Barefoot: A Novel

them, their rods slung over their shoulders. Blaine trumpeted the news: “Josh caught a fish, a real y big fish! Dad unhooked it and threw it back!” The way the facts were relayed, both Ted and Josh sounded like heroes, and Vicki was relieved.

“Let’s eat,” she said.

They al sat on the blanket or in chairs and dug into their boxes. Ted started tel ing Josh a story about a boat he’d sailed from Newport to Bermuda the summer after he graduated from col ege. Brenda tried to entice Blaine into eating lobster.

“Look, Josh is eating it.”

Blaine considered this for a second, then turned his nose up. He plopped in Vicki’s lap, and his weight nearly crushed her. She gasped; Ted stopped talking and looked over.

“I’m fine,” she said.

Blaine ate Vicki’s biscuit and her corn on the cob. Porter was stil asleep in the back of the car, and Vicki was about to ask Melanie to check on him—but when she looked at Melanie, Melanie was transfixed by . . . Vicki fol owed Melanie’s gaze and then, inwardly, groaned. Melanie was staring at Josh in a way that could only mean one thing. Do not judge, Vicki told herself. After al , she was a woman who had skipped chemo. Stil , Vicki hoped she was imagining things, and if she wasn’t imagining things, if Melanie did harbor some sort of fascination with Josh, then Vicki hoped it was short-lived, a phase, like with the kids. Once Vicki made up her mind to worry about it, it would be over.

“Brenda?” Vicki said. “Would you check on the baby?”

Brenda rose. Melanie continued to stare at Josh with a vague smile on her face. Possibly she was fol owing Ted’s story about running aground on the Outer Banks, but Vicki kind of doubted it.

“Josh?” Vicki said. “Would you mind digging a hole for the fire?”

“I’l help!” Blaine said.

“I’l help, too,” Melanie said.

“Not you, Mel,” Vicki said. “You relax.”

“Is there firewood?” Josh asked.

“Yes,” Melanie said. “Brenda stole four pal ets from the Stop and Shop.”

“I did not steal them,” Brenda said. “I do not steal things. They were left out by the Dumpster.”

“How’s the baby?” Vicki said. “Is he stil asleep?”

“Yes, he’s fine,” Brenda spat. “I know you al think I’m a thief. I am not a thief.”

“You robbed the cradle,” Ted said.

“Ted!” Vicki said.

Over Blaine’s head, Brenda shot Ted the finger.

“Lovely,” Ted said.

“Thanks a lot,” Brenda said to Melanie, “for bringing it up.”

Vicki took a breath. She’d suspected things would explode one way or another.

Melanie rol ed her eyes and stood next to Josh as he shoveled sand. A wailing noise came from the car.

“Ted?” Vicki said. “Wil you . . . ?”

Ted was already up. He returned with a very cranky Porter. “I can’t find his bottle.”

“But you did pack it, right?”

“Right,” he said uncertainly.

“Oh, Ted,” Vicki said. “Please don’t tel me . . .”

“Vicki . . . ,” Brenda said.

“What?”

“Don’t do that armchair Napoleon thing.”

“What armchair Napoleon thing?”

“You just sound a little bossy is al . A little dictatorial.”

“Josh?” Vicki said. “Do I sound dictatorial to you?”

“You have him digging ditches,” Brenda said.

“A hole,” Vicki said. “For the fire. So we can roast marshmal ows.”

“I want a marshmal ow,” Blaine said. “Mom told me if I ate . . .”

“So we can have a nice time!” Vicki said. She could hear herself above Porter’s cries; her voice was loud and frustrated. “So we can have a bonfire and enjoy the evening.”

“Vicki?”

The sun was setting over the water; it was a melting, golden blob. Vicki stared at the backlit figures of Josh digging the hole and Melanie standing beside him and Brenda with her hands on her hips