“All right.”

I gripped the phone tighter.

“Why have Sophie and Caleb never been invited?”

Silence.

Not the uncomfortable silence I expected.

Confused silence.

“Invited where?”

“To the beach house.”

“Claire, what are you talking about?”

I looked at Sophie again.

“Nathan has told me for eleven years that the trip is your family tradition and that you prefer keeping it to the relatives and people who were already part of it.”

Linda didn’t respond.

Then I heard a chair scrape across a floor.

“He told you that?”

“Every year.”

“Claire, we thought you didn’t want to come.”

I stopped breathing for a second.

“What?”

“Nathan told us you weren’t comfortable with Aurora being here.”

I sat down.

Linda continued.

“He said you preferred keeping the households separate. We respected that because we thought it was your decision.”

Sophie was watching my face now.

“What about Sophie and Caleb?”

“Nathan said you didn’t want them coming without you.”

My fingers went cold around the phone.

Eleven years of conversations rearranged themselves in my head.

Every time Nathan said his parents were traditional.

Every time he told Sophie maybe next year.

Every time he came home with photographs and souvenirs.

“Linda, I have never said any of that.”

Another silence.

Then I heard her call Thomas’s name.

His voice came faintly through the phone.

Linda returned a few seconds later.

Her tone had changed.

“Thomas is here. I’m putting you on speaker.”

“Claire?” Thomas said.

“Hi, Thomas.”

“Nathan told us you didn’t want to participate in the trip.”

“He told me you didn’t want us there.”

Nobody spoke.

I could hear waves through their open windows.

Then Linda said something I had never expected to hear.

“Pack a bag.”

“What?”

“You, Sophie and Caleb. Come here.”

I stood.

“Linda, Nathan is there.”

“I know exactly where my son is.”

Her voice stayed calm.

“And I think eleven years is long enough for everyone to sit at the same table and hear the same story.”

The Pink Shovel

I ended the call and found Caleb at the bottom of the stairs.

He had obviously been listening.

“Are we going to the beach?”

I nodded.

He stared at me.

“Today?”

“Today.”

For once, he didn’t pretend he hated sand.

He ran upstairs.

Sophie stayed still.

“Dad doesn’t know, does he?”

“No.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

I picked up my overnight bag.

“Not before we get there.”

We packed quickly.

As I pulled an old beach tote from the top shelf of Sophie’s closet, something plastic fell behind a box.

It landed near my foot.

Pink.

Faded.

Scratched along one edge.

The little shovel.

Sophie stared at it.

“You still have that?” I asked.

She picked it up.

For a moment she looked embarrassed.

Then she shrugged.

“I forgot it was there.”

She turned it over in her hand.

I remembered her at four years old, washing that shovel in the bathroom sink because her father had told her maybe next year.

Eleven summers had passed.

Sophie placed the shovel inside her bag.

“I’m bringing it.”

I didn’t ask why.

Two hours later, we were driving toward the coast.

Nathan still had no idea we were coming.

For eleven years, he had been the only person deciding what each side of his family was allowed to know.

That afternoon, for the first time, we were going to put everyone in the same room.

The People Who Had Never Rejected Us

We reached the beach house a little after six.

Nathan’s SUV was parked beneath the house.

Caleb noticed it first.

“Dad’s here.”

“I know.”

Sophie sat beside me with the pink shovel sticking out of her tote bag.

Linda opened the front door before we reached the steps.

For a second, nobody moved.

Then she came straight down and hugged Sophie.

“Look at you.”

Sophie stood stiffly at first.

Linda stepped back and touched Caleb’s shoulder.

“You’ve gotten so tall.”

Thomas appeared behind her.

His expression wasn’t angry.

It was worse.

He looked embarrassed.

“Claire, come inside.”

The house looked exactly like the photographs I had seen for years. Blue cushions covered the porch furniture. Beach towels hung over the railing. Family pictures from previous summers covered a hallway wall.

Eleven years of vacations.

I recognized Nathan in nearly every photograph.

Aurora was in many of them.

Ava too.

There were no pictures of me, Sophie, or Caleb.

Linda followed my eyes.

“I thought you didn’t want to be here.”

“And I thought you didn’t want us.”

Thomas shook his head.

“We should’ve called you ourselves.”

Before I could answer, a woman came around the corner.

Aurora stopped.

Her eyes moved from me to Sophie and Caleb.

“Claire?”

“Hi, Aurora.”

She looked toward Linda.

“What’s happening?”

Linda folded her arms.

“Apparently, we’ve all been told different things.”

Aurora’s face changed.

“About what?”

I answered.

“Nathan told me his family didn’t want me or the kids joining this trip.”

Aurora stared at me.

“He told me you didn’t want the families mixed.”

Nobody spoke.

Then Aurora gave a short shake of her head.

“He said you were uncomfortable around me and Ava.”

“I’ve never said that.”

“I know that now.”

Footsteps sounded above us.

Nathan appeared at the top of the stairs.

He saw me.

Then Sophie.

Then Caleb.

He stopped.

“Claire?”

Nobody answered.

Nathan came downstairs slowly.

“What are you doing here?”

Linda looked at him.

“Your wife and children were invited.”

Nathan’s eyes went to his mother.

“Mom.”

“Don’t ‘Mom’ me. We’re eating in twenty minutes. Everyone will be at the table.”

She walked toward the kitchen.

“And this time, nobody is speaking for anybody else.”