The Perfect Summer (Hubbard's Point) Read Online Free Page A

other women; but now, looking back as she tried to make sense of today, were there other secrets? She hadn't felt this pit in her stomach—the physical sense of the world tilting on its axis, making her feel like grabbing on to the nearest solid object—for months.
    Annie came around the corner, tears on her cheeks.
    “We have to call the police, Mom.”
    “Annie, I don't think—”
    “No, we do. Something bad must have happened. He wouldn't have just left like this, unless someone was forcing him. It could be kidnappers.”
    “I don't think that's it, Annie.”
    “It has to be, Mom. What else could it be? He would never just leave on his own!”
    “Annie, a lot of things might have come up . . .”
    Annie let out a hiccup, half sob, and said, “You think he's with Lindsey, don't you?”
    “I don't know,” Bay said, reaching out for her daughter. Lying just made people confused and crazy and undermined any remaining solid ground. It was always better, Bay had learned, to tell the truth as much as she could. But with three children who loved and needed to look up to their father, she found it to be a very difficult balancing act.
    But Annie stepped back, her eyes wide and wild. “I'll ride my bike down to the boat and see if he's there!”
    “Annie, no—we'll drive down together.”
    But her daughter was already gone. Bay heard her bare feet flying across the floor, the screen door slam, and the whir of her bike tires.
    Bay pushed back Sean's leather desk chair and sat down. Almost without thinking, she picked up the phone and dialed Tara's number. She stared out the picture window, across the wide green-gold marsh at Tara's white cottage. She saw Tara stand from where she was crouching in the herb garden, drop her trowel, and walk up the weathered steps.
    “Hello?” Tara said after six rings.
    “It's me.”
    “Hey, you forgot your sunscreen at the beach. I have it.”
    “Oh, good,” Bay said. Just two syllables—“oh” “good”—and Tara knew.
    “What's wrong?”
    “Sunscreen's not the only thing I've misplaced today.”
    “Sean's gone somewhere? And that's a bad thing?”
    “Oh, Tara,” Bay said, unable to laugh. “He didn't pick Pegeen up, and Frank called me because he missed a bank meeting . . . Annie's beside herself. She's on her way down to his boat right now. I think she's hoping he's on a fishing trip he forgot to tell us about.”
    “Damn,” Tara said. “That boy.”
    Bay didn't reply, rocking in the desk chair.
    “I'm sorry, Bay,” Tara said. “You know I've tried to hold my peace this last year. But I saw what you went through, and he is an asshole of such stupendously huge proportions, I can't even believe it. What a lack of grace.”
    “Can I tell you how much I HATE him right now? Stranding Pegeen at practice. Making Annie worry like this?”
    “I'm on my way . . . I'll pick you up, and then we can go down and meet Annie at the boat.”
    Tara hung up, but Bay just sat there, holding the phone. The Irish Sisterhood; Tara had coined the name years ago, to celebrate their friendship—closer than best friends, almost like the sisters neither of them had. Many people at Hubbard's Point thought Bay and Tara
were
sisters, and they never bothered setting anyone straight. They were united by their hearts, humor, and Irish roots; they both loved Yeats and U2, and they both swore they'd always, no matter how settled they might look from the outside, live passionate lives.
    Tara was almost defined by her singleness. She had really fallen in love only twice—with an artist and an artistic “type,” both of whom she had wanted to be much more brilliant than they actually were. Both men had proposed, but at the last minute she had veered away.
    Bay knew it had something to do with having an alcoholic father—unable in the end to stand up to the strength of the women in the family. Tara had learned to trust herself more than any relationship. Bay felt tender and protective toward