It was part of the fun of it. This year she’d chosen Forbes Island. She’d rattled off her reasons to Nora as if ticking off a list. “Some rich old geezer built it a long time ago and it floats, and it’s an island with a lighthouse, and he lived on it in the San Francisco Bay for years and years, and he had huge parties on it, and now it’s anchored and turned into a restaurant facing Alcatraz, and I really want to go.” Nora was surprised. She’d heard of it, of course—they’d seen it when they’d gone to see the sea lions at Pier 39. It looked like a standard tourist trap, like a five-and-dime version of Hearst Castle—glitz with all the glitter rubbed off. “Are you sure?” “Yes. And I want Dylan to come.” “Anything you want. It’s your party.” Easy to say. Harder to believe. Nora still fluctuated between hating Dylan for what he represented—an attack on her child’s very innocence—and what he was—a nice, sweet boy, a bit too old for Ellie but not by much, honestly.
