Page 56 of We Were Liars

IN THE MORNING, there is a tire swing hanging from the tree on the lawn of Windemere. The same way one used to hang from the huge old maple in front of Clairmont.

It is perfect.

Just like the one Granny Tipper spun me on. Dad.

Granddad.

Mummy.

Like the one Gat and I kissed on in the middle of the night.

I remember now, summer fifteen, Johnny, Mirren, Gat, and I squashed into that Clairmont swing together.

We were much too big to fit. We elbowed each other and rearranged ourselves.

We giggled and complained. Accused each other of having big asses.

Accused each other of being smelly and rearranged again.

Finally we got settled. Then we couldn’t spin.

We were jammed so hard into the swing, there was no way to get moving.

We yelled and yelled for a push. The twins walked by and refused to help.

Finally, Taft and Will came out of Clairmont and did our bidding.

Grunting, they pushed us in a wide circle.

Our weight was such that after they let us go, we spun faster and faster, laughing so hard we felt dizzy and sick.

All four of us Liars. I remember that now.

THIS NEW SWING looks strong. The knots are tied carefully.

Inside the tire is an envelope.

Gat’s handwriting: For Cady .

I open the envelope.

More than a dozen dried beach roses spill out.