"Shut up! up!" In a flash, Ethan was on top of me, his skinny arms pinning mine above my head in the sand. His knee dug into my belly, making me gasp for air. I mustered up all my strength and pushed him off me, rolling him over until I was on top of him. I punched his cheek as hard as I could. He yelped and I saw a little blood coming from his nose. I didn't care. I punched him one more time. His head was in a few inches of water, and I could easily have turned his face until the water covered his nose and mouth. The realization that I could have such a thought shocked the sense back into me. I let go of him and scrambled to my feet, choking on my own sobs. I ran back through the tall gra.s.s, blinded by tears and confused by a rush of emotions. My heart was in a vise; my hands formed fists so tight I would later find blood on my palms from my fingernails. I wanted to kill someone. I just didn't know who it was that I should want to kill.

I called the police myself. My parents and I were not talking easily with one another and I could hardly ask them to do it for me. I told Officer Davis my suspicions. He listened carefully. Then he told me that George Lewis had no verifiable alibi. George had told the police he'd been on the Seaside Heights boardwalk waiting for some friends who never showed up. He had scratches on his face and arms, and said that he'd gotten into a fight on the beach that night with a white boy he'd never seen before, but the police had been unable to find any witnesses to a fight. At the Lewises' house, they found George's wet trunks, and-most incriminating-a towel belonging to Isabel.

"But I I took that towel across the ca.n.a.l and accidentally left it there!" I said, almost shouting into the phone. took that towel across the ca.n.a.l and accidentally left it there!" I said, almost shouting into the phone.

"There was blood on it, Julie," Officer Davis said. "Mr. Lewis claims he used the towel after the fight he was in, and both he and your sister have the same blood type, so it's not possible to know if it was his or hers, but it's clear he was in an altercation."

"The chairs in the Chapmans' backyard were empty empty that night," I said, repeating a fact I'd already told him. that night," I said, repeating a fact I'd already told him.

"We'll reinterview them about that," Officer Davis said. "I know you're troubled and need to feel sure we have the right suspect in custody, and I'm grateful that you called. But you let us do our job now, all right?"

When they were questioned again, Ned and Mr. Chapman said that they'd been lying on a blanket in their backyard the night Isabel was killed and that's why I didn't notice them when I ran to their house. I still thought I would have seen them, and it seemed odd that they didn't notice me me running through their yard, even though I'd been a distance behind them. Surely they'd heard me get into the runabout, but no one else seemed troubled by their story. running through their yard, even though I'd been a distance behind them. Surely they'd heard me get into the runabout, but no one else seemed troubled by their story.

Bruno's father hired a lawyer-the same one who had gotten him off on the previous year's rape charge. George didn't even know who his father was, much less have the money for a lawyer. He was charged and eventually convicted of voluntary manslaughter.

Ned was not even considered a suspect. The son of the chief justice of the New Jersey Supreme Court was presumed innocent-by everyone except me.

CHAPTER 40.

Julie.

1962.

Within a matter of days, we had packed our belongings and left the bungalow for the last time, and that put an end to my sleuthing. Isabel's funeral took place the day after we returned to Westfield. I didn't go because I woke up that morning with what, in retrospect, was surely a psychosomatic stomachache. Simply lifting my head from the pillow caused the room to spin and my stomach to churn. Lucy was sent to a neighbor's house, while I stayed home alone with my aching belly and my troubled conscience. I wondered if I had cancer. I was terribly afraid of dying with such an enormous mortal sin on my soul.

The following Sat.u.r.day, I waited for my turn in the confessional. I sat between my mother and Lucy in the pew at Holy Trinity, trying to figure out what I would say to the priest. I was always so mechanical in the confessional with my carefully rehea.r.s.ed list of sins. This sin did not fit neatly into my usual categories, and although I'd tried to think of a way to confess many times since it had happened, I still walked into the tiny dark cubicle with no idea how to begin.

It didn't matter. The second the priest drew back his little window, I started to cry. I recognized my confessor as Father f.a.gan, the oldest priest in our parish. He was white haired and walked with a limp, like my father, and he had big hands that had rested gently on my head more than once over the years. I let out huge, gulping sobs that could probably have been heard throughout the church. I thought my mother might open the door to the confessional to see that I was all right. Maybe she would hold me as she had not held me since Isabel's death, but that didn't happen.

