K.L. Walther - The Summer of Broken Rules

Nobody ordered the fries. Three cups of creamy clam chowder, but no basket of the most addictive fries on Cape Cod. Anything else? our server asked, as if he knew something was missing. Maybe he did. Maybe he somehow recognized usit was tradition for our family to grab lunch at Quicks Hole before boarding the ferry to celebrate the last leg of our journey. Only one more hour, and then wed finally be on Marthas Vineyard.

I caught my parents exchanging a glance. Anything else? After so many summers, everything was second naturewe didnt need menus. Our orders were ingrained in the deep depths of our minds, and none of them included fries for the table.

Because it was Claire who always took care of them for us. In the biggest basket you have , shed say. Were starving!

Now I realized it was my responsibility to take over the duty. Actually, yeah, I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. Some fries, please. Truffle fries.

Great choice. Our server nodded and turned toward the kitchen. My parents and I sat at our high-top in silence, all trying not to stare at the tables fourth chair. Consciously or unconsciously, my mom had slung her purse over the back so it would look less empty. Like the person sitting there had gotten up to go to the bathroom and would be right back.

Quicks Hole Tavern was aptly named. It only took fifteen minutes for us to get our food: three steaming cups of New Englands magical concoction and a seemingly bottomless bowl of French fries dusted with parmesan cheese and parsley. Dad raised his beer as I shook the requisite five dashes of Tabasco into my soup. To Sarah and Michael, he said. May this week be one to remember.

To Sarah and Michael, Mom and I echoed, raising our own glasses.

We clinked.

And to our grand return, he added, kissing Mom on the cheek. Its been too long.

Two years to be exact. My family had been vacationing on the Vineyard since before I was bornover eighteen yearsbut wed spent last summer hidden away at home in upstate New York. I stole a glance at the empty chair again.

Yes , I thought. Its been too long.

And then I stirred my spoon around in my soup, watching the red hot sauce swirl until it disappeared, and wondered if anything had changed while wed been gone.

* * *

One thing that definitely hadnt changed was Falmouths Steamship Authority. As the sun shone high in the blue July sky, it was like people were waiting in line for the biggest concert of the century. Cars, cars, and even more cars had their tickets confirmed and parked in numbered lanes to wait for their respective boats. I pulled my honey-colored hair into a loose braid as my parents and I weaved our way through them. There were a colorful assortment of Jeep Wranglers, mostly roofless and a few also doorless, with music pulsing through their speakers. Then we had the Volvos with kayaks strapped on top and the sleek silver Range Rovers. Bike racks made the giant SUVs look even more massive. I overheard one toddler having a meltdown. No, Jeffrey, you cannot have more chips! his exasperated mother said. The walk-on line was a motley mix of college students, families, dogs, bikes, rolling luggage, and well-traveled older couples calmly absorbing all the chaos.

Loki was panting heavily with his head out the window when we made it back to our Ford Raptor truck. You want to give him some water, Meredith? Mom asked after wed settled in our seats. I didnt answer, grabbing my water bottle and squeezing it so our Jack Russell terrier could drink. He gulped it down like a human, a trick Claire had taught him when he was a puppy. Itll be useful, shed said. We wont have to bring a water bowl when we take him on walks.

It wasnt much longer before the Steamship Authority began loading the hulking 2:00 p.m. ferry, The Island Home . Wait, open the sunroof! I blurted as the attendant waved our car onto the boat and Dad eased on the gas. My pulse pounded. It was another one of Claires and my traditions, one I wanted to keep alive: popping up through the sunroof and cheering like we were riding around in a limo. Most years, people cheered back, especially the guys in the Wranglers. Youre so hot! a few of them had shouted on our last trip. Claire seventeen, me sixteen.

Too bad shes taken! my sister had shouted back, assuming he meant me and not her. She subtly put herself down a lot, and Id never understood why. Claire was beautiful, tall and athletic with auburn curls, not to mention the coolest collection of eyeglasses. She couldnt wear contacts, so she had amassed an eclectic array of specs, everything from retro to modern. Shed been wearing the square-shaped ones with the clear frames that day.

The only thing that made us look like sisters was our green eyes, since I had light hair and dark eyebrows (striking, according to most people) and was a good five inches shorter than Claire. Monkey Meredith, shed called me after catching me scaling our pantry shelves when we were younger.

Now, as we drove up the ferry ramp, I didnt cheer (the Jeep guys still did). Instead, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The sea airI loved that smell. Id missed that smell. It was everything. My family used to joke that we should bottle the scent to give us hope during New Yorks bitter-cold winters.

My parents unbuckled their seat belts once Dad put the car in park. Loki barked and sprang over the center console onto Moms lap. She laughed and clipped his leash onto his green collar. Well, thats the signal, she said. Lets head up.

Up meant the ferrys top deck. Of course you could stay in your car, and there was also plenty of indoor seating. But just like the sea air, there was nothing like the wind whipping through your hair as the island came into view.

Sounds good I trailed off when something caught my eye. My phone, suddenly beaming and buzzing obnoxiously in the back seats cup holder. The name on the screen was obnoxious too: Ben Fletcher .