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with milk before walking with Zoey and Benjamin down to the ferry, where they would meet Nina and Claire and Aisha and Jake. And Wade.
    No doubt Lucas would be the subject of conversation on the island for some time.
    At least for a while, the succession of days wouldn’t be quite so ordinary.

FOUR
    CLAIRE KNEW THEY WOULD BE there. They were there many mornings, and today, with word of new developments spreading, no one would miss circling.
    The circle was at the center of North Harbor, a cobblestoned hub from which five tiny streets spread out like spokes. On one side, the church seemed to stare across the circle and down Exchange to the ferry landing. Around the circle were little souvenir shops, craft galleries, and candy stores that sold fudge to the tourists. On the exterior wall of the insignificant town hall was a compass rose that showed how far it was from Chatham Island to all sorts of cities and locations around the world—845 miles to Bermuda, 1,325 miles to Sarasota, Florida, 14,678 miles to Tahiti, if you wanted to take the long way around.
    In the center of the circle was a grassy lawn dotted with a few trees, a couple of quaint, green-painted benches, and a low granite obelisk with a brass plaque bearing the names of theisland’s war dead since the Civil War. There were nine names altogether, with spare room for more.
    Zoey was standing, and Claire’s sister, Nina, lounged on a bench beside Aisha, who was trying to catch her mass of springy black curls with a rubber band. Jake leaned against the monument, his head bowed, his big shoulders hunched forward. The usual crowd. Sometimes Benjamin would be there, too. Lately the black guy, Christopher, had dropped by from time to time, obviously not sure whether he was being invited to join the group or not. Hopefully he understood, having seen Aisha, that he wasn’t being given the cold shoulder because of his race. It was just that he’d only been on the island since spring.
    To Claire’s surprise, the conversation was not about Lucas.
    â€œWe’re the last of a dying breed,” Aisha was saying. “I’m graduating this year, Zoey and Ben are both graduating, Claire’s graduating.”
    â€œJoke will graduate if he can ever get those multiplication tables down,” Nina said.
    â€œChew me, Ninny,” Jake said.
    â€œNext year there’s not going to be much of an island group at the school,” Aisha continued. “Just Nina and my little brother. It will be a few years before Jake’s little sister is old enough.”
    â€œKalif’s going to the high school next year?” Zoey asked. “I don’t know why, but he never seems that old to me.”
    â€œNina and Kalif, that’s it. That will be it for islanders.” Aisha nodded in agreement with herself.
    â€œYou figure one of us should volunteer to flunk so we can keep up the islander tradition at Weymouth High?” Claire asked.
    â€œWould you mind?” Aisha said with her worldly-wise, impertinent grin. “I’d do it, but my folks would be pissed.”
    â€œBenjamin would be glad if you flunked, Zoey,” Jake said.
    â€œHe would not,” Zoey said. “Benjamin’s not like that.”
    â€œNot consciously, maybe,” Jake persisted. “But he’s not thrilled to be in the same grade with his sister who’s a year younger than he is.”
    â€œBenjamin’s realistic,” Claire said. “He lost almost two years being sick and going through rehab. He’s already made up half that time.” Jake moved away from the monument, and Claire took his place. He had left the granite just slightly warm with his body heat. Or maybe that was her imagination.
    â€œThe only bummer is I’ll have to ride the ferry alone,” Nina said.
    â€œKalif will be there,” Claire pointed out. “Maybe he likes older—stranger—women.”
    â€œAre we doing anything