“Okay,” Will said. “See you later.”

“Stay out of trouble, son.”

“Sure thing.”

Mr. Jensen made a brief saluting motion with his hand, then pivoted toward the main street. There were several bars and pubs where grown-ups sat around drinking, doing pull tabs and watching baseball on wide-screen TVs.

She studied Will’s face. A peculiar sadness clouded his blue eyes. She wondered if he was remembering his mom, or if he was wishing his father would join in the fun on the beach. “Maybe he’ll come back in a bit,” she suggested, trying to cheer him up.

“Nah. He won’t be back until the pub closes.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, not quite certain that was the right thing to say.

He stared at the retreating figure. “I’m not. If he’d stayed, he’d only spoil things.”

She couldn’t imagine someone spoiling a day at the beach. “How?”

“He’d probably drink too much and embarrass me.”

“Oh.” And again, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s my last day. I’m not gonna let anything ruin it. Let’s go.”

They brought the cooler to the picnic area, where her brothers were already decimating the platter of deviled eggs her mother had made. Her sisters and their friends were French-braiding their hair and arranging themselves on blankets where the boys would notice them. Her dad was already in his wet suit, waxing the boards.

“There’s a good surf today,” he said. “Want to have a go?”

“Sure,” Will said. “I need all the practice I can get.”

“Good attitude,” Dad said.

Will grinned and in they went, surfing with the cluster of kids out beyond the break. As usual, Will kept at it, long after exhaustion and hunger drove Caroline to the barbecue area, where the Rotary volunteers were grilling for the crowd and drinking beers. After a while, Will showed up and devoured a burger with a look of bliss on his face.

Just before dark, his father came to collect him. She recognized that stride, only now it was punctuated with a slightly uneven swagger.

Dad came over and introduced himself. “Will’s got a natural talent at surfing. He did really well this summer.”

“Yep, well, we need to get a move on,” said Mr. Jensen. “We’re leaving first thing in the morning.”

“Tell you what,” said Dad. “I’ll give you a ride up to your folks’ place. I’m heading that way myself.”

No, he wasn’t, thought Caroline.

“No thanks,” said Mr. Jensen. “I’m parked over there.” He gestured vaguely.

“We’ll get the car back to your place tomorrow. On a holiday weekend, the patrols are out in force and they love to write tickets,” said Dad. “Can you give me a hand with the surfboards? Thanks, man.”

Dad was totally smooth. He was an expert at dealing with people who’d had a few too many. He was a sommelier and had worked in bars his whole life, and he knew just what to do. Within a few minutes, the four kids were crammed into the club cab of the pickup, Dad at the wheel and Mr. Jensen in the front seat. Dad kept up a friendly conversation during the drive to Water’s Edge. Will was totally silent the whole way. Caroline could feel him breathing next to her. They had to share a seat belt, and his leg pressed against hers, the muscles tense. When they parked in front of the old house, Will scrambled out of his seat as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.

“Uh, thanks for the ride, Mr. Shelby,” he said.

“No problem,” said Dad. “None at all.”

“Yeah, thanks for the lift.” Mr. Jensen headed toward the house. “Let’s go, son.”

Caroline hung back, painfully aware that this was goodbye. And she didn’t quite know how to say that. So she just said it. “Bye, Will.”

He stiffened, as if the notion of goodbye had just struck him. “Okay,” he said. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

“Guess so,” she said. There were a hundred things she wanted to say to him, but he was already edging toward the house. Maybe she should offer to call him. But no, they didn’t talk on the phone. It wasn’t that kind of friendship. It was a “run around and play all day” kind of friendship. Trying to talk on the phone would only ruin things. Besides, there was no way to call Guam, was there?

There was always email over the computer, but in Caroline’s family, there was only one computer and they all had the same email address—[email protected]. She sure as heck didn’t want her sisters seeing her notes to Will Jensen.

She hated this goodbye. It was rushed and weird. Not that she wanted to linger over it like Romeo and Juliet, but she kind of wanted to say a few things, like that she’d had fun. That she’d miss their adventures. That she’d think of him during the endless school year.

“Are you coming back next year?” she asked.

“Sure am.”

“I’ll be here,” she said.

Chapter 15

Caroline was singing “The Winged Herald of the Day” with her mouth wide open when she saw Will Jensen again the next year. She was in her usual spot in church—the middle of a pew in the middle of the sanctuary—when she happened to look over while belting out, “Take up thy bed, to each He cries,” and there he was, a row behind and across the aisle.

She nearly choked on the chorus. Her cheeks filled up with color, and she whipped her head back around.

Right after he left last summer, she had missed him so much that she wrote down all kinds of things she wanted to tell him, everything from what she had for dinner (tuna casserole made with her uncle’s fresh catch and little English peas) to her schedule of classes (her favorite was something called domestic arts, which involved sewing). She never sent a single letter, though. For one thing, she didn’t have his address in either Guam or Coronado. Oh, she could have asked his grandmother, but she was too bashful to do that.

She had to fight her sisters and brothers for computer time, and finally sat down and typed out an email one day. The modem kept squawking, and just at the crucial moment, it disconnected and the laboriously typed message disappeared like mist. After that, she gave up. Compared to long summer rambles and epic bike rides around the peninsula, email was a yawn.

After church, they met up at the cookie table. “Hey, stranger,” said Will. “I’m back.”

“Hey, yourself. You’re back.”

“Yep. For the whole summer,” he said.

“Cool. Church is lame but the cookies are good. They’re looking for a new pastor. Maybe they’ll find one who isn’t too boring.”

She couldn’t stop smiling, yet still she felt awkward. He looked so different—taller. Bigger in the shoulders, maybe. And his voice was totally different, kind of crackly and deep, a human computer modem. She wondered if she looked different to him. Probably not. She was still skinny and flat-chested, something her sisters liked to remind her of. She’d started wearing a bra anyway, hoping it would speed things up.

“Check out your crazy hair,” he said.