It was cold and gray as we drove to the docks. My parents’ rental car was the second vehicle to roll off the ferry. When they saw us, my dad pulled the car to a stop and we walked over to join them.

Hugs and kisses, a couple of good to see yous, no comments about my size, probably because they wanted to pretend I wasn’t pregnant at all, and then I was back in the car with my aunt. My eyes occasionally flashed to the side mirror while my parents followed us home, and after parking beside us, they got out of the car and stared at the house. In the gloom, it struck me as shabbier than usual.

“So this is it, huh?” my mom asked, pulling her coat tighter against the chill. “I understand why we had to book a room at the hotel. It seems kind of small.”

“It’s comfortable and has a great view of the water,” I offered.

“The ferry seemed to take forever. Is it always that slow?”

“I guess so,” I said. “But after a while, you get used to it.”

“Hmm,” she said. My dad, meanwhile, remained quiet, and my mom added nothing more.

“How about some lunch?” my aunt chimed in with forced cheer. “I made chicken salad earlier and thought we could do sandwiches.”

“I’m allergic to mayonnaise,” my mom said.

Aunt Linda recovered quickly. “I think I still have meatloaf leftovers, and I could make you a sandwich with that.”

My mom nodded; my dad remained silent. The four of us started up toward the front door, the pit in my stomach growing larger with every step.

Somehow, we made it through lunch, but the conversation was just as stilted. Whenever an uncomfortable silence settled over the table, Aunt Linda reverted to talking about the shop, chattering away as though their visit was nothing out of the ordinary. Afterward, we all piled into my aunt’s car for a quick tour of the village. She pretty much repeated the same things she’d told me when she’d first shown me around, and I’m pretty sure my parents were as unimpressed as I had been. In the back seat, my mom appeared almost shell-shocked.

They seemed to like the shop, though. Gwen was there and even though they’d eaten, she insisted on giving them dessert biscuits, which were essentially biscuits made with blueberries and topped with a sugary glaze. Gwen immediately picked up on the awkward vibe with my family and kept the conversation light. In the book area, she pointed out some of her favorites, in case either of my parents was interested. They weren’t—my parents weren’t readers—but they nodded anyway, making me feel like we were participating in a play where all of the characters wanted to be somewhere else.

Back at the house, Aunt Linda and my dad began chatting about family—their other sisters and my cousins—so after a while, my mom cleared her throat.

“How about we take a walk on the beach?” she suggested to me.

She made it sound like I didn’t have much of a choice, and the two of us drove to the beach, parking the rental car near the dune.

“I thought the beach would be closer,” she said.

“The village is on the sound side.”

“How do you get here?” she asked.

“I ride my bike.”

“You have a bike?”

“Aunt Linda picked it up at a garage sale before I arrived.”

“Oh,” she said. Back at home, she knew, my bike was in the garage, with tires cracking and low on air from disuse, the seat covered in dust. “At least you’re getting outside now and then. You’re too pale.”

I shrugged without answering. We got out of the car and I zipped my jacket up all the way before stuffing my hands in my pockets. Starting for the water’s edge, we skirted the dune, our feet sinking and sliding with every step. It wasn’t until we’d started up the beach that my mom spoke again.

“Morgan said to tell you that she wished she could come. But she’s the lead in the school play and there were rehearsals. She’s also trying for a scholarship with the Rotary, even though she’s already earned enough in scholarships to cover most of her tuition.”

“I’m sure she’ll get it,” I mumbled. Which was true, and though I felt the familiar pang of insecurity, I realized it didn’t make me feel as bad about myself as it had in the past.

We walked a few more steps before I heard my mom’s voice again. “She says that the two of you haven’t spoken in the last couple of weeks.”

I wondered if Aunt Linda had mentioned that she took the phone cord with her to work. “I’ve been really busy with school. I’ll call her next week.”

“Why did you fall so far behind in the first place? Your aunt was really worried about you, and so were your teachers.”

I felt my shoulders sag a little. “I guess it just took me a while to adjust to being here.”

“You’re not missing anything back home.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Have you heard from Madison or Jodie?”

“They haven’t called the house, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Do you know what they’ve been up to?”

“I have no idea. I suppose I could ask Morgan when I get home.”

