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Betsy’s stomach growled, and she asked Louisa if she’d mind if they invited James over. They’d dragged him to the island with them. They should include him in their plans.

Minutes later, he knocked on the door three times, employing the secret code they used as kids.

The three of them ordered mushroom pizza and squeezed into the small room to watch The Love Boat , then Fantasy Island.

James perched on a wooden chair near the beds, his feet up on the motel room’s pine dresser.

“Do you think Julie has a thing for Captain Stubing?” James asked, flashing his brows and looking amused. They were all engrossed in an episode about a tennis pro meeting up with his ex-flame, and Louisa shushed them. Betsy spoke quietly.

“Absolutely not. Julie has a crush on Gopher. See how she lights up every time she sees him.” Betsy pushed herself up on bent elbow. “Besides, gross. Captain Stubing could be her father.”

“Shush!” Louisa tossed one of the flattened bed pillows at her, which made Betsy toss one of the grimy throw pillows back. James reached for the pancake-thin pillow and tossed it at Betsy. He fit right into their family, almost like he’d never left.

That night, after James returned to his room and they turned off the light, Louisa propped herself up on one elbow in the springy queen bed. “If you don’t want to have this baby, Betts, I just want you to know something.”

“Okay,” Betsy said.

“I had a procedure when I was fifteen, to get rid of something, really early on. Remember all that stuff with Brandon Millerton?”

Betsy had always wondered about that time, what really happened. “Did Mom and Dad know?”

“Dad drove us. Mom came inside. I don’t think Dad ever saw me the same way.” She flopped backward onto her pillow. “Anyway, I always felt so ashamed by it, and I don’t want you to feel that way, in case you decide to do it. It’s your right.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me? Does Aggie know?” Betsy kicked the bedspread off; even with a cool breeze coming in through the window, the room felt stagnant.

Louisa scoffed. “It’s not something you advertise, and no, Aggie doesn’t know. But listen, I can take you to get help, if you need me.”

Betsy’s voice squeaked out. “I want this baby.”

“I know, I’m just reminding you.”

In the morning, James left a note on their door saying he was going for a ride to a lighthouse; he’d be back by ten.

The sisters had a quick breakfast and waited for the Realtor’s office to open around the corner.

Sitting opposite an agent named Peter Collins, whose work attire seemed suited for a sunset sail—cherry-red shorts, leather boat shoes, and a short-sleeve collared shirt—he confirmed they could indeed sell the Nantucket house, even if they had a tenant.

“As long as there’s no lease holding you to a certain rental date, this individual would be forced to vacate.

” Peter picked up his pen, ready to make a note on a yellow legal pad.

“Do you want to give me the address and I can give you an idea of the home’s worth? ”

“Not yet,” Louisa said. She took his card. “But we’ll be in touch.”

While they waited for James at the ferry dock, Betsy watched Louisa walk over to a pay phone with her Chanel purse on her shoulder, loading the booth with coins.

She talked animatedly for a few minutes, then returned to Betsy’s side in the scorching sun, their overnight bags at their feet. “What was that about?” Betsy asked.

“I called the firm and told them I’ll be back in a few days to begin my new position.” She pretended to be gleeful, then rolled her eyes.

“You could hold out,” Betsy said. “There have to be other law firms, better people.”

Louisa crossed her arms over her tank sweater. “Maybe, but it could also be worse. I’ll pay my dues with the old man and I’ll transcribe his stupid notes, and I’ll work so hard, I’ll run circles around him. Next summer, I’ll request to assist a different lawyer.”

It was too depressing to consider, that you could work as hard as Louisa had and still be relegated to menial office work. “What made you change your mind?”

“Love. I realized that Mom and Dad stopped putting each other first, choosing their careers, and I’ve never done that, put Michael first. I want to try.”

“Good for you.” Betsy watched the ferry as it docked, workers tossing ropes to the tall wooden pilings. “But you’re not giving up on your career, are you?”

Louisa’s purple pleated shorts were as prim as her smile. “Goodness no. But maybe Mom is wrong. Maybe I can get married and still make partner. Maybe a woman can have it all and be happy.”

Betsy liked that idea. In two years’ time, it would be a new decade: the 1980s, and the lives of women would change once more.

Her mother was already saying that more women were joining the workforce than at any point in history.

They would have to find a way to be there for their kids in ways that Betsy’s own mother had failed to be there for them.

Fathers would have to learn to step up. Women would need to rely on their families again.

Betsy would need to rely on her family again.

James drove them onto the ferry at ten, all of them walking upstairs to the open sundecks of the boat. As the ferry pushed off from the dock, James mentioned that he’d been offered a tenured position at New York University.

“I may stay on the East Coast after all,” he said, petting Peanut Butter’s head. “It’s a good job, and it would allow me to spend summers here again. I forgot how much I loved this island.”

