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reaction myself. I didn’t feel casual about what he had done, exactly. It’s just that I had recognized this moment, and I saw his confusion more as a right to be protected than as a symptom to be eradicated. Now, seven years later, I understood. I could see how on that night with Del in her room, I had swallowed many mouthfuls of water before realizing that it was sand. And I would not trade all of the horror of that realization and the pain of what followed for those few moments when I believed we could survive.
    Seat-belt indicators went on overhead, simultaneous with the universal single chime that sounded in anticipation of the pilot’s announcement. “Remain seated, fasten seat belts, and prepare for more turbulence.” I downed my second drink and fell asleep. The next thing I knew, we were landing.

Chapter Five
    Tuesday

    The plane landed. Tombstone gray whizzed past the oval window, matching the color of the dream from which I’d just awoken. In the dream, Del and I were at a park. I was a mime dressed in a sari, and I was gesturing to her, communicating something. Now I couldn’t remember what I was trying to say. The low-grade hum of the plane’s engine, a sudden rush of air, and the rough-and-tumble of the wheels on the runway added to my disorientation and stirred in me momentarily the belief that I was shooting through a portal. Carts piled with luggage zipped by, driven by dark-skinned people in beige uniforms with drenched armpits.

    *

    As I exited the terminal and started toward the baggage claim, I saw Katherine Dunn among the many anonymous faces awaiting arrivals. She raised her brows and smiled, surprised, it seemed, that I remembered her. I wasn’t. I would recognize Katie forever. And anyway, she looked the same. Like yesterday—the bleached-blond, sun-bronzed, I’ve-been-at-the-beach-all-day look that had worked so well for us once still clung to her (or her to it). Threadbare Levi’s hung off her slim hips. A snug-fitting tank top emphasized her full breasts, slight midriff, and wiry arms. By the time I got to the worn-in flip-flops, I half expected she was wearing a bikini under her clothes and wondered if she still got carded at bars.
    I took a breath, steadied myself, felt confused by how nervous just seeing Katie made me feel. Strange, really—the reaches of these early friendships and what insecurities they can stir. I was no longer an adult, married, considering having a child of my own. I was no longer a commissioner responsible for life-altering decisions. I was twelve, and beautiful, blond Katie Dunn was my hero, my sense of myself rising and falling on the whimsy of her approval. One important difference between the then and the now, however, was that I had learned how not to let such vulnerability show. It was even easier once I remembered how angry I had been at her and why.
    Moving with intentional casualness, I slung my backpack over my shoulder, walked to a few feet away, and lifted my chin in her direction. “Hey.”
    â€œHey. How are you?” She smiled slightly. She wasn’t at all surprised to find me there, and I realized in that moment that she had been waiting for me.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?”
    She nodded, as if she were asking herself the same question.
    Friends since the third grade, Katie Dunn, Gail Samuels, and I had attended the same elementary, middle, and high schools. We played soccer together and traveled to tournaments every summer with the team. We knew each other’s families, slept over at each other’s houses, and did our homework together over the phone on weeknights. I was Katie’s best friend and she trusted me, counted on me more than she did anyone else. Still, in high school, when Katie found out that Del and I were lovers, she got mad at me over it and made things worse by talking about it with other people. High school hadn’t been easy for either one of us. She was