“That’s okay,” I said, knowing my mom wouldn’t. To her mind, the less people were talking or wondering about me, the better.

“If you want to write them letters,” she went on, “I suppose I can have them delivered for you. Of course, you can’t be too specific or hint at what’s really going on.”

“Maybe,” I said. I didn’t want to lie to them, and since I couldn’t tell the truth, either, I wouldn’t have anything to say.

She adjusted her jacket collar to cover her neck. “What did you think about the doctor Linda found? I know Gwen could probably deliver the baby, but I told Linda that I’d be more comfortable if you were in a hospital.”

As soon as she asked, I immediately visualized Dr. Chinowith’s giant hands. “He’s older, but he seems nice and Gwen has worked with him a lot. I’m having a girl, by the way.”

“The doctor’s a man?”

“Is that a problem?”

She didn’t seem to want to answer and simply shook her head. “Anyway, you’ll be home and back to normal in just a few more months.”

At a loss, I asked, “How’s Dad doing?”

“He’s had to work overtime because there’s a big order for the new planes. But other than that, he’s the same.”

I thought about Bryce’s parents and the tender way they treated each other, which was so different from mine. “Are you still going out to dinner twice a month?”

“Not lately,” she said. “There was a plumbing leak and between getting that repaired, Christmas, and coming out here to see you, we’ve been on a tight budget.”

Even though she probably hadn’t meant to, that made me feel bad. In fact, the whole walk was making me feel more depressed than I’d been before they arrived. But it got me to wondering…

“I guess the tutoring is expensive, too.”

“That’s being taken care of.”

“By Aunt Linda?”

“No,” she said. She seemed to debate before explaining and finally sighed. “Some of your expenses are being taken care of by the prospective parents, through the agency. Your school, the part of your doctor’s bills that our insurance won’t cover, your flights out here and back. Even a little spending money for you.”

Which explained the envelope of cash she’d given me in the airport. “Have you met the parents? I mean, are they nice people?”

“I haven’t met them. But I’m sure they’ll be loving parents.”

“How do you know for sure if you haven’t met them?”

“Your aunt and her friend Gwen have worked with this particular agency before and they know the woman in charge, so she screened the candidates personally. She’s very experienced, and I’m sure she’s evaluated the prospective parents thoroughly. That’s really all I know, and you shouldn’t want to know more than that, either. The less you worry, the easier it will be in the end.”

I suspected she was right. Even though the baby was moving regularly now, my pregnancy still didn’t always seem real. My mom knew better than to harp on the subject, so she let it pass. “It’s been quiet in the house since you’ve been gone.”

“It’s quiet here, too.”

“Seems like it. I guess I thought the town would be bigger. It’s so remote. I mean…what do people do here?”

“They fish and cater to tourists. In the off season, they fix their boats and equipment and hunker down for the winter,” I answered. “Or they own or work for small businesses that keep the town up and running, like Aunt Linda does. It’s not an easy life. People have to work hard to get by.”

“I don’t think I could live here.”

But it was okay for me, right? And yet…“It’s not all bad.”

“Because of Bryce?”

“He’s my tutor.”

“And he’s teaching you photography, too?”

“His mom got him into it. It’s been a lot of fun and I think I might keep it up when I get back home.”

“Do you ever go to his house?”

I was still wondering why she didn’t seem interested in my new passion. “Sometimes.”

“Are his parents home when you visit?”

With that, I suddenly understood where all this was coming from. “His mom is always there. His brothers are usually there, too.”

“Oh,” she said, but in that single syllable, I could hear her relief.

“Would you like to see some of the photos I’ve taken?”

She walked a few steps without saying anything. “It’s great you found a hobby, but don’t you think you should be concentrating on school instead? Maybe use your free time to study on your own?”

“I do study on my own,” I said, hearing the defensiveness in my tone. “You saw my grades, and I’m already way ahead this semester, too.” From the corner of my eye, I could see the waves rolling steadily toward the shore, as though trying to erase our footprints.

“I’m just wondering if you’re spending too much time with Bryce, instead of working on yourself.”

“What do you mean by working on myself? I’m doing okay in school, I’ve found a cool hobby, I’ve even made friends…”

“Friends? Or friend?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, there aren’t a lot of people here my age.”

“I’m just worried about you, Margaret.”

