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"I'll call you during the week, Sara," Grandma Olivia said, barely turning her head, "and tell you when the dinner will be."

"Fine, Olivia. Thank you," Aunt Sara said. She looked at Uncle Jacob for direction. When he started out, she followed. I noticed no one kissed anyone good-bye, just as no one had kissed anyone hello. Only Grandpa Samuel followed us to the door.

"Have a good week, Jacob," he said.

"Thanks, Dad," Uncle Jacob replied. He shook his father's hand and started for the car, all of us following.

"I'm looking forward to hearing you play your fiddle," Grandpa Samuel called to me. "Bring it with you when you come to dinner."

I gazed back at him. He was smiling warmly, his eyes twinkling. We had barely exchanged any words or spent any time in each other's presence, but I thought he seemed too nice to have disowned my father, too nice to carry anger in his heart so long and so firmly.

"Did you have a good time, Melody?" Aunt Sara asked me after we had all gotten into the car. Cary glanced at me nervously.

"Yes, Aunt Sara. The food was wonderful and this is a beautiful place," I recited dryly.

"Isn't it though? I love coming here. Laura used to visit Grandpa and Grandma Logan often. In time you will, too, I'm sure."

"I'm not so sure," I muttered under my breath. Cary was the only one who heard me, but he didn't say anything.

"We've all been invited to dinner this week. Isn't that nice?" Aunt Sara said. No one, not even Uncle Jacob, replied. We drove home in silence, with May the only one comfortable in such a muted world, I thought.

It was a relief to change out of formal clothes and put on dungarees, sneakers, and a sloppy blouse. I had felt so constrained in Laura's clothes. Aunt Sara treated them like holy garments. I buttoned my own blouse half-way down and tied the front ends in a knot at my waist, just the way Mommy often tied her own. My mind still reeled from the discoveries and revelations about my parents.

When did they first realize they were in love with each other? Was it really like falling in love with your brother or your sister, even though they weren't blood relatives? How did they tell Grandpa and Grandma Logan? There was so much I didn't know about my family. I felt like someone who had been living with strangers.

Everyone else was still changing when I stepped out of my room. I knew May was looking forward to spending time with me, but I craved solitude. I hurried down the stairs and out of the house. Confused, angry, and frightened, I dug my feet into the sand and furiously marched toward the ocean. The breeze whipped through my hair. Large, puffy clouds blocked the sun. I felt a bit chilled and realized I should have worn more than a cotton blouse. But I didn't want to turn back.

On the hard-packed sand of the beach, the tide rushed up so fast I had to leap out of the way to dry ground. It was as if the ocean itself were snapping at me. I took off my sneakers and socks and waded through the water, oblivious t

o the cold, If I came down with pneumonia, it would be Mommy's fault. No one would care anyway. I fumed so hard I imagined smoke pouring out of my ears.

How could Mommy not tell the truth? Didn't she think the day would come when she would have to admit to all the lies?

Surely Daddy would have eventually told me everything. He was just waiting for me to be old enough. Daddy wouldn't have wanted to see me hurt this way. But Mommy must have realized I would hear the whole story while I was here. All she worried about was getting away and doing her thing, becoming famous.

"It's not fair!" I shouted at the ocean. My words were drowned by the roar of the waves.

I didn't realize how far I had walked until I turned to look back at the house. I folded my arms across my breasts and sat on a dry mound of sand, staring across the ocean waves. There was a constant breeze, but the sky wasn't as cloudy as it had first seemed. The weather here changed so quickly it was as if a Cape Cod magician controlled it. I sensed the sun was stronger down by the water, reflecting off the sand. Like a Ping-Pong ball, I was bouncing from warm moments to cool ones. The breeze brushed the tears from my cheeks. I sighed so deeply I thought I might snap like a brittle piece of china. I even envisioned my face shattered in pieces like some alabaster puzzle. All the king's horses and all the king's men . . couldn't put poor Melody together again.

Suddenly, I saw and heard a motorboat skipping over the waves, the spray flying up around it. Whoever was driving it turned it sharply toward the shore and sped up, heading directly toward me. I watched with curiosity as it drew closer until it was near enough for me to realize who was driving. Adam Jackson waved. He shut off the motor and the boat drifted in with the tide.

"Hey!" he called, his hands cupping his mouth. "What are you doing out here all by yourself?"

The boat lifted and fell until he was nearly to shore. "Just taking a walk," I shouted back.

"I thought it was you. I have great eyesight, huh?" He laughed and then held up a pair of binoculars. "Come on. take you for a spin."

I shook my head. "No, thank you."

"Come on," he urged. "You'll have fun."

"How will I get to the boat? I'll get soaked to the bone and shrink to death."

He laughed and hopped out. He was wearing a tight black bathing suit and a light blue polo shirt, which was getting wet, but he didn't mind. He pulled the boat closer until the bow hit the sand. Then he took off his shirt and threw it into the boat before he beckoned.

"Come on. Ill make sure you don't get too wet."

"I don't think so."