I’d seen people in wheelchairs, of course. There was a girl named Audrey in my third and fourth grade classes who was in a wheelchair, and Mr. Petrie—like my dad, a deacon at the church—used one, too. But I hadn’t expected his mom to be in one, if only because Bryce hadn’t said anything about it. He could mention that she’d been a pregnant teen but forget to tell me this?

Somehow, I was able to keep my expression friendly but neutral. The two of them approached as his mom called out, “R and R…in the van! Or we’ll leave without you!”

Seconds later, the brothers came roaring around the opposite side of the house from where I’d last seen them. Now (blue jacket) Richard was chasing (red jacket) Robert…

Or were they messing with me?

There was no way to tell.

“In the van!” Bryce’s dad shouted, and circling it once, the twins opened the side door and jumped inside, the van bouncing slightly.

Smart or not, they definitely had energy.

By then, Bryce’s parents had drawn closer and I could see the welcome on their faces. His mom’s jacket was even puffier than mine, and her auburn hair was offset by green eyes. His father, I noticed, stood ramrod straight, his black hair threaded with silver near his ears. Bryce’s mom held out her hand.

“Hi, Maggie,” she said with an easy grin. “I’m Janet Trickett, and this is my husband, Porter. I’m so glad you can join us.”

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Trickett,” I said. “Thanks for having me.”

I shook Porter’s hand as well. “Pleasure,” he added. “It’s nice to see a new face around here. I hear you’re staying with your aunt Linda.”

“For a few months,” I said. Then, “Bryce has really been helpful with my studies.”

“That’s good to know,” Porter said. “Are you both ready to go?”

“We are,” Bryce said. “Is there anything still in the house that I need to grab?”

“I’ve already loaded the bags. We should probably head out, since you never know how crowded the ferry will be.”

As I was about to head to the van, Bryce gently took hold of my arm, signaling for me to wait. I watched as his parents made their way to the side opposite the door his brothers had used. His father reached inside and I heard the hum of hydraulics and watched a small platform extend from the van, then lower to the ground.

“I helped my dad and grandfather modify the van,” he said, “so that my mom can drive it, too.”

“Why didn’t you just buy one?”

“They’re expensive,” he said. “And they didn’t have a model that would work for us. My parents wanted one where either of them could drive, so the front seat had to be easily interchangeable. It basically slides from one side to the other, then locks down.”

“The three of you figured that out?”

“My dad’s pretty smart about those kinds of things.”

“What did he do in the army?”

“Intelligence,” he answered. “But he’s also a genius with anything mechanical.”

Why was I not surprised?

By then, Bryce’s mom had vanished into the interior and the platform was rising again. Bryce took it as his cue to start walking. Opening the door on the opposite side, we got in, squeezing in beside the twins in the back seat.

After the van backed out, we started toward the ferry and I eyed the twin next to me. He was wearing a blue jacket, and peering closely, I thought I could see the mole. “You’re Richard, right?”

“And you’re Maggie.”

“Are you the one into computers or aeronautical engineering?”

“Computers. Engineering is for geeks.”

“Better than being a nerd,” Robert added quickly. He leaned forward in his seat, turning his head to peer at me.

“What?” I finally asked him.

“You don’t look sixteen,” he said. “You look older.”

I wasn’t sure whether it was a compliment or not. “Thanks?” I offered.

His expression was steady on mine. “Why did you move here?”

“Personal reasons.”

“Do you like ultralights?”

“Excuse me?”

“They’re small, slow, very light planes that only need a short runway to land. I’m building one in the backyard. Like the Wright brothers did.”

Richard cut in: “I make video games.”

I turned toward him. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“A video game uses electronically manipulated images on a computer or other display device that allow a user to engage in quests, missions, or journeys, perform duties, or perform other tasks, either alone or with others as part of a competition or as a team.”

“I know what a video game is. I didn’t know what you meant by make.”

“It means,” Bryce said, “that he conceives games, writes the code, and then designs them. And I’m sure she’ll want to hear all about it—and the plane—later, but how about the two of you let us ride to the ferry in peace?”

“Why?” Richard asked. “I’m just trying to talk to her.”

“Richard! Let it be!” I heard Mr. Trickett call out.

“Your father’s right,” Mrs. Trickett added, glaring at them over her shoulder as well. “And you need to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For being rude.”

“How am I being rude?”

