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am.” Really, Aunt Bess would not be back for hours, but I didn’t want to overstay my welcome.
    â€œWell, hurry back.” I tilted my head, not understanding. “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.
    â€œWait 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.
    â€œAre 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