Father f.a.gan managed to find a break in my weeping to say, "Tell me what's troubling you, my child."

"I..." I gulped down a fresh set of tears. "I did something that got my sister killed," I said.

"Ah," he said. His voice was very calm, not at all incensed or shocked, and I wondered if he knew about Isabel's death and my role in it. I would later learn that he had been the priest at her funeral. "I think it would be good if you and I met together in the rectory tomorrow after church," he said. "Could you do that?"

I was surprised. I couldn't imagine confessing my sins face-to-face with a priest, but I knew I could not decline the invitation.

"Yes, Father," I said.

"Good. Come see me at one o'clock and we'll chat."

I started to stand up, but dropped to my knees again. "What if I die between now and then?" I asked. "I have a mortal sin on my soul."

"You're forgiven that sin, child."

"But...I haven't even told you what I did. It's...I think it's unforgivable."

"Nothing's unforgivable, Julie," he said, stunning me by using my name. "Right now, go to the altar and say three Hail Marys and make a good act of contrition. And then I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay," I said, standing up again. But I didn't feel forgiven. I felt as though he didn't quite understand how terrible I'd been.

The next day, my father took me to the rectory and waited in the parlor while I spoke with Father f.a.gan. We sat in a small room furnished with fancy chairs and a chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling. I told him everything I'd done, and he listened, nodding slightly every once in a while.

"Your sin was envy." He sat in a large chair that made me think of something a king might sit in. He held the fingertips of his hands together as though he might start to pray at any moment. "And l.u.s.t for your sister's boyfriend," he continued. "And lying to your parents, as well as to a number of other people. And also, disobedience."

I nodded as he catalogued all the things I'd done wrong.

"But," he said, "your sin is not murder."

"It wouldn't have happened if I didn't-"

"You did not mean for her to die."

I lowered my head and watched as a tear fell from my eyelashes to form a dark stain on my blue skirt. "No," I said.

"You did not mean for her to die," he repeated, as if he wanted me to truly believe it.

I shook my head. "I loved her," I said.

He nodded. "I know," he said. Then the tone of his voice changed, and I knew we were coming to the end of our session together. That disappointed me. I could talk about everything here. I couldn't talk about any of it at home. "Julie," he said, in his new voice. "I want you to feel you can come to me any time you need to. Any time. You can call me in the middle of the night if you need to. The Lord and I will always be here for you. Now, let us pray for your sister's soul."

That's what we did. For a few minutes, I sat with my head bowed as he asked G.o.d to watch over Isabel. I felt the tiniest molecule of peace work its way into my heart as he spoke.

When we had finished praying and I was on my way out of the office, it suddenly occurred to me that he had not given me a real penance. The Hail Marys from the day before surely didn't count; they were far less than I would have received from the priest in Point Pleasant for one single impure thought.

"You forgot to give me my penance," I said, my hand on the doork.n.o.b.

"You need no penance from me," Father f.a.gan said. "Your true penance is that you will have to live with what you did for the rest of your life," he said.

He could not have been more right.

My grandparents put our bungalow on the market, and it sold quickly. That, too, was my fault. The house had meant so much to all of us and had been part of my family's history for nearly forty years. We would never again go down the sh.o.r.e in the summer. That chapter of our lives was over.

No one ever said, Julie, you are to blame for this, you are a horrible person, Julie, you are to blame for this, you are a horrible person, but no one needed to. Everyone knew that was the truth. It was weeks before my mother could talk to me without asking me, but no one needed to. Everyone knew that was the truth. It was weeks before my mother could talk to me without asking me, "Why? Why? Why?" "Why? Why? Why?" For a while, I felt cut off from the warm family life I had always known. That improved over time, although except for my father's initial compa.s.sionate response to me, no one ever said, For a while, I felt cut off from the warm family life I had always known. That improved over time, although except for my father's initial compa.s.sionate response to me, no one ever said, It's all right, Julie. We know you didn't mean for Isabel to die. It's all right, Julie. We know you didn't mean for Isabel to die. Only Father f.a.gan provided that sort of comfort in the weeks and months that followed Izzy's death, but I really needed to hear those words from someone in my family. And I never did. Only Father f.a.gan provided that sort of comfort in the weeks and months that followed Izzy's death, but I really needed to hear those words from someone in my family. And I never did.