“I’m not debating with you,” she said. “Apologize. Both of you.”

Robert piped up. “Why do I have to apologize?”

“Because,” his mom answered, “you were both showing off. And I’m not going to ask you again.”

From the corner of my eye, I noticed both of them sink lower in their seats. “Sorry,” they said in unison. Bryce leaned closer, his breath warm on my ear as he spoke. “I tried to warn you.”

I stifled a giggle, thinking, And I thought my family was weird.

We waited in a longish line of cars for the ferry, but there was plenty of room on the deck, and we departed on schedule. Richard and Robert scrambled out of the van almost immediately, and we followed, watching as they raced toward the railing. Behind us, as I put on my hat and gloves, I heard the hydraulic lift. I gestured toward the upper enclosed seating area.

“Will your mom be able to go inside? I mean, is there an elevator?”

“Usually they spend most of the time in the van,” Bryce answered. “But she enjoys the fresh air for a little while. Would you like to get a soda?”

I saw the crowd moving in that direction and shook my head. “Let’s go up front for a while.”

We walked toward the bow along with a few other people, but were able to find a place where we weren’t sandwiched next to others. Despite the chilly air, the water was calm in all directions.

“Is Robert really building an airplane?” I asked.

“He’s been working on it for almost a year now. My father helps, but it’s his design.”

“And your parents will let him fly it?”

“He’d need his pilot’s license first. He’s mainly doing it as an entry into some national student science competition, and knowing him, I’m sure it will fly. My dad will make sure it’s safe, though.”

“Your dad can fly, too?”

“He can do a lot of things.”

“But your mom homeschools? Not your dad?”

“He always worked.”

“How can your mom possibly teach any of you anything?”

“She’s pretty smart, too.” He shrugged. “She started at MIT when she was sixteen.”

Then how did she become pregnant as a teenager? I wondered. Oh, yeah. Sometimes it’s just an oops. But still…what a family. I’d never even heard of another one like it.

“How did your parents meet?”

“They were both interning in Washington, D.C., but I don’t know much more than that. They don’t really share those kinds of stories with us.”

“Was your mom in a wheelchair then? I’m sorry, I know I probably shouldn’t ask…”

“It’s okay. I’m sure a lot of people wonder about it. She was in a car accident eight years ago. Two-lane highway, a car passing another car from the opposite direction. To avoid a head-on crash, my mom veered off the road, but she hit a telephone pole. She almost died; it’s actually kind of a wonder that she didn’t. She spent almost two weeks in the ICU, had multiple surgeries and a ton of rehab. But her spinal cord was damaged. She was fully paralyzed from the waist down for over a year, but eventually she recovered some feeling in her legs. Now she can move them a little—enough to make dressing easier—but that’s it. She can’t stand.”

“That’s awful.”

“It’s sad. Before the accident, she was very active. Played tennis, jogged every day. But she doesn’t complain.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about her?”

“I guess I didn’t think about it. I know that sounds strange, but I don’t really notice it anymore. She still teaches the twins, makes dinner, goes shopping, takes photographs, whatever. But you’re right. I should have thought to mention it.”

“Is that why your family moved to Ocracoke? So her parents could help out?”

“It’s actually the opposite. Like I told you, after my dad retired from the military and started consulting, we could have gone anywhere, but my grandmother had had a stroke the year before. Not a bad one, but the doctor indicated that she might have more in the future. As for my grandfather, his arthritis is getting worse, which is another reason why my dad helps him whenever he’s in town. The point is, my mom thought she could help her parents more than they could help her, so she wanted to live near them. Believe it or not, she’s fairly independent.”

“And she’s the reason you’re raising Daisy? To help someone like your mom who needs it?”

“That was part of it. My dad also thought I’d enjoy having a dog for a while since he travels so much.”

“How much does he travel?”

“It varies, but it’s usually four or five months a year. He’ll be taking off again sometime after the holidays. But now it’s your turn. We’ve been talking about me and my family and it feels like I don’t know anything about you.”

I could feel the wind in my hair, could taste the salt in the chilly air.

“I’ve told you about my parents and my sister.”

“What about you, then? What else do you like to do? Do you have any hobbies?”

“I used to dance when I was little, and I played sports in middle school. But no real hobbies.”

“What do you do after school or on the weekends?”

“Hang out with my friends, talk on the phone, watch TV.” Even as I said it, I understood how lame that sounded and knew I needed to get off the subject of me as quickly as possible. “You forgot to bring your camera.”

