.”

“Just the ending is.” I grimace. “The rest of it is literally our friendship.”

Helene takes the Beaches soundtrack album, removes it from the sleeve, and puts it on the turntable. “It isn’t literally like our friendship. How about a compromise?”

Flexing our muscle memory, we move to the middle of the room in front of the fireplace. Jules and Riley push the coffee table aside. Helene drops the needle on “Under the Boardwalk.” 

We form a circle, but we’re not holding hands. Our arms aren’t locked. Usually, Jules pretends she’s holding a microphone, taking Bette Midler’s part and mouthing her words. Or sometimes, she sings at a high pitch when she’s had a little too much to drink. Riley normally acts it all out with large gestures, like it’s a pantomime, while the other three of us sing chorus. 

But not tonight. We stand in position as if our feet are cemented to the floor, singing so softly we can hardly hear each other's voices, swaying to the rhythm, pretending we’re all still in sync.