August 1969

“Did you say Vi?” I ask, cautiously walking toward him, still breathless. “You know Vi?”

“Vi who?” Red asks.

The boy’s calm seems to melt away and he looks suddenly flustered. His eyes dart away then meet mine and there is an uncomfortable moment I don’t quite understand until he speaks again.

“You know… Robert’s wife,” he mumbles to the red-headed girl. “My cousin.”

A thread of indignation twists itself around my heart. How dare this WASP-y stranger lay claim to my aunt. As if she were one of them!

“Oh, Howard you’re right!” Red breathes, her mouth slightly open. “Of course she’s looking for Vi. She’s practically her twin.” She studies my face. “I had no idea Vi had… people.”

Red frowns. The rest of the group gathers around me.

A blonde girl with a musical voice chimes in. “That was sooo sad, Robert dying so soon after the wedding.” Her blue eyes are wide and round.

“On the slopes, of all places!” Red interjects. Her skin is so clear and light that it’s nearly transparent. I can see the blue veins zigzagging across her forehead. “Those freak accidents make you wonder, don’t they? Gone in an instant.” She snaps her fingers hard and I blink. “Are you her sister, then?”

“No. I’m not. Do you know where I can find her?”

“Mm-mm.” She gives me a little smile and wags a finger in my face. “First tell us where you’re from.”

“The Bronx,” I say quickly, an odd mix of shame and pride swelling inside of me. The word itself seems dirty up against this gang, dressed for tennis — white shorts, white pleated dresses, white sweaters tied across their chests, white shoes. Red has two diamond studs in her left ear; they catch the light and I look away quickly.

“The Bronx? Positively seedy.” She claps her hands together as if enchanted, then turns to one of the boys behind her. “You were right, John.”

John grins widely, opens up his palm as if urging everyone to pay up. Goodness. They look as if they’ve all just stepped off a glossy Lacoste advertisement — just walked on out of the magazine and landed here. They have space, I thought to myself suddenly. Money and space. They can breathe. My cheeks turn red as I look down at my worn shoes. There’s a hole in the top of the canvas above my big toe on the right shoe. I cover it with my left foot, then realize that just makes me look like a weirdo.

“Are you… from here?” I ask hesitantly, my eyes traveling over the group.

More laughter.

“Montauk? No. Do we seem like we might be? How charming!” Red laughs. “You’ve caught us ditching midday tennis. We figured they’d send out the drivers to find us in East Hampton, so we rode the train down here for the afternoon.”

“What’s wrong with tennis lessons?” I ask, sucked into their glittery white world despite myself.

Red ignores this; in fact, it seems the little group doesn’t quite have an answer at all, and they look away awkwardly.

“Sometimes you just need some space, right?” I offer.

“Well, look at that.” Red smiles. “Bronx’s smart.”.

“Can you take me to Vi?”

They talk quietly among themselves for a moment.

“So far… At the very end,” Howard grumbles. Another boy mentions something called the Arm and Hammer mansion, and there is talk of the bluffs or the moorlands or the beach. At last the group settles on a route and we set out.

“We only summer in the Hamptons,” Red explains. “And we aren’t that familiar with Montauk, our estates are west of here. The only time we come down here is to hang out at the lighthouse. You must see the lighthouse, it’s a sight! It’s so old it’s practically sinking.”

“Where do you live when you aren’t, um… summering?” The word sounds silly coming out of my mouth.

“Mostly Manhattan. Although I spent five months abroad in Paris last year. And Ellen lives in Palm Springs. I’m Melody Carlson, by the way.” She sticks out her hand. I try to hide my shock, but trip over the uneven sidewalk, thankfully I catch myself before falling on my face. Carlson. As in the Carlson family.

“Steinbeck used to lunch here.” Howard nods at a sordid-looking diner at the side of the road. “Before he died.”

“Oh. Okay. Cool,” I say uncomfortably, not that I have a clue who Steinbeck is. I want to ask them more about Vi. I want to know everything about her, how she is, what she does. Does she practice as a nurse? Who does she spend her time with? But Melody has launched into a long, twisting tale, and considering this gang seems to be my best chance at finding Vi, I don’t interrupt her.

“So the summer camp burned down. To the ground. Ashes, Bronx. Just black char. It was devastating. Wasn’t it devastating?” Melody asks the group, then continues without waiting for an answer. “And of course all of our parents were simply frantic. ‘Do we send them off to Europe?’ ” She raises her voice, sharpens her syllables, slows her speech in imitation. “ ‘Oh, Edward, this is simply tragic! We must ship them off somewhere. We can’t possibly keep them home! Whatever would they do all day?’ And you know, the thought of all of us with no structure and just roaming sent them all into a sweat. But it’s been lots of fun, hasn’t it?”

“If you consider mind-bending boredom fun, then yes, lots of fun,” Howard mumbles.

“Don’t mind him.” Melody tosses her hair. “He described the African safari we were on last fall as ‘tedious.’ ”