“For the flotilla, you mean? I thought about it, but I figured it would be a waste of time. I tried last year, and I couldn’t get the photos to turn out right. The colored lights all came out white.”

“Did you try using the automatic setting?”

“I tried everything, but I still couldn’t make it work. At the time, I didn’t realize I should have used a tripod and adjusted the ISO, but even then, the images probably wouldn’t have come out. I think the boats were too far offshore, and obviously they were moving.”

I had no idea what any of that meant. “Seems complicated.”

“It is and it isn’t. It’s like learning anything in that it takes time and practice. And even if I think I know exactly what to do for a shot, I still find myself changing the aperture constantly. When I shoot in black and white—which I normally do—I also really have to watch the timer in the darkroom to get the shading just right. And now, with Photoshop, there’s even more I can do in post.”

“You have your own darkroom?”

“My dad built it for my mom, but I use it, too.”

“You must be an expert.”

“My mom’s the expert, not me. When I have a problem with a print, either she helps or Richard does. Sometimes both of them.”

“Richard?”

“With Photoshop, I mean. He automatically understands anything computer related, so if it’s a Photoshop issue, he can figure it out. It’s irritating.”

I smiled. “I take it that your mom taught you photography, right?”

“She did. She’s taken some incredible shots over the years.”

“I’d like to see them. The darkroom, too.”

“I’ll be happy to show you.”

“How did your mom get into photography?”

“She said she just picked up a camera one day in high school, took some photos, and got hooked. After I was born, neither my mom nor my dad wanted to put me in daycare, so she began to freelance with a local photographer on weekends, when my dad could stay with me. Then, whenever we moved, she’d find work assisting a new photographer. She did that up until the twins came along. By then, she’d started homeschooling me—and taking care of them—so photography became more of a hobby. But she still goes out with her camera whenever she can.”

I thought about my own parents, trying to figure out their passions, but aside from work, family, and church, I couldn’t come up with anything. My mom didn’t play tennis or bridge or anything like that; my dad had never played poker or whatever it was guys did when they hung out together. They both worked; he took care of the yard and the garage and emptied the garbage, while she cooked, did laundry, and cleaned the house. Aside from going out to dinner every other Friday, my parents were pretty much homebodies. Which probably explained why I didn’t do much, either. Then again, Morgan had the violin, so maybe I was just making excuses.

“Will you keep up the photography once you get to West Point?”

“I doubt I’ll have the time. It’s a fairly regimented schedule.”

“What do you want to do in the army?”

“Maybe intelligence, like my dad? But part of me wonders what it would be like to go the special forces route and become a Green Beret or get selected for Delta.”

“Like Rambo?” I asked, referring to the Sylvester Stallone character.

“Exactly, but hopefully without the PTSD afterward. And again, we’re back to talking about me. I’d like to hear about you.”

“There’s not much to say.”

“What’s it been like? Moving to Ocracoke, I mean?”

I hesitated, wondering whether I wanted to talk about it or how much I would tell him, but that feeling lasted only a few seconds and evolved to Why not? After that, the words just began to spill out. While I didn’t tell him about J—what was there really to say, other than that I was stupid?—I told him about my mom finding me puking in the bathroom and picked up from there, talking about everything right up until the moment he’d shown up to tutor me. I thought it would be harder, but he didn’t interrupt me often, allowing me the space I needed to tell the story.

By the time I finished, there was only half an hour left before the ferry was going to dock, and I was saying a silent prayer of thanks that I’d bundled up. It was freezing and we retreated to the van, where Bryce pulled out a thermos and poured two cups of hot chocolate. His parents were chatting up front and we said a quick hello before they went back to their conversation.

We sipped the hot chocolate as my face slowly returned to its normal color. Through it all, we continued to chat about regular teenage things—favorite movies and television shows, music, what kind of pizza we liked (thin crust with double cheese for me, sausage and pepperoni for him), and anything else that came to mind. Robert and Richard clambered back into the van just as Bryce’s dad was starting the engine and the ferry was about to dock.

We drove along dark and quiet roads, past farmhouses and mobile homes decked out in Christmas lights. One small town gave way to the next. I could feel Bryce’s leg pressed against my own, and when he laughed at something one of the twins had said, I thought about the easy way he seemed to relate to his family. His mom, probably thinking that I might be feeling left out, asked the kinds of questions that parents always asked, and even though I was happy to answer in a general way, I still wondered how much Bryce had told them about me beforehand.