“Maggie,” I reminded her, knowing my mom only used Margaret when she was upset. “And you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Have you forgotten why you’re here?”

Her comment stung, reminding me that no matter what I did, I would always be the daughter who let her down. “I know why I’m here.”

She nodded, saying nothing, her eyes darting downward. “You’re barely showing.”

My hands went automatically to my belly. “The sweater you bought hides a lot.”

“Are those maternity pants?”

“I had to get them last month.”

She smiled, but it couldn’t hide her sadness. “We miss you, you know.”

“I miss you, too.” And in that moment, I did, even if she sometimes made it very hard to do.

My interactions with my father were just as awkward. He spent nearly all of Thursday afternoon with my aunt, the two of them either sitting at the kitchen table or standing out back, near the water’s edge. Even at dinner, he didn’t say much to me other than “Can you pass the corn?” Tired from their trip, or maybe just stressed out of their minds, my parents left for their hotel not long after dinner was over.

When they returned the following morning, they saw Bryce and me working at the table. After a quick introduction—Bryce was his normal charming self while my parents studied him with reserved expressions—they sat in the living room, speaking quietly while we went back to work. Even though I was ahead in my assignments, their presence while I was studying made me nervous anyway. To say the whole thing felt weird was an understatement.

Bryce picked up on the tension, so we both agreed to make it an early day and finished by lunch. Aside from my aunt’s shop, there were only a few places to eat, and my parents and I ended up at the Pony Island Restaurant. I’d never been there, and though it served only breakfast food, my parents didn’t seem to mind. I had French toast, as did my mom, while my dad had eggs and bacon. Afterward, they poked around my aunt’s shop while I went back to the house to nap. By the time I got up, my mom was talking to Aunt Linda, who’d already returned to the house. My dad was drinking coffee on the porch and I went out to join him, sitting in the other rocker. My first thought was that he looked as low as I’d ever seen him.

“How are you doing, Dad?” I asked, pretending I hadn’t noticed.

“I’m okay,” he said. “How about you?”

“I’m kind of tired, but that’s normal. According to the book, anyway.”

His eyes flashed to my stomach, then up again. I adjusted myself in the chair, trying to get more comfortable. “How’s work? Mom says you’ve had a lot of overtime lately.”

“There are a lot of orders for the new 777-300,” he said, as though everyone shared his expertise in Boeing aircraft.

“That’s good, right?”

“It’s a living,” he grunted. He took a sip of his coffee. I shifted in my seat again, wondering if my bladder would start screaming at me, giving me an excuse to go back into the house. It didn’t.

“I’ve enjoyed learning photography,” I ventured.

“Oh,” he said. “Good.”

“Would you like to see some of my photographs?”

It took him a few seconds to answer. “I wouldn’t know what I was seeing.” In the silence after his answer, I could see the steam rising from his coffee before quickly vanishing, a temporary mirage. Then, as if knowing it was his turn to move the conversation forward, he sighed. “Linda says you’ve been a big help around the house.”

“I try,” I said. “She gives me chores, but that’s okay. I like your sister.”

“She’s a good lady.” He seemed to be trying hard to avoid looking in my direction. “I still don’t know why she moved here.”

“Have you asked her?”

“She said that once she and Gwen left the order, they wanted to live a quiet life. I thought convents were quiet.”

“Were you close growing up?”

“She’s eleven years older than me, so she took care of me and our sisters after school when I was little. But she moved away when she was nineteen and I didn’t see her again for a long time. She’d write me letters, though. I always liked her letters. And after your mom and I were married, she came out to visit a couple of times.”

It was as much as my dad ever said in one go, which kind of startled me.

“I only remember her visiting us once, when I was little.”

“It wasn’t easy for her to get away. And after she moved to Ocracoke, she couldn’t.”

I stared at him. “Are you really doing okay, Dad?”

It took him a long time to answer. “I’m just sad is all. Sad for you, sad for our family.”

I knew he was being honest, but just like the things my mom had said, his words made me ache.

“I’m sorry, and I’m doing my best to make it right.”

“I know you are.”

I swallowed. “Do you still love me?”

For the first time, he faced me, and his surprise was evident. “I’ll always love you. You’ll always be my baby girl.”

Peering over my shoulder, I could see my mom and my aunt at the table. “I think Mom is worried about me.”

