Emory plumped his pillow and tossed the rest of the twisted duvet to the side. “Well, get up here on the bed with your uncle. You want the middle? I’ll go make the popcorn.” He looked to Patrick for permission—did he even have popcorn? How far were they taking this ruse?
Patrick nodded to Emory, whispering, “Thank you.”
The depths of Patrick’s gratitude seemed to catch Emory by surprise. Patrick worried this would send Emory scrambling, or diminish his enthusiasm for the very unconventional date they were on. But Emory did not startle easily and generally seemed unfazed. Instead, he leapt off the bed with surprising athleticism, landing an impressive dismount that got perfect tens from all three judges.
TWENTY-SIX
By mid-August it had been so hot for so long it seemed like it would never be cool again. Relief wouldn’t come until it was time to set back the clocks; there was almost as much of the endless summer ahead as there was behind them. Eventually the temperatures would break. There would come a time when Patrick would reach for a sweater and heat the pool if he felt like swimming. The warm tub would become a hot tub again. It would rain, this time for longer. There would be new stars in the sky. The air would get downright cold, and in the higher elevations, snow would fall, capping the mountains with elite white powder wigs, transforming them into distinguished elders. Each year he looked forward to it, but now it seemed looming, encroaching—a time when he would be alone again.
Patrick and the kids had taken to long afternoon naps, waking for lupper, then finding relief in the night. Tonight the darkness offered not just comfort, but entertainment—a meteor shower best viewed in the predawn. The three of them dozed wearily on pool floats in the middle of the backyard lawn under a blanket of shimmering stars. As was custom, Grant claimed the Pegasus. Maisie selected the pineapple for her outdoor bed, while Patrick reclined on the lobster. Marlene curled up on a blanket, her claws too pronounced to trust her on something inflatable. It was two hours past midnight, and the kids were fighting to stay awake.
“Don’t close your eyes, Grant,” Maisie implored.
“I’m not,” Grant protested.
“They go by so fast.”
The meteor shower was best viewed farther north, near Joshua Tree perhaps, but away from Los Angeles and the never-dimming lights of Hollywood, and under the cover of the desert’s darkness, they had a decent chance of witnessing something. So far, Maisie had counted three streaks of