When we reached New Bern, I was taken with how quaint it was. Historic homes fronted the river, the downtown area was lined with small shops, and lampposts at every intersection were decorated with illuminated wreaths. The sidewalks were crowded with people making their way to Union Point Park, and after parking, we fell in alongside them.

By then, the temperature was even colder, my breath coming out in little puffs. At the park, more hot chocolate was proffered, along with peanut butter cookies. It wasn’t until I took the first bite that I realized how hungry I was. Bryce’s mom, seeming to read my mind, handed me another as soon as I finished the first, but when the twins asked for seconds, she told them they’d have to wait until after dinner. The conspiratorial wink she gave me immediately made me feel like I belonged.

While I was still nibbling, the flotilla began. Broadcasting live from beneath a tent, the local radio station announced via loudspeaker the owner and type of each boat as one by one they slowly floated past. For some reason I guess I was expecting yachts, but aside from a handful of sailboats, they were either similar in size or smaller than the fishing boats I saw in the docks at Ocracoke. Some were festooned with lights; some sported characters like Winnie the Pooh or the Grinch, and still others had simply placed decorated trees along the decking. The whole affair had a sort of Mayberry vibe to it, and though I thought it might arouse a feeling of homesickness, it didn’t. Instead, I found myself focusing on how close Bryce was standing next to me, and watching his dad point and grin with the twins. His mom merely sipped the hot chocolate, her expression content. A short while later, when Bryce’s dad leaned over and tenderly kissed his wife, I found myself trying to remember the last time I’d seen my father kiss my mother in the same way.

Afterward, we had dinner at the Chelsea, a restaurant not far from the park. We weren’t the only ones who headed over there after the flotilla ended; the place was bustling. Nonetheless, the service was quick and the food satisfying. At the table, I found myself mainly listening while Richard and Robert debated their mom and dad on heady scientific topics. Bryce sat back, remaining as quiet as I was.

When dinner was over, we returned to the van and drove to what seemed like the middle of nowhere, eventually parking alongside the highway with our hazard lights flashing. Climbing out, I could only stare in wonder as I tried to take it all in.

While houses decked out in Christmas lights were common in Seattle and the malls were decorated professionally, this was on an entirely different scale, with the holiday display spread over at least three acres. Off to my left sat a small house at the edge of the property with lights framing the windows and lining the roof; a Santa and sleigh perched near the chimney. But it was the remainder of the grounds that amazed me. Even from the highway, I could see scores of illuminated Christmas trees, a giant American flag glowing high in the treetops, tall teepee-like cones assembled only with lights, a “frozen” pond with a clear plastic surface lit from below by tiny brilliant bulbs, a decorated train, and synchronized lights making it appear as if reindeer were flying through the sky. In the middle of the property, a miniature glowing Ferris wheel rotated slowly, stuffed animals seated in the cars. Here and there, I could make out comic and cartoon characters painted on plywood, cut to exacting standards.

The twins ran off in one direction while Bryce’s parents moved slowly in another, leaving Bryce and me alone. Winding among the decorations, I felt my gaze drifting here and there. Dew was moistening the toes of my shoes and I pushed my hands deeper in my pockets. All around us, families wandered the property, children racing from one display to the next.

“Who does all this?”

“The family who lives in the house,” Bryce answered. “They set it up every year.”

“They must really love Christmas.”

“No doubt,” he agreed. “I always find myself wondering how long it takes them to set all of this up. And how they pack it up, so they can do it again the following year.”

“And they don’t care that people are basically walking through their yard?”

“I guess not.”

I cocked my head. “I’m not sure I’d like strangers traipsing through my yard all month. I think I’d always be wary of someone peeking in the windows.”

“I think most people understand that’s a no-no.”

For the next half hour, we meandered among the decorations, chatting easily. In the background, I could hear Christmas music drifting from hidden loudspeakers, along with the joyful squealing of children. A lot of people were taking photographs, and for the first time, I found myself getting into the spirit of the season, something I couldn’t have imagined before I’d met Bryce. He seemed to know what I was thinking, and when he caught my eye, I thought again about our recent conversations and how much I’d already shared with him. Bryce, I suddenly realized, probably knew the real me better than anyone else in my life.