He turned away again. “Neither of us wanted this for you.”

After that, we sat without speaking until my dad finally rose from his seat and went back inside for another cup of coffee, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Later that evening, after my parents had gone back to the hotel, I sat in the living room with my aunt. Dinner had been awkward, with comments about the weather interspersed with long silences. Aunt Linda was sipping tea in the rocker while I lounged on the couch, my toes tucked under the pillow.

“It’s like they aren’t even happy to see me.”

“They’re happy,” she said. “It’s just that seeing you is harder for them than they thought it would be.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not the same girl who left them in November.”

“Of course I am,” I said, but as soon as the words came out, I knew they weren’t true. “They didn’t want to see my photographs,” I added.

Aunt Linda set her tea off to the side. “Did I tell you that when I worked with young women like you, we had a painting room set aside? With watercolors? There was a big window that overlooked the garden and nearly all the girls gave painting a try while they were there. Some of them even grew to love it, and when their parents visited, many wanted to show off their work. More often than not the parents said no.”

“Why?”

“Because they were afraid they’d see the artist’s reflection, instead of their own.”

She didn’t explain further, and later that night, while cuddling with Maggie-bear in bed, I thought about what she’d said. I imagined pregnant girls in a bright, airy room in the convent with wildflowers blooming outside. I thought about how they felt as they lifted a brush, adding color and wonder to a blank canvas and feeling—if only for a brief moment—that they were like other girls their age, unburdened by past mistakes. And I knew that they felt the same way I did when I stared through the lens, that finding and creating beauty could illuminate even the darkest periods.

I understood then what my aunt had been trying to tell me, just as I knew my parents still loved me. I knew they wanted the best for me, now and in the future. But they wanted to see their own feelings in the photos, not mine. They wanted me to see myself in the same way they did.

My parents, I knew, wanted to see disappointment.

My epiphany didn’t lift my spirits, even if it helped me understand where my parents were coming from. Frankly, I was disappointed in me, too, but I’d tried to lock that feeling away into some unused corner of my brain because I didn’t have time to beat myself up in the way I once had. Nor did I want to. For my parents, almost everything I was doing had its roots in my mistake. And every time there was an empty seat at the table, every time they passed by my unused room, every time they received copies of grades that I earned across the country, they were reminded of the fact that I’d temporarily broken up the family while shattering the illusion that—as my dad had put it—I was still their baby girl.

Nor did their visit improve. Saturday was pretty much the same as the day before except that Bryce didn’t come by. We explored the village again, which left them about as bored as I expected. I took a nap, and though I could feel the baby kicking whenever I lay down, I made sure not to tell them. I read and did homework assignments in my room with the door closed. I also wore my baggiest sweatshirts and a jacket, doing my best to pretend that I looked the same as I always had.

My aunt, thank God, carried the conversation whenever tension began to creep in. Gwen too. She joined us for dinner on Saturday night, and between the two of them, I barely had to speak at all. They also avoided any mention of Bryce or photography; instead, Aunt Linda kept the focus on family, and it was interesting to discover that my aunt knew even more about my other aunts and cousins than my parents. As she did with my father, she wrote to all of them regularly, which was yet another thing I didn’t know about her. I guessed that she probably wrote the letters when she was at the shop, since I’d never seen her put pen to paper.

My dad and Aunt Linda also shared stories about growing up in Seattle when the city still had plenty of undeveloped land. Once in a while, Gwen talked about her life in Vermont, and I learned that her family had six prized cows that produced a rich butter used in some upscale restaurants in Boston.

I appreciated what Aunt Linda and Gwen were doing, yet even as I listened, I found my thoughts wandering to Bryce. The sun was going down and had my parents not been here, he and I would have begun playing around with the camera, trying to capture the perfect light of the golden hour. In those moments, I realized, my world shrank to nothing but the task at hand while expanding exponentially at the same time.

I wanted more than anything for my parents to share in my interest; I wanted them to be proud of me. I wanted to tell them that I’d begun to imagine a career as a photographer. But then the subject turned to Morgan. My parents talked about her grades and her popularity and the violin and the scholarships she’d received to Gonzaga University. When I saw the way their eyes lit up, my gaze dropped, and I wondered whether my parents would ever glow with pride in the same way when talking about me.