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“If your mom's wrong, why is this happening?” I pressed.

She pulled an enormous pair of round white sunglasses out of her straw beach bag and slipped them on. “Your camera's haunted. It's the only thing that makes any sense.” She peered over the glasses. “But don't tell my mother I said that.”

 

We spent a surprisingly normal day at the beach. Delilah sat hunched under the umbrella while I baked on the bright warm sand. The store-brand lotion left white streaks on my body, but it smelled nice, like pineapples.

When my fingers began to swell from the heat, Delilah smeared her exposed bits with an additional layer of SPF a gazillion sun-block, and we headed for the water. I made it to my waist in the icy froth before I stopped, jumping and shrieking as the waves hit my chest. Delilah pushed ahead and dove under a breaker. She swam a few strokes out and motioned me to follow. I held out my arms for balance and shook my head: this was as far as I wanted to go.

She caught a tiny wave and swam back to me. “When the water's this cold, you've just got to dive in and keep swimming until it doesn't hurt anymore.”

I shook my head. “I mostly swim in pools. It's not like I've never been in the ocean, but…” I had been about to say that the water was a lot warmer in the Caribbean when I realized how obnoxious that sounded. Above us, the sky was bright blue, but angry clouds darkened the horizon. I thought of Duncan out on the fishing boat.

“You can swim, right?” Delilah asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Of course.” The waves really weren't that bad, but the current tugged at my legs.

“Follow me.” She pointed to a yellow float way out, bobbing in the waves. “It's really calm out there.” Beyond us, the float lurched on a swell.

A wave slammed into my chest and splattered my face. I stumbled backward.

Delilah caught my arm to steady me. “Come on.” She plunged into the water and swam away with choppy strokes.

When an oversized wave charged toward me, I had no choice but to dive under. Soon, I was beyond the breakers. I swam with my head above the surface until I caught up with Delilah, treading water.

“See?” she said. “Just like a big swimming pool.”

It was nothing like a swimming pool. The water was dark and unpredictable, and the currents did everything they could to pull me off course. My legs disappeared in the churning water below me; the ocean floor could be two feet down or twenty. It could be dotted with sand dollars or swirling with eels. Anxious, I scanned the choppy surface for fins. I never should have watched “Shark Week.”

When we finally reached the swim float, I hauled myself up,
panting from exertion and fear. From here, the sunny shore didn't seem so far away, but the horizon had grown even blacker, turning the water at the edge of the earth a steely gray. Wind blew in violent gusts. Goose bumps rose on my wet flesh.

“How far out was Duncan going?” I asked.

“Pretty far, I think,” Delilah said. “No one booked the boat for today, so they can stay out as long as they want.” When she saw my expression, she added, “The boat has radar. When they see there's a storm, they'll either steer around it or come back early. Rain is no big deal.”

A bunch of little kids dangled from the float, splashing and laughing. A couple couldn't have been older than eight, which made me feel like a major wimp for being scared. There were some teenagers in red bathing suits sprawled around, too, including the gorgeous blond guy who'd made Delilah blush last week.

“Hey, Nate,” Delilah said. “You doing the lifeguard thing?”

He grinned, and dimples sprouted in his tanned cheeks. “Sea guard camp; I'm a junior counselor. We're done for the day, though, so I figured I'd come out here and hang.” He squinted at the dark horizon. “Looks like a storm's coming, though.”

Delilah smiled. She nodded. She blushed and stared—speechless for once. I turned away and covered my mouth so she wouldn't see me laughing.

Back on shore, we wrapped ourselves in towels and pulled down Delilah's beach umbrella so the wind wouldn't carry it off.

“So I guess you like that guy,” I said.

“Who?” she asked, all innocent.

I snorted with laughter; she knew exactly who I was talking about.

“Of course I like him,” she admitted.

“It seemed mutual.”

“Nah.” She rolled her eyes. “He's nice to everybody. Nate's completely out of my league—which is the point, really. I don't plan to date until I'm thirty.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Thirty?”

