“Gretchen normally sleeps here.” She nodded at the room I had once occupied. “But she insisted on sleeping on the sofa bed downstairs so you could have this room.”

“No.” I shook my head, hefting my bag up over my shoulder. From this angle I could see into all three rooms-the huge Jacuzzi tub in the bathroom; the vanity with the tall mirror where I had watched Mr. and Mrs. B have sex; the bed I had slept in, often tossing and turning as I listened to the sounds of their lovemaking-and it really did feel like some sort of crossroads now. I had a decision to make, and it was suddenly clear to me. “I’m sorry, Mrs. B, but I can’t do that. This is Gretchen’s room. I’ll sleep on the sofa.” She frowned, showing the lines around her eyes and her mouth more clearly than I remembered. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Our eyes met and I saw disappointment in them. “I’ll change in the bathroom and meet you out on the beach, okay?”

She nodded, turning and starting down the hall. I didn’t watch her, but I was aware of her curves, the soft sway of her hips as she went down the stairs.

In the bathroom, I made sure to lock the door behind me before I began to undress. I was Michigan-winter pale, but I didn’t have any ambitions of getting a tan this time. Now I was old enough to concern myself about things like skin cancer and wrinkles and instead of lathering myself with baby oil, I slathered SPF

15 all over my nude body before pulling my suit out of the bag.

In spite of what I’d said to Doc, I didn’t wear a bikini anymore. My suit had a low back and the front was an X that tied up around my neck, but it was a rather sedate brown one-piece that thankfully covered any hint of my stretch marks. I pulled my long, dark hair back into a ponytail with a Scrunchie and took a long look at myself in the mirror. The woman standing in the mirror was ten years older and wiser than the young girl who had once stood here in Mrs. B’s borrowed orange bikini.