Welcome to part 3: Summer Seventeen!!!!!

IN WOODS HOLE, the port town, Mommy and I let the goldens out of the car and drag our bags down to where Aunt Carrie is standing on the dock. 

          Carrie gives Mummy a long hug before she helps us load our bags and the dogs into the big motorboat. "You're more beautiful than ever," she says. "And thank God you're here."

          "Oh, quiet," says Mummy.

          "I know you've been sick," Carrie says to me. She is the tallest of my aunts, and eldest Sinclair daughter. Her sweater is long and cashmere. The lines on the sides of are deep. She's wearing some ancient jade jewelry that belonged to Gran.

          "Nothing wrong with me that Percocet and a couple slugs of vodka doesn't cure," I say.

          Carrie laughs, but Mummy lean in and say, "She's not taking Percocet. She's taking a nonaddictive medicine the doctor prescribes."

          It isn't true. The nonaddictive medicines didn't work.

          "She looks too thin," says Carrie.

         "It's all the vodka," I say. "It fills me up."

          "She can't eat much when she's hurting," says Mummy. "The pain makes her nauseated."

          "Bess made that blueberry pie you like," Aunt Carrie tells me. She gives Mummy another hug. 

          "You guys are so huggy all of a sudden," I say. "You never used to be so huggy."

          Aunt Carrie hugs me, too. She smells of expensive, lemony perfume. I haven't seen her in a long time. 

          The drive out of the harbor is cold and sparkly. I sit at the back of the boat while Mummy stands besides Aunt Carrie behind the wheel. I trail my hand in the water. It sprays the arm of my black duffel coat, soaking the canvas.

          I will see Taeyeon soon.

          Taeyeon, my Taeyeon, who is not my Taeyeon.

          The houses. The littles, the aunts, the Liars.

          I will hear the sound of seagulls, taste slumps and pie and homemade ice cream. I'll hear the pong of tennis balls, the bark of goldens, the echo of my breath in a snorkel. We'll make bonfires that will smell of ashes.

          Will I still be at home?

          Before long, Beechwood is ahead of us, the familiar outline looming. The first house I see is Windemere with its multitude of peaked roofs. That room on the far right is Mummy's; there are her pale blue curtains. My own window looks to the inside of the island.

          Carrie steers the boat around the tip and I can see Cuddledown there at the lowest point of the land, with its chubby, boxlike structure. A bitty, sandy cove---the tiny beach---is tucked in at the bottom of a long wooden staircase.

          The view changes as we circle to the eastern side of the island. I can't see much of Red Gate among the trees, but I glimpse its red trim. Then the big beach, accessed by another wooden staircase.

          Clairmont sits at the highest point, with water view in three directions. I crane my neck to look for its friendly turret---but it isn't there. The trees that used to shade the big, sloping yard---they're gone, too. Instead of the Victorian six-bedroom with the wraparound porch and the farmhouse kitchen, instead of the house that Grandad spent every summer since forever, I see a sleek modern building perched on a rocky hill. There's a Japanese garden on one side, bare rock on the other. The house is glass and iron. Cold.

          Carrie cuts the engine down, which makes it easier to talk. "That's New Clairmont," she says.

          "It was just a shell last year. I never imagined he wouldn't have a lawn," says Mummy.

          "Wait till you're inside. The walls are bare, and when we got here yesterday, he had nothing in the fridge but some apples and a wedge of Havarti."

          "Since when does he like Havarti?" asks Mummy. "Havarti isn't even a good cheese."

          "He doesn't know how to shop. Ginny and Lucille, that's the new cook, only do what he tells them to do. He's been eating cheese toast. But I made a huge list and they went to Edgartown market. We have enough for a few days now."

          Mummy shivers. "It's good we're here."

          I stare at the new building while the aunts talk. I knew Grandad renovated, of course. He and Mummy talked about the new kitchen when he visited a few days ago. The fridge and the extra freezer, the warming drawer and spice racks.

          I didn't realize he'd torn the house down. That the lawn was gone. And the trees, especially the huge maple tree with the tire swing beneath it. That tree must have been a hundred years old.

          A wave surges up, dark blue, leaping from the sea like a whale. It arches over me. The muscles of my neck spasm, my throat catches. I fold beneath the weight of it. The blood rushes to my head. I am drowning.

          It all seems so sad, so unbearable sad for a second, to think of the lovely old maple with the swing. We never told the tree how much we loved it. We never gave it a name, never did anything for it. It could have lived so much longer.

          I am so, so cold.

          "Jessica?" Mummy is leaning over me.

          I reach and clutch her hand.

          "Be normal now," she whispers. "Right now."

          "What?"

          "Because you are. Because you can be."

          Okay. Okay. It was just a tree.

          Just a tree with a tire swing that I loved a lot.

          "Don't cause a scene," whispers Mummy. "Breathe and sit up."

          I do what she asks as soon as I am able, just as I have always done.

          Aunt Carrie provides distraction, speaking brightly. "The new garden is nice, when you get used to it," she says. "There's a seating area for cocktail hour. Sooyoung and Hyo are finding special rocks."

          She turns the boat toward the shore and suddenly I can see my Liars waiting, not on the dock, but by the weathered wooden fence that runs along the perimeter path.

          Tiffany stands with her feet on the lower half of the barrier, waving joyfully, her hair whipping in the wind. Its black. Shiny. Her hair.

          Tiffany. She is sugar. She is curiosity and rain.

          Minho jumps up and down, every now and then doing a cartwheel.

          Minho. He is bounce. He is effort and snark.

          Taeyeon, my Taeyeon, once upon a time my Taeyeon---she has come out to see me, too. She stands back from the slats of the fence, on the rocky hill that now leads to Clairmont. She's doing pretend semaphore, waving her one arm in ornate patterns as if Im supposed to understand some kind of secret code while her other arm shoved right into her black, destroyed jeans. She is contemplation and enthusiasm. Ambition and strong coffee.

          Welcome home, they are saying. Welcome home.

Sorry it took me too long to update again. I was kind of busy since a few days ago. Sorry ><