“Maybe twenty-nine. If I meet someone really special.” She shot me a half grin before slipping on her big sunglasses. The sun still glared, even as the clouds took over the sky. “Before I get involved with anybody, I've got to finish high school, go to college, establish a career, and pay off my student loans. I can't risk any distractions.” It was almost as if she were talking to herself, convincing herself.

She angled herself toward the water. “My mother had Leo when she was fifteen, and she had me a year and a half later.” She turned her head. “By two different fathers.”

I tried not to look shocked. I failed.

“Duncan didn't tell you?” she said.

“Just how old she was. I guess I just assumed—”

“That it was one guy? Nope. Though she was in
love”
—she held up her fingers to indicate quotation marks—“so it was okay. Leo's father was on the football team—which, when you think about Leo, is actually pretty funny. He dumped her as soon as she got pregnant. And then his parents moved out of state, which was really convenient for them.”

“And your father?”

“Valedictorian of the class. If you can believe it.”

I looked at Delilah: genetics in action. “I can believe it.”

She shook her head. “You wouldn't think someone so smart would be stupid enough to get his girlfriend pregnant. My mother thought he was her Einstein in shining armor—you know, asking her out even though she had a baby. And he did stick with her after I was born—for almost a year, I think. But he said it would be better for them both if he got an education. So he left. And I guess he just forgot to come back.”

Out in the water, the last kids abandoned the float and made for shore.

“And now?”

“He's an architect. Lives in Seattle with his wife and their two children. Max and Sophia. A boy and a girl—just like us.” So I wasn't the only one around here living life in a parallel universe.

Around us, moms pulled sweatshirts over toddlers' heads while dads gathered towels and trash. Delilah and I stayed planted on the sand.

“Do you see him?” I pressed. “Does he send money or anything?”

She shook her head violently. I thought of her eBay business, her long work hours, her cramped apartment.

“But he should. He's your father.”

“No, he's not. He's just some guy.” She exhaled with frustration. “And the thing about my mother? She threw herself at those boys—just like she threw herself at lots of guys after them. None of them even cared about her. And now she's got Larry, who'd do anything for her—he'd do anything for Leo and me—and she's just pushing him away. She says he can't stay in one place, but he's already said he'll stay if she marries him. Her real problem?
She refuses to grow up. If she gets married, it means she isn't a kid anymore.” Her voice grew wobbly. “She doesn't even think about what the rest of us want.”

“Do you think Larry and Duncan are going to leave?” I asked, hoping she'd say no.

She reached under her sunglasses to rub her eye. “If she doesn't come to her senses, then, yeah—they'll leave. Duncan knows he can stay with us. But I think he's afraid that if he doesn't go with Larry, he'll never see him again.”

The rain started quickly, angrily, the fat drops like punches on our skin. We stuffed our things into our beach bags and hurried up the street.

At Psychic Photo, Leonardo sat behind the counter, eyes closed, chin tilted up, listening to a portable CD player. When he heard the door, he yanked off his headphones, popped off the stool, and made for the front door. “Mom's in the back, doing a reading for a new client. Thanks for taking over for me, Dee. I've got some stuff I need to do. Hi, Madison; see you later.”

He disappeared into the rain before Delilah could say, “But I need to change my clothes!”

“You want me to hang down here while you shower?” I asked.

“Nah. My mom should be out soon.”

I expected Rose to emerge from the back room with a chattering, flowered-dress type like Mrs. Voorhees, someone who'd gush about energy and karma and transformation. Instead the woman who shuffled out a few minutes later had a tearstained face and sagging shoulders. She wore jean shorts and a blue T-shirt. Her blond hair hung limp around her face.

“I just wish I'd known earlier,” she told Rose. “I would have shown him more patience. More understanding.”

“It's not too late,” Rose said. “Go to him. Let him feel your energy, your love. You can make your connection in this life even stronger than it was in the last.”

