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Will breakfast on the beach. They’re probably inviting him to the bonfire right this moment. Once that happens, everyone from school will know. I’m going to have to tell Mother about Will. My stomach clenches. I put the muffin down. I need to talk to Mariel. Or JFK. Oh, I wish he were here.
    “What about you and Liliana?” I say. That’s Rosie’s little daughter. “What are you doing for the holiday?”
    “My friend Tara invited us over for a barbecue, then we’ll go somewhere to watch the fireworks, I’m sure. Last year, Lilly was a baby. All that noise scared her. But this year, I think she’ll have a blast.”
    I pick up the
Bramble Record
and scan the headlines. There’s an article about the town closing down three motels known for housing guests for more than the legally permitted thirty days at a time. The Oceanview was one of the places they closed. A man in the story is quoted saying the town ought to figure out where these people are going to stay. “Renting a motel room was all they could afford,” he said. “Now where are they going to live?”
    Exactly.
My heart pounds. I can’t wait to talk with Sam after work.
    “Thanks for breakfast, Rosie!” I wash my hands, put on an apron, grab a decanter of fresh-brewed coffee in one hand, decaf in the other, and make my way to the sunporch.
    I circulate among the tables, offering refills to our guests, making pleasant inquiries as to their plans for the day or where they went last night. The anniversary couple, Mr. and Mrs. Baker, are heading out on a whale watch. Mr. Pradia enjoyed a Cape Cod league baseball game last night. The Hyannis Mets won. Agroup of friends, four really fun ladies from New York, here celebrating the one named Ellen’s fortieth birthday, the “Ya-Ya’s” they call themselves, are still laughing about the great time they had out at the Beachcomber in Wellfleet last night.
    “I haven’t danced like that since high school,” Ellen says, laughing.
    “I
never
danced like that,” another one says. “That band was great!”
    Later, I clear the tables, load the dishwasher, and then head out to the vegetable garden to look for Sam.
    Sam doesn’t know much more about the situation at the Oceanview than was reported in the paper, except for one very interesting fact. Last night, he and my mother ran into Ruby Sivler’s parents at the movies in Mashpee Commons. It seems Mr. Sivler, a real estate developer, has plans for a new upscale condominium complex on the outskirts of town.
    “He said he’d be interested in buying the Oceanview property if it ever became available.” Sam purses his lips and rubs his chin. “This eviction would certainly speed up the process for him if the place goes on the market.”
    “I bet Mr. Sivler’s the one who blew the whistle,” I say. “That crook probably caused the eviction. He’s such a slimy fish.”
    “Now, Willa,” Sam says, always the fair-minded, innocent-until-proven-otherwise sort. “You don’t know that to be true. Let’s not—”
    “I know, Dad. I know. But what about Mariel’s family? What are they going to do? Where do you think they’ve gone?”
    “I’m not sure, Willa, but my guess would be relatives or —”
    “They don’t have family around here.”
    “A homeless shelter?” Sam suggests.
    “But the nearest one is in Hyannis,” I say.
    “Or possibly the Red Cross or a church they were affiliated with.”
    “Wait a minute, Dad. I just remembered. JFK’s mother, Mrs. Kennelly, knows the Sanchez family. She was the one who encouraged them to come to Bramble in the first place. Maybe she has some information.”
    When I get to the Kennellys’, no one is home. I wish I had paper and a pen to leave a note. I’ll try back later. I head to Popponesset Beach.
    It’s a beautiful day. I see the mermaid spotter with her mother, back on the watch again, this time with a smaller fan club. The beach is packed with picnickers, sunbathers, colorful striped beach