Page 9 of Seashells and Other Souvenirs

The ocean soothes me with her song

When I feel alone

afraid

adrift

She never drowns out the voices

Of those I love

She plays them back for me

Over

and over

and over

Until I remember them

Until I memorize them

Until they meld into my own

And I start to find the rhythm

Of my words

Again

“Four . . . five . . . six . . . seven . . . eight . . .”

Elias’s voice faded as Rebekah and I took off in the same direction, looking for a hiding place no one had used yet.

Elle was already under the picnic table where my mom and several aunts were sitting and talking, and Sutton must have found a good spot because I had no idea where she was.

Rebekah pulled me past the little row of hedges and under the blue house.

“I don’t think we should be over here.” I glanced behind us to see if our moms were watching. “This isn’t our house.”

“Gavin and Jude won’t mind.” She kept walking.

“We only met them two days ago, Rebekah. We can’t just invite ourselves to their house.”

“We’re not going into their house.” She checked the doorknob beside the outdoor shower and pushed it open to reveal a washer and dryer. “Just in here.”

“I feel weird about this.” I hesitated.

“You’ll feel better when we win. And I don’t even think anyone’s home.”

The sound of my cousin’s “Ready or not, here I come” made the decision for me. I scurried into the laundry room behind Rebekah and pushed the door shut.

“Leave it cracked,” she whispered. “Not enough to see, just enough to hear what’s going on.”

“Okay.” I reached for the door handle.

It turned but wouldn’t budge.

“It’s stuck.” I panicked.

Rebekah’s eyes got big. “You think it locks automatically?”

“It’s not locked.” I wiggled the handle again. “It’s just jammed or something.”

She pushed my hands out of the way and tried it herself.

Nothing.

My panic turned to full-fledged fear. I balled my hands into fists and started pounding on the door, yelling at the top of my lungs.

I turned to Rebekah for some kind of reassurance, but she had started to cry. “We’re going to be in so much trouble.”

“ Help! ” I was frantic. How had none of the dozens of relatives next door heard us? What if they never found us? Or perhaps more concerning, what would happen to us if they did?

“Hello?” A tentative voice called from the other side of the jammed exit.

Rebekah found her voice. “We’re stuck! We can’t get the door open.”

“Okay, hold on. Let me see if I can open it from this side.”

I watched the handle move up and down a few times. “Hmm. I might have to kick it or something. Can you stand back?”

Rebekah and I both moved away. There was a loud thud and then another. The door hardly shook.

“Let me go get some help,” our would-be rescuer suggested.

“But we don’t want to get in trouble!” Rebekah’s tears had disappeared. “Can’t you just try one more time?”

“Okay, just a second.”

Everything was quiet for a moment. Rebekah reached over and held my hand.

The sound of rapid footfalls approached, followed by a crash. The door swung open, and Jude’s small silhouette stood in the doorway and rubbed at his shoulder as our eyes adjusted to the sunlight pouring in.

“Are you okay?” Rebekah rushed toward him, and he stumbled backwards a little.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” He sounded like he was still trying to convince himself. “I can’t believe that worked.” A slow grin spread across his face and briefly lit his eyes with pride before he noticed the splintered wood of the doorframe and winced.

“We’re gonna be in So. Much. Trouble.” Rebekah’s tears returned. And, of course, seeing her cry made me start too.

Jude looked more frantic than we did mere minutes ago. “Don’t cry! You won’t get in trouble. Really. I’ll tell my dad it was my fault.”

Rebekah wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “But it wasn’t. It was our fault.”

“It’s not a big deal.” He stepped to the side so we could move out of the laundry room.

“We get in trouble for stuff like this all the time. And I don’t mind being grounded, because I like to read anyway.

Listen, I’ll make you a deal: you guys stop crying and I promise no one will even know you were over here today. ” He held out a hand.

Rebekah half laughed, half sniffled as she grabbed it and shook it up and down.

“No, not like that,” Jude corrected. “That’s how you shake someone’s hand when you meet them. For making a deal, you just need one firm shake. Like this.” He extended his arm to me next and shook it decisively when our hands met.

“Alex? Bekah?” Elle’s voice echoed.

“Quick.” Jude shuffled aside. “Around the bushes at the front. I’ll keep an eye out over here for you.”

We took off. At the end of the driveway, I stopped to mouth, “Thanks, Jude.”

He straightened his glasses and shrugged. Almost like he knew it wouldn’t be the last time he fixed things for us.

“Why does it smell so good in here?” Jude walks in the front door, and it’s all I can do not to bombard him with all the words I’ve had no chance to share with anyone else today. It’s nearly nine p.m., and he’s been gone since I woke up this morning.

