“Well, I can think of several,” Patrick began. “One, when she was pregnant with you. Although, I don’t know why. She was fat and couldn’t do anything fun and her ankles were so swollen she couldn’t stuff her feet into any fashionable shoes.” He splashed a little water Maisie’s way and she smiled. “On her wedding day. She looked radiant. You know she and your dad fought over who I would stand up for? Should I be the best man? The maid of honor?”
“That’s a girl job.”
“Maid of honor? No, it’s not. What do we say in this house? Boys can do girl things and girls can do boy things. That’s not even a Guncle Rule, there shouldn’t even be boy things and girl things to begin with. People should just do what they want.”
“What did you choose?”
“Oh. You’ve seen the pictures. I married them. It was the only way to keep the peace. I was standing up front with both of them; your father had a case of flop sweat, but your mother absolutely sparkled. Not even photos could capture it. She was really happy then. We all were.”
“What about me?” Grant asked.
“Oh, she was definitely happy with you. After she had a girl, she most wanted a boy. And along you came.”
Grant beamed.
“I remember when I first met you. She was on my case to hold the baby. ‘Hold the baby, Patrick. Hold the baby.’ Of course, I didn’t want to hold you and I told her just as much.”
“Why not?” Grant put his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest like Superman.
“Well, babies are dull and you never know when they’re going to spit up and I was going through a phase of wearing only Issey Miyake T-shirts and I wasn’t about to let you hurl all down the back of one of those.”
Grant laughed.
“I didn’t care how many more I had in a drawer back home.”
“What about you?” Maisie asked. “When were you happiest?”
“Me?” Patrick put his hand over his chest and feigned surprise. “Right now. In this hot tub.”
“Really?”
“What? NO! Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. I have a Golden Globe, for Christ’s sake. Plus, you make me cap the temperature of this hot tub at ninety-something degrees and neither of you understands sarcasm.” He took a long, slow sip of vodka and crunched on an ice cube. Two more solar lights popped on and he pointed. “I told you. I really think it was that time in New York. I didn’t know how good I had it. I didn’t know it wouldn’t last.”
There was a long pause in conversation and Grant played with the button that controlled the tub lights. He continued to press it as the water changed from white, to blue, to red, to green, to pink, and then back to white again. Eventually he lost interest and sat down. The bubbles came up to his chin. “Do you believe in heaven?” he asked.
“Do I . . .” Patrick had been steeling himself for a question like this since the funeral, but he hadn’t expected it to be presented so bluntly. Is Mommy in heaven? That was the tack he was expecting the question to take. Something he could answer with a single word—even if it was not reflective of his belief—and move on. But he wasn’t prepared to have to explain his faith, or lack thereof. “That’s a tough one. Do you?”
Grant shrugged and Maisie looked equally adrift.
“I believe she’s not in pain anymore.” Patrick squinched his eyes closed long enough not to cry. He pulled Grant onto his lap. He remembered once shooting a two-bit TV movie, the first real thing he’d ever booked, where he was supposed to cry. They had to call “Cut” while he pulled out a menthol stick to rub under his eye, an effective trick of the trade; he wouldn’t need such gimmickry now. “I believe she’s at peace. And that brings me some comfort when I’m feeling sad. Beyond that, I don’t really know.”
“I thought grown-ups were supposed to know everything.”
Patrick looked across the tub at his niece, where she’d taken a perch on the edge. “Who told you that? A grown-up, no doubt.” Maisie wore the board shorts and lycra running shirt they had selected together; Patrick bought four of each and she practically lived in them, made them her Palm Springs uniform. Her hair was dry with salt from the pool and chemicals from the hot tub and she looked like an effortlessly cool surfer. “We know some things. Not everything. Some things, the older you get the less you actually know about them.”
“Like what?” Grant asked.