The Last Embrace. Pam Jenoff

“You’ll go to the beach with us.”

      I faltered. I’d managed to avoid the beach since coming here. Aunt Bess had offered to take me once, but I’d made excuses and, though puzzled, she hadn’t pressed. I could not tell Mrs. Connally about my fear of the water, which seemed silly even to me—and I did not want them to go and leave me behind. “I’ll be right back.” I hurried next door to the boardinghouse, finding the polka-dot bathing suit Aunt Bess had bought me, with the Gimbels tags still on it.

      When I walked downstairs a few minutes later, the Connallys had assembled in front of their house, buckets and other beach toys in hand. I stopped, suddenly self-conscious of my new suit. When Aunt Bess had given it to me, I’d loved the bright pink color and ruffles. Now I was embarrassed at how it clung in some places and gapped in others.

      “Wait for me,” Robbie called, struggling to keep up with his brothers’ long strides as we started down the block. Charlie reached down and scooped up Robbie, then hoisted him to his shoulders.

      I studied the boys out of the corner of my eye as we walked. Liam looked more like Charlie than his own twin. With the same almond-shaped eyes and angular jawline, he was almost a copy of his older brother. He was much slighter, though, and his skin was a paler shade. They stood opposite one another like sun and moon. Charlie’s movements were sure and deft and he seemed to hover above his brothers, guiding their movements, steering Jack around a pothole so he didn’t trip, then putting out an arm to stop Robbie before he stepped into the street. The other boys fell in behind him like geese following in formation. I was drawn closer, longing to walk beneath his protective wing and be one of them.

      We soon reached the boardwalk that separated the road from the beach, wide planks forming a neat pattern with a railing that overlooked the sea. Just to the north loomed the Chelsea and other grand hotels. As we climbed the worn plank steps, I could hear waves crashing hard on the other side, so different from the calm Adriatic I’d known as a child. I froze, nauseous. I’d had the nightmares for as long as I could remember, of dark waters rising and pulling me under. The week on the ship, feeling the water rolling beneath, had been nearly unbearable. But this was worse, because even though I had never been to this beach, the spot where we now stood looked exactly like the nightmare I’d had for a lifetime.

      Charlie set Robbie down. Robbie scampered onto the sand, racing to a dune that lay just below. He began to climb it. But as he neared the top, he wobbled. A look of sheer terror crossed his face as he lost his footing and began to tumble. “Robbie!” his mother cried with alarm.

      Charlie raced up from behind me. In two swift strides, he reached the bottom of the dune and extended his arms, catching Robbie neatly in midair. “You need to be more careful,” Charlie scolded as he set Robbie down. “I’m not always going to be here to save you.” But the protective note in his voice suggested otherwise.

      I hung back as the boys ran ahead down the wide beach, which was dotted with other groups of bathers, women in stylish swimsuits reading magazines and families with small children digging for sand crabs and splashing in the surf. To everyone else, the beach was a happy, relaxed place.

      “Are you all right?” Mrs. Connally asked, noticing my distress. She adjusted the wide brim of her straw hat, then took my arm. “Come, let’s set up.” I followed her to the spot where the boys had cast down their things, and helped spread out the blanket. I tried not to stare as Charlie pulled off his shirt, revealing a broad torso and muscular shoulders. His eyes traveled in the direction of a girl a few years older than me, sunning herself in a suit with a cut-out midriff. My heart sank; I could never hope to fill out a swimsuit like that.

      “Are you coming?” Charlie asked as he started toward the water. I shook my head. “I’ll take you,” he offered, softer now, seeming to sense my fear. How I wanted to trust him! I almost felt as if I could.

      Then a wave rose behind him and thundered down. Panic gripped me once more. “You go on.” I stretched out in what I hoped would be a glamorous position on the blanket. A biplane buzzed overhead, advertising the diving horse show at Steel Pier.

      Jack settled down beside me on the blanket and pulled a book from his mother’s bag. The Red Badge of Courage; I’d never heard of it. “Summer reading assignment,” he said, noticing me looking.

      “Oh.” I didn’t know if I was meant to be reading something over the summer. “I’m worried,” I confessed.

      “About school? Don’t be. I’m sure the other kids are going to like you a lot.” Jack smiled so brightly I almost believed him.

      “It’s the schoolwork. I’m mostly nervous about the writing.”

      “Why don’t I help you? Tutoring, they call it.”

      Robbie peered over Jack’s shoulder. “Whatcha doing? Homework in summer. Aack!” He ran away.

      “It’s the beach, for goodness’ sake!” Liam protested as he followed Robbie to the surf.

      “Buddy system!” Mrs. Connally called after them. Her eyes darted back and forth attentively, never leaving the water.

      “Don’t worry, I’ve got them,” Charlie called from the water’s edge. He dove in without hesitation, then swam out to meet his brothers, his stroke as smooth and confident as a lifeguard.

      “Come on, Addie!” Robbie cried, his voice drowned out by the crashing of a wave. I watched longingly, wanting for once to take part in the fun, instead of simply standing on the sidelines watching.

      But I couldn’t. Instead, I took some of the lotion Mrs. Connally offered. Sand from my fingers mixed with it as I rubbed it into my arms. I inhaled deeply, gazing northward down the beach where the boardwalk bustled in front of the Claridge Hotel and Convention Hall. Haze swirled around the top of the roller coasters and other amusements on the piers that jutted out into sea. The air was salty but curiously sweet, a bit of taffy or caramel corn drifting in from the piers.

      A few minutes later Jack closed his book and went to join his brothers in the water. I lay back, squirming against some sand which had worked its way into the bottom of my bathing suit. I closed my eyes and let the sun lull me into a semi-nap. My parents appeared in my mind. We had been happy once like the Connallys. I saw Mamma and Papa dancing around the kitchen, the three of us and Nonna enjoying long leisurely meals of fish and cheese and bread out on our balcony in summertime. When I was ten, I had asked if it was the lunches that were making Mamma’s belly round. She just laughed. She and I spent long days strolling the city, wading in the fountains and pointing out interesting things until it was time for Papa to come home.

      Only one day he didn’t. At first Mamma tried to be cheerful. “He’s just gone to see friends,” she reassured. But a night passed, then another, and then she forgot to maintain her pretense of calm. She left me with Nonna and did not return by morning. I tried to pray in the darkness at night for their safe return. Please, I said over and over again, because I did not know any other words. It seemed to work, because two days later Mamma came back. She was pale and drawn—and still alone. She took to her bed. Nonna ran for the doctor.

      A few days later, Mamma emerged, but her stomach no longer swelled as much. “Is Papa still with friends?” I asked.

      Mamma shook her head. “No,” she replied bluntly, not bothering to cushion the truth. “He’s been arrested.” My heart froze. I’d seen a man once, taken from the street by the police. People whispered that he would not come back. I prayed more, adding more pleases until I was saying the word a thousand times each night before finally falling asleep.

      Papa did return a week later, walking through the door as unexpectedly as he had disappeared. He looked the same, right down to the same clothes, now dirty and creased. He’d even managed to keep the mizpah heart and not have it taken. But he fell into a chair with a wince that suggested he was hurting on the inside, and a haunted look in his eyes that did not go away. He did not return to his work after that but wrote from home, welcoming in the occasional visitor. Instead it was Mamma who took to the streets, leafleting and attending meetings and protests against the Fascist regime,