CHAPTER 41.

Lucy.

"Do you recognize that little building?" Julie asked me, as we turned the corner into Bay Head Sh.o.r.es. She pointed to our left, where a tiny antique shop was tucked beneath the on-ramp of the Lovelandtown Bridge.

I shook my head. "Not even a little bit," I said.

"Well, it looks completely different, of course," Julie said. "And the big bridge was just a little one back then, but the antique store used to be the corner store. Or at least that's what we used to call it.You loved the penny candy."

"I remember the penny candy," I said, picturing long strips of colorful candy b.u.t.tons.

"One time we rode our bikes here and got sprayed by the mosquito truck on the way home," Julie said.

"I remember that, too," I said. "I fell off my bike and cut my arm." I looked at my arm as though expecting to see a scar, but I wasn't even sure which arm I'd injured. "We'll probably die premature deaths because of that DDT or whatever it was," I added.

Julie turned the next corner. "Do you want to drive by the bay and our old beach before we go to Ethan's?" she asked.

I shook my head. "Later," I said. I had a urinary-tract infection, which seemed terribly unjust since I hadn't had s.e.x in months. At that moment, all I could think about was using the bathroom at Ethan's house.

It was early on Friday afternoon and Ethan had invited Julie, Shannon, Tanner and me to his house for the weekend. Shannon and Tanner had begged out, but I'd accepted. Something was pulling me down to the sh.o.r.e. I wanted to see what I remembered.

For a number of reasons, I wished that Shannon and Tanner were with us. I wanted my niece to see an important part of her mother's childhood, but more than that, I thought that both Julie and I needed more time with Shannon and Tanner. I liked the little I knew of Tanner. I'd only gotten to spend time with him at the barbecue, but he'd impressed me and I thought Shannon could do far worse than a bright, socially conscious-not to mention handsome-young man. Not nearly young enough; I agreed with Julie on that point. Still, that was not our choice to make. The thing that wrenched my heart and that I knew was killing Julie, was that Shannon wanted to move so far away from us. I remembered what it was like to be young and in love and yearning for my independence, and visiting home had been one of the last things on my mind.

"You know," I said now to Julie, "we'll just have to go to Colorado ourselves a couple of times a year. We'll take Mom with us."

"What?" She glanced at me in confusion, then laughed. "Oh, you're back on that topic again." We'd talked about Shannon and Tanner for most of the ride down the sh.o.r.e, but I could see that Julie had now shifted gears to our old neighborhood and Ethan. "I don't plan to go to Colorado a couple of times a year," she said, "because I don't intend to let Shannon go."

"She's pregnant," I said. "She can become legally emanc.i.p.ated and do whatever she likes if she wants to."

"Can we talk about this later?" she asked, as we turned yet another corner.

"Sure," I said. We'd recently gotten into this dance of Julie denying the reality of Shannon's leaving and me trying to force it down her throat. "Sorry to be a pain," I added.

To our right, between some houses, I saw the ca.n.a.l.

"Oh!" I said. "Is this our old street?"

"Uh-huh."

"Wow. I'd never recognize it," I said. Then I asked rhetorically, "Where did all these houses come from?"

Julie stopped the car in front of a sunny yellow-and-white Cape Cod.

"Do you recognize this one?" she asked.

I didn't. "Is that ours?" The house meant nothing to me.

She nodded.

I looked at the mailbox, painted to resemble the sea and topped by a sailboat. "Somebody loves this house," I said.

"And this is Ethan's house," Julie said as she pulled into the next-door driveway. She opened the car door before even turning off the ignition. The recent change in her was dramatic. I knew she was upset about Shannon, and I knew the past was weighing heavily on her in a way it had not for many years, but there was also a joy in her I couldn't remember ever seeing before, not even when she was falling in love with Glen as a young woman. And the cause of that joy walked out the front door of his house and over to us, giving Julie an embrace that lasted several seconds as he planted a kiss on her neck. The scene made me smile.

