When camp was over, many of us stayed at the beach for the afternoon. We’d packed lunch and planned to remain for the day. But not Rebecca, and not the new woman, Sherri, who folded her towel into her mesh bag while her daughter peeled off her wet suit. We supposed we weren’t surprised to see Rebecca leave. She hadn’t been the same since Peter. Last summer we hardly saw her at all.

We assessed the new girl. Her hair was dark and thick, pretty, even in its wet braid. We could see how it was probably curly when loose. Her skin was promising: clear, with the golden glow that spoke of an easy tan. Bathing suit: Target, last year’s model. The shorts she was pulling on over the suit were Old Navy, ill-fitting. And yet we all noticed that she had sort of an ease about her. A way of fitting into her environment.

“Well,” said the new woman, “it was so nice to meet all of you.”

“Likewise,” said Tammy. She cast a meaningful look at Gina. We didn’t have to say it out loud. We knew this woman wouldn’t try to get into the group. After the Chicago debacle our group had been restored to its natural order, an even dozen, and the borders had snapped themselves closed, like the lobes of a Venus flytrap.

2.

Sherri

“How’d you like the girls? Were they nice to you?”

“Sure.”

Sherri and her daughter, Katie, were on their way home from Katie’s first day at surf camp. Katie had never been on or near a surfboard in all of her eleven years, but she’d taken to it surprisingly well, at least as much as Sherri could tell from her vantage point on the beach.

“Was anybody not nice to you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. If they weren’t, I didn’t notice.” Sherri looked in the rearview mirror, perplexed. During the daytime Katie seemed to be fantastically unaffected by everything that had happened before the two of them moved to Newburyport. Was her nonchalance simply a coping mechanism, masking the deep, dark reaction that came only in sleep? Or had Sherri actually done a passable job of protecting her?

The road that led south from the surf beach, Ocean Boulevard, was lined with mansions on the right. On the left were majestic views of the Atlantic Ocean, bordered in places by a rock wall. Along the rock wall ran a sidewalk and on the sidewalk people were running, riding bikes, walking dogs: happy happy summer people in a happy happy summer place. Sherri took a deep breath and released it, just as the counselor had told her to do.

The road had gentle twists and turns like a road in a storybook, and every now and then the ocean would open up wide before them. It was enough to take your breath away. Here is where the fairy princess lives, Sherri thought, passing a giant white house that looked like a Southern mansion. One house had peeling paint and a weedy, untended lawn. Here is where the monster lives, thought Sherri. She shivered. The counselor had told her to try not to think too much about their other lives. It was not an overstatement to say that their survival depended on it.

“What are you doing, Katie?” Sherri asked. Katie had her head down now, intent on something in her lap. Her phone, which Sherri had bought her against her better judgment, with some of the money they’d been given to start over. She’d been swayed by the ability to track Katie’s whereabouts.

“Just texting with some of the girls.”

“The girls you just met?”

Sherri glanced again in the rearview mirror and saw Katie nod. Sherri’s mother would have said, “I didn’t hear your head rattle,” and demanded a verbal answer, but truth be told, Sherri’s mother and Sherri had had a very different relationship than Sherri and Katie had. Katie tended to treat Sherri less like a parent and more like an overwrought friend whose occasional discombobulation caused Katie some mild bemusement.

When she was packing up to leave the beach, Sherri had heard the women discussing cocktails by so-and-so’s pool in two days’ time, kids included. Sherri had lingered over her cheap beach bag for a moment, half wondering if they’d invite her, half horrified by the thought that they might. If they did, she would go for Katie’s sake. It would be lovely for Katie to make some friends over the summer so that she’d enter school in September with familiar faces to seek out by the lockers or at lunchtime. Sherri felt a pang at the thought of Katie with a cafeteria tray, desperately seeking a place to sit.

“Taylor wants me to come swimming at her house this week!” Katie announced.

“Really?” Sherri felt a flush of nervous excitement. Calm down, she told herself. It’s just a swimming invitation. “That sounds like fun! Which one was Taylor?”

“Blond hair,” said Katie.

“Didn’t they all have blond hair?” All the kids, all the moms. Sherri glanced in the rearview mirror, hating her own brown hair even more than usual.

Ahead of the Acura a line of cars had stopped, waiting for somebody to turn out of the parking lot of an outdoor ice cream shop. Sherri could see three separate lines of people, at least ten deep, at the shop. the beach plum, said the sign. best lobster roll in new england. Sherri had never tasted a lobster roll. Their very existence puzzled her: lobster and bread. It seemed an unnecessary combination.

Across the street was yet another parking lot for yet another beach, with more happy summer people milling about. Sherri had had no idea that the beach scene in their new lives would be so robust. She felt a surge of something wash over her, maybe the memory of a long-ago childhood summer at the Jersey Shore, and she experienced a sudden uplift in mood.