Betsy smiled. “When you love something, you should never let it go,” she said, kissing Peanut Butter on the top of his soft furry head.

It was three in the afternoon when they got back to Martha’s Vineyard, the sun dappling the roadway, the tall swaying oaks welcoming them home as they pulled up onto South Water Street. On the lawn was Sally Channing’s real estate sign, gently rocking in the breeze.

James put the Land Cruiser in park, and he stiffened when Louisa leaned across the front seat to give him a hug. “Thank you for your help,” she said. “You’re a Whiting in spirit.”

They all got out of the car then, standing at the open car trunk. Louisa yanked out her bag and said, “Seriously, James, I’m forever grateful for what you did for us.”

“Anytime,” he said. He gazed up at the green shutters of the house; they hadn’t changed since they were kids, small cutouts of seashells cut into the upper panels.

“Gosh, I hope your family doesn’t sell. This house was a constant for me, just knowing you all were here… It got me through some dark times.”

Louisa hoisted her quilted weekend bag on her shoulder. “Well, those days are behind you now, and besides, we’re not going anywhere. Right, Betsy?”

Betsy leaned against the car, the corners of her mouth turning up. “Right.”

A couple of kids pedaled by, squeaking their horns for fun. Louisa disappeared inside.

“Thanks for calming me down yesterday,” Betsy said, embarrassed by her outburst on the beach. “You know I don’t think you’re some kind of leech, right?”

He kicked at the rubber tire with his Nike sneakers, his hair curling up from the ferry winds.

“I am kind of a leech. I mean, not now, but before.” When he looked up, he smiled.

He presented like he was shy, but he wasn’t.

He was gentle. “Anyway, we all lose it sometimes. I certainly did after my mother died.”

She wanted to hug him, but she felt funny; her embrace would feel different from the sisterly one Louisa had given him.

Betsy lifted her backpack, tucking her long brown hair behind one ear. “Well, it was nice seeing you, and like Louisa said, thanks for helping us out.”

He smiled. “I know you’re on the island for a little longer, but before you leave, can we take out my old boat?”

A tingling surged inside her chest, a million little beats pulsing through its center. “The little rowboat?”

“We’d still fit.” He rose up on his heels, grinning. “We can bring it over to the cove, float around and talk about life.”

Betsy chuckled. “You sound like one of those stoners with a guitar.”

He laughed. “I can bring a guitar if you’d like.”

Betsy had the sense that she was suspended above them, watching two friends become close once more.

Theirs would be the truest kind of friendship, where they talked on the phone and visited each other sometimes.

If he took the NYU job, he’d get to see the baby after it was born. He could be Uncle James.

It was a decision Betsy had made all over again that morning on the ferry back to the Vineyard.

In the end, just like Louisa, Betsy would choose love.

It was hard to explain, even to herself, why she loved this little lima bean that was growing inside her, but she did.

She would be a woman who chose to do things on her own, even if she was the last person in her family that anyone ever expected to have those kind of guts.

Betsy hugged James, and he hugged her back.

He was right. She would need a lot of somebodies to make it in this life, but she also wanted him to be one of hers.

He’d been her best friend for so many years, and she’d been wrong to write him out of her life, simply because it was too complicated to keep him in it.

“Can we take out Senatorial too?” Betsy said. “You never did get to sail on her.”

She wished her father could see James now, how he believed in himself, how he had been determined to be better than his mother.

A dimple formed in James’s left cheek. “Okay, but the rowboat first.”

She shook her head, even though she loved the idea of it. “We’re going to sink that thing. We’re grown-ups now.”

“But we can still act like kids sometimes, right?”

“We can,” she said.

At that moment, James kissed her. Just once, soft on the lips. He met her stunned expression with confidence, his face inches from hers. “I don’t want to just run into you sometimes, Betts. I want to see you. On purpose.”

It no longer felt like there was a hard layer around her heart.

“I waited for you outside the hardware store the other day, but you never came.” She hid her face, then found the courage to lift her eyes to his.

Perhaps, all this time, Betsy had been looking for the wrong things—degrees and achievements and men who thought her sexy rather than smart.

She wondered then if Andy had simply been a placeholder until she found her way back to James.

If she was finally where she was meant to be.

“Look out your window tonight,” he said, his head motioning to her house. His hand opened and closed, and she knew what he meant. He would say good night.

Betsy stepped away from him, walking up the steps to the front door, feeling his eyes on her as she moved. He had never stopped being hers.

There was another conversation waiting inside for her, and this one would be even harder.

Betsy waved goodbye as James slid into the driver’s seat, revving the engine just once so she’d turn back and smile one more time.

Then she went to open the imposing front door, inhaling a breath so deep she imagined filling the baby’s lungs inside her.