Fifteenth Summer

n i n e

Ruby slipped out one morning for a "quick dunk" in the lake and never came back, so I was sent to look for her.

When I got there, she was still in the water. And even though she was just bobbing around in a bikini instead of seriously training in her Speedo, I decided I'd better not disturb her. I had no choice but to flop onto the sand and start texting with Belle. I'd just happened to stash my phone in my bag on my way out the door, along with a giant tube of sunscreen, Granly's old copy of Sense and Sensibility, and my bathing suit and cover-up.

You know, just in case.

One by one the rest of my family arrived. First came my dad with a soft cooler full of soft drinks. Then Regina, who had a beach blanket and a mesh bag of clementines. And finally my mom, wearing her purse and a confused expression.

"But we're going to that artists' colony to watch them make fused glass," she complained. She was decked out in touristy clothes: capri pants, walking sandals, floppy-brimmed hat—the works.

"That sounds fascinating," Regina said, shielding her eyes with her hand and squinting up at Mom. "But you know what would be an even more interesting way to spend the day?"

"What?" Mom asked.

"Lying on this beach doing absolutely nothing," Regina  said.

Without looking up from my phone—where Belle  had just finished a long, dramatic story about getting caught making out with Bobby in the parking lot of the LA Ballet—I raised my fist in silent solidarity.

"There's not another glass demonstration until August," my mom protested feebly. I couldn't help but notice, though, that she kicked off her sandals as she said it.

"Maybe Regina 's right, hon," my dad said. "It's been a long few weeks. It's been a long year. Maybe it's time for a breather. We can go see them blow glass next time."

"Fuse glass . . . ," my mom said. But her teacherly voice trailed off as she gazed out at the blue-green, sun-dappled lake.

She sat down gingerly on the blanket.

"Cold Fresca?" Gina  asked, digging into the cooler for my mom's favorite drink.

Mom shrugged as she took the can and popped it open. She took a sip. It turned into a deep swig. Then she dug her toes into the sand, flopped back onto the blanket, and said to the sky, "Oh. My. Gawd."

"See?" Gina  said to her. "Nice, huh?"

I held up my hand so Gina could high-five me, then returned to my  cell phone.

That's when Ruby emerged from the lake, shaking the water out of her hair like a wet puppy.

"Uh-oh," she said, eyeing Mom. "Well, I guess it was too good to last. So what's on theagenda today? Making our own soap? Tracing Johnny Appleseed's steps through Michigan?"

"Here," Mom said as she reached into the cooler. "Have a Coke. We're not goinganywhere."

"Oh. My. Gawd," Ruby said, gaping at our mother.

"She's crossed over to the dark side," Gina  said happily. Then she flopped onto her back next to my mom and closed her eyes for a nap.

At some point we got hungry. So we threw on our flip-flops and shuffled up to town.

Perhaps because it was the first café we hit on Main Street, we wandered into Dis and Dat. A little hole in the wall with mustard-yellow walls, Dis and Dat sold two things and two things only: hot dogs and french fries. Both the food and the thick-necked guys behind the counter had south-side-of-"Chicawgo" accents. They clapped their serving tongs like castanets and pointed them at you as they interrogated you about your hot dog toppings.