"Welcome, Lucy!" he said to me, giving me the much shorter and more perfunctory version of the hug he'd laid on my sister.

"Hi, Ethan," I said. "I'm desperate for a bathroom."

He laughed, pointing behind him to the house. "Halfway down the hall on the right," he said. "We'll meet you in the yard."

When I left Ethan's bathroom, I headed for the back of his house. Through the open jalousies on the sun porch, I could see the ca.n.a.l clearly and suddenly everything seemed familiar. I walked outside to where he and Julie were leaning against the chain-link fence watching the beginning-of-the-weekend array of boats on the water. I felt almost dizzy with deja vu. The current was so fast, and I remembered my fear of it. I'd have nightmares of falling into the ca.n.a.l and being swept away by the water as I struggled unsuccessfully to swim into one of the docks.

I shivered as I leaned against the fence next to my sister.

"Whew," I said. "I remember how scared I was of the water."

Julie put her arm around me. "You were," she said. "Poor little kid." She nodded in the direction of the yard next door. I had not even thought to look over there. "Do you remember it?" she asked.

I looked across a short metal fence to see a little boy playing in a swimming pool. He was riding-and falling off-a huge plastic alligator, while a heavyset, dark-haired woman relaxed with a book on a lounge chair nearby. I could see the top of a boat in the fenced-in dock, but the long, dark, deep-green screened porch was the most familiar part of the scene to me.

"I'd love to see the house inside," I said. "See how it's changed."

"It's totally different," Ethan said. "I'll give them a call later and we can go over." He glanced at Julie. "You don't have to go with us, if you don't want to."

Julie bit her lip. "I think I can do it," she said. It was clear they'd had a conversation about this before.

We spent the rest of the afternoon on Ethan's boat on the ca.n.a.l and the river. It was my first voyage ever in those waters, since I'd been too chicken to go out on our boat when I was a kid. I loved it now, but what was most amazing to me-thrilling to me-was seeing Julie in a boat again. She laughed when the wake of a much larger boat sent a wall of water crashing over us, making us look like two women in a middle-age wet T-shirt contest. She was not only finding love in Ethan, I thought, but also a rekindling of the courage and vitality she'd lost many years ago. Watching her laugh put a lump in my throat. to me-was seeing Julie in a boat again. She laughed when the wake of a much larger boat sent a wall of water crashing over us, making us look like two women in a middle-age wet T-shirt contest. She was not only finding love in Ethan, I thought, but also a rekindling of the courage and vitality she'd lost many years ago. Watching her laugh put a lump in my throat.

After dinner, as the sky turned fuchsia from the setting sun, we strolled barefoot across our old front yard and knocked on the frame of the screen door. The young dark-haired woman I'd seen in the backyard pushed the door open for us.

"h.e.l.lo!" she said, as we entered. "I'm Ruth Klein. And you guys must be the former residents of our house."

"Hi, Ruth," Ethan said to her. "This is Julie Sellers." He rested his hand on Julie's back. "And her sister, Lucy Bauer." We stood packed into the hallway near the front door.

"When did you live here?" Ruth asked. She was beautiful in spite of the fact that she was quite overweight. Her pink skin was flawless, her blue eyes a vibrant contrast to her dark hair.

"Our grandfather built the house in 1926," Julie said. "Lucy and I lived here during the summer in the fifties and early sixties."

"Oh, wow," said Ruth. "I bet it's totally different by now. Where do you want to start your tour?"

"Well," Julie looked at the partly open door on our left. "This used to be our grandparents' room."

"Go ahead in." Ruth leaned forward to push the door open. It was a small room with a queen-size platform bed and sleeklined dresser and armoire. "This is the master bedroom, as you can probably tell," she said.

Julie nodded. "And across the hall was the bathroom."

"Still is," Ruth said, and we followed her across the hall, taking turns peering into the tiny bathroom. The toilet and pedestal sink looked new. In the corner was a small triangular tub.

"We just had a shower there," Julie said.

"I think the people before us put the tub in," Ruth said.