Sam convinced him to have dinner first. Veronica had hot dogs and sausages waiting. They ate on the picnic table on the deck and had chunks of watermelon for dessert. Veronica told Sam that his sister was on her way. “Sarah decided to bring Ruby up tonight, and Eli and the boys will come tomorrow.” Sam agreed to let Connor have a quick swim before bedtime. “I’m not even tired!” Connor said, his words immediately belied by an enormous yawn.
“Well, it’s only dinnertime in California,” Ronnie said, which launched another conversation about time zones.
“One quick swim, then bed by nine,” Sam said.
“Nine thirty?”
“Nine fifteen.” Sam dug Connor’s bathing suit out of their bags and was handing his stepson a towel when Sarah and Ruby pulled up the driveway. Sarah got out of the car, then opened the back door so that Lord Farquaad could escape. The dog shook himself off, strutted across the driveway on his stumpy legs, and peed disdainfully on a rosebush before making his way up to the pool.
Sarah opened the trunk and handed Ruby a garment bag, which she carefully draped over her arms. Her wedding dress, Sam figured.
“Can I help?” he called.
“No, we’ve got it,” his sister called back. “We’ll be right up.” Sam watched as Ruby ceremoniously carried her dress up the stairs and into the guesthouse, with Sarah behind her, pulling a wheeled suitcase, with a duffel bag over her arm. A moment later, everyone was on the pool deck, exchanging hugs and greetings.
“Where’s the lucky guy?” Sam asked.
“He’ll be up tomorrow,” Ruby said. “His mom and his aunt are flying into Boston, and he’s going to rent a car and drive them up.”
“I can’t wait to meet him,” said Sam. Ruby gave him a distracted smile and said, “I’ve got to make some calls.”
“Watch this,” Ronnie called. She flicked on the pool light and smiled at Connor’s approval when the water lit up, brilliantly turquoise.
“I love Cape Cod!” Connor shouted, and cannonballed into the water.
Sam smiled. This had been one of his favorite spots, out on the pool deck, which always smelled like the lavender that grew in the bed by the fence; where the boards always held the warmth of the day’s sun. At night, the underwater lights would cast a cool, eerie glow. The crickets would chirp and the frogs could croak and the spill of brilliant stars would shine in the sky.
Ronnie and Sarah went upstairs, talking in low voices. Lord Farquaad established himself under a lounge chair, tucking his legs underneath him, resting his snout on the still-warm deck and looking, for all the world, like a furred baked potato. Sam watched his stepson, and the time.
“Nine fifteen,” he called.
“Five more minutes? Please?”
“Okay,” said Sam, and thought of his father, who’d always been the nighttime lifeguard. Ronnie liked to go to bed early, tucked under the covers with a book, but Sam had liked to stay up late, and his dad would indulge him, sipping his after-dinner coffee by the pool, sometimes tossing weighted rings that Sam would dive for.
“Five minutes are up!” Connor groaned, but paddled to the edge of the pool, where Sam stood, waiting with a towel. “Come, let me bundle you,” he said, the same words he used after every bath at home, the ones his father had used with him. When Connor was wrapped, head to toe, like a boy-sized burrito, Sam scooped him into his arms and carried him downstairs. He gave him his Spider-Man pajamas and watched as he brushed his teeth.
“This is a good place,” Connor said.
“And you haven’t even seen the beach yet.”
“Can we go now?” asked Connor. “Just for a minute? Just to look?”
“We’ll go tomorrow.” Sam patted Connor’s hand. “Don’t worry. We have lots of time.”
THURSDAY
The next morning, Sam left Connor sleeping and went quietly to the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee, slipped through the sliding doors, down the stairs, and walked along the beach, thinking, and trying not to think, about what he might do that night. Connor was still asleep when he got back. He showered and went back upstairs. His mother and sister were out by the pool deck, in the shade of an umbrella, sitting at a table set next to the hydrangeas, which were in glorious bloom, boughs drooping with big, showy blooms in blue and pink and purple. Ronnie and Sarah turned identical gazes on Sam as he approached.
“Where’s Connor?” asked his mother. She was wearing one of her typical summer outfits: cropped linen pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, both of which seemed too big for her. Her hands were veined, age-spotted and thin-skinned, the hands of a grandmother, not a mom. Although, Sam supposed, she was a grandmother now… the same way he was middle-aged.