We hiked down the falls to Tarzan’s Pit and spent the afternoon jumping off the cliff into the water. But I tagged along anyway wherever they went. The boys were more interested in my older sister than in me.

He had silky hair and brown eyes and trickled a sultry cool through our world. He sat on the top of the seat back to drive, one leg propped on the dash, coolly checking the skier behind him. Frankie had a speedboat and took his friends waterskiing up and down the creek. But it was Frankie and Chris Nucci my sisters and I had crushes on, and mostly Frankie. “Judy Pilger-and we followed them, crossing back and forth in a rowboat. She hugged you tight, as if she might never see you again.” There was no awkward embrace with her, no hesitation. She dismissed the barriers, the walls of politeness, the invisible personal space we protect. It took me some time to get used to all the touching. She played with my hair, absentmindedly, when she was making a point. She held my hand while she talked to me, or when we walked down the street. Her index finger would draw a line around her sentence and stop, stabbing a sort of punctuation in the air. “I don’t think we’ll be doing that,” she would say when something was ridiculous. She was completely unaware of them, but they were threaded through every word she said like melody lines, changing tempo and rhythm with her story. “When I close my eyes and think of her, I see her hands. What Remains: A Memoir of Fate, Friendship, and Love “What was wrong with wearing a belt?” “Lamb, no one was wearing belted shorts, and red! I thought, ‘Oh, my God, who is this little one?’ ” She made me believe I was captivating” We had a story, like an old couple, about how we met, and she loved this part. “You should have seen Carole when I met her, this sweet little thing, with her belted shorts and tucked-in shirt.” She told anyone who would listen. I remember this because she teased me about it for years.

I was wearing red-denim shorts and a white T-shirt tucked in. I thought later, she didn’t want to scare me away. Do you have one I can use?” Her eyes were as big as quarters and blue like a swimming pool and she spoke softly, almost whispering. She walked across the living room and put a hand on my shoulder. I was washing dishes, Anthony was running on the beach, and John was reading the paper when she walked out of the bedroom, blonde and ten stories high, in a white cotton nightgown with eyelet trim.

I took a journey, and Carolyn came to town. “It is said there are only two stories-a man goes on a journey, or a stranger comes to town they are both here in mine.

What remains book carole radziwill