Delilah's face turned so red it was practically purple. When the blond woman left the store, she exploded, “You don't do past-life regressions, remember?”

Rose spoke quietly. “This was a special case.”

“Who was she in a former life—Queen Elizabeth? Betsy Ross? Have you ever noticed that only famous people get reincarnated? Why don't slaves and peasants ever get a second chance?”

“This wasn't about fame,” Rose said. “It was about Jennifer's relationship with her husband. He's always acted so helpless around her. She thought it might have been her fault, something she was doing, but I helped her see that their dynamics were the result of a previous relationship.”

“They were married in another life?” Delilah ventured.

Rose shook her head. “Her husband…was her son.”

“Ew!” Delilah and I said at the same time—and then we burst into laughter.

“It's not funny!” Rose snapped, silencing us with her ferocity. “They've brought another soul into their marriage: she's going to have a baby. And that realization changed her husband in a fundamental way. She didn't come here to talk about past lives but to learn about her future. Her husband is in a coma. She wanted me to tell her if he would live or die.”

“No,” Delilah whispered.

Rose nodded. “Jennifer is Ronald Young's wife. The doctors
had hoped he'd regain consciousness by now. It doesn't look good.”

Of course: Delilah and I had seen the woman before, when she came to help her husband at the photo printer.

“So what did you tell her?” Delilah asked.

Rose raised her shoulders. “That I didn't know what would happen. I tried to look ahead, but I couldn't see anything. So I told her what I sensed about their past relationship. And I told her to love him. That was the best I could do.”

 

Delilah stood in the front doorway with me. The rain hadn't let up, but I was already drenched; a little more water wouldn't make any difference.

“You going to be around later?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“If it stops raining, I'll come back with my camera. You've really got to look at those photos again.”

I expected Delilah to say something about Ronald Young's wife. Instead, she crossed her arms and looked at her feet. “Don't hurt Duncan. He's been through a lot already.”

I tried to answer, but the words wouldn't come out.

 

“Don't drip all over the carpet,” my mother said when I burst into the room, soaked and bedraggled from ocean, wind, and rain.

“Where's dad?”

“In the shower.”

“Do you know where he put my camera?” Oh, God, what if he'd gotten it wet?

“You can ask him when he comes out.” She took a clean pot
from the drying rack and put it in the cabinet with a clang. “Lexie called,” she added casually.

I felt like I'd been hit. “How did she know where we were staying?”

“She called my cell phone.” With some more clattering she put away the rest of the dishes. “You want to call her back?”

I didn't answer.

“Madison?” She turned to see if I'd heard her.

“Maybe later,” I said.

Suddenly, the room shook with an enormous boom. I yelped.

“Just thunder,” my mother said. “Better get used to it if we're going to live here.”

I sat on the couch and waited for my mother to tell me not to sit on the couch in a wet bathing suit. Astonishingly, she didn't.

“What did Lexie say?” I mumbled.

“She said, ‘Is Madison there?'”

“Thanks,” I said. “That's helpful.”

The thunder boomed again, louder this time, as my father, wearing a plain white T-shirt and gray sweatpants, emerged from the bathroom rubbing his hair with a towel.

“Did you hear the news?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, thinking he meant Lexie's call.

“Things are looking good,” he said, standing straighter than he had in some time.

“Huh?”

“And there's plenty of room for growth.” He chucked the towel back through the open bathroom door.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” I said.

“Your father got a promotion,” my mother said. “Site foreman.”

“Great,” I said. “Did Lexie say anything else?”

“It's a new project,” my father said. “A remodel. We'll probably get started in the next week or two. And after that who knows?”

“There's paid vacation time,” my mother said. “And in six months, health insurance, even dental.” She held my gaze. “This means we're definitely staying in Sandyland. I'll stop by the high school tomorrow, get you enrolled. And we'll start looking harder for someplace to live.”