“Lasagna’s in the oven.” I set down the salad bowl and reach for an oven mitt.

He tosses his keys in the little basket and frowns. “I thought we might just order pizza or something tonight.”

“Oh.” I close the drawer in front of me. “I’m sorry.”

His cheeks color the way I’ve noticed they do when he feels misunderstood. “Please don’t apologize. I love lasagna. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to cook every night. I’m used to fending for myself.”

“Well, I’m used to living in a house that isn’t a short walk away from the ocean, but I’m not complaining.”

His shoulders relax, and he leans against the counter. “How can I help?”

“You want to mix up the salad?”

He moves to the sink to wash his hands. “Talk to your cousins today?”

“Only Bekah for a few minutes. She was on her way back from Sutton’s.” I place the steaming lasagna on a trivet. “This will need to cool for a few minutes.”

“Mmm.” He closes his eyes and breathes deeply. “That seriously smells incredible.” He adds dressing to the leaves and starts tossing the salad. “Hey, do your cousins know you’re staying here?”

I look for something to busy my hands with, not sure how to explain this to him. “No, actually. I didn’t know if—” I search for the right words.

“If they’d think it was weird?”

“More like if they’d ask me a million follow-up questions. Or maybe even if they’d invite themselves to move in too.” I force a laugh and change the subject. “How was your day?”

“Long,” he admits. “Saturdays are pretty full.” I’m starting to realize that all his days are pretty full; even with the schedule he gave me, I’m still not straight on how many jobs he’s working.

“What did you have today again?”

“I helped Ty early this morning with some end of the week stuff and then cleaned houses as people started checking out around nine. I left there around two-thirty and then worked two dinners.”

“At your mystery waiting job?” I interject.

He cuts his eyes at me, and while I know he isn’t angry, I can also tell he’s still not ready to tell me more.

I switch tracks. “I’ve always thought it would be interesting to be a housekeeper on the island.

Is it strange to think about the stories of all the people who’ve just spent one of the best weeks of their year in the houses you’re cleaning? ”

He chuckles. “Well, I’m not a writer like you, so I usually do less thinking about people’s stories and more thinking about how to get stains out of the carpet or gallons of sand out of the bathtub.

In fact, the state of some of these houses would make you happy you don’t know the stories behind them. ” He shivers.

“That bad, huh?”

“Not always. But I’ve . . . seen some things.” He yawns and stretches his back.

“Here.” I take over the salad. “You sit down. I’m tired just hearing about your day.”

He hesitates but doesn’t argue. “How was your day?” he asks while I fix his plate. “Did you write?”

“I did.” I finish serving my plate and sit down next to him.

“So you’re probably exhausted too, just in a different way.” I’m struck by the way this simple observation rolls off his tongue so effortlessly but makes me feel so seen .

“Yeah, actually. I’m kind of spent emotionally.”

He cuts into his lasagna and asks, “You feel like talking about it, or do you need to think about something else?”

I do feel like talking to him about it. I’ve always felt like I could talk to Jude about pretty much anything. Minus his brother.

“Have you ever had the feeling,” I ask as I set down my fork and pick at the edge of the napkin in my lap, “that everyone and everything around you is moving on, and you’re just kind of . . . stuck? Like you’ve been left behind?”

He wipes his mouth and nods. “Alex, I grew up in a beach house where my neighbors, when I had them, moved in and out on a weekly basis, with a family that never really felt like what I supposed a normal family should. And then they moved out. I know that feeling very well.”

“Of course. I’m sorry, Jude. I didn’t—”

He bumps his knee against mine. “Stop apologizing to me tonight, okay? You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m just telling you that I understand how you feel, and it sucks.”

He turns back to his dinner, and it makes me happy to see that he’s enjoying it.

I study him for a few beats before saying, “I keep coming back to how therapeutic the ocean is for my heart. Do you ever feel that? Or is it so commonplace to you now that it’s lost its effect?”

He swallows the bite in his mouth and sighs. “Impossible. I could live in the ocean and never get enough of it.”

“Good. I really hoped that was the case.”

“Speaking of which.” He checks the time. “Is it too late to squeeze in a beach tradition tonight?”

“We already have.” I smile.

“Yeah?”

“One of my favorite Henry family vacation traditions: ending a long day talking over a meal with some of your favorite people in the world.”

I can tell he almost doesn’t ask the next question, but I’m glad he does. “Does that mean I’m included in your list of favorites?”

“Of course you are, Jude. Pretty close to the top of it, in fact.”

“So, like, somewhere between your cousins and cheese?”

“Let’s not get crazy.” I spear a cucumber with my fork. “There are days when I’d rank cheese above at least two of my cousins.”

His laugh is the most comforting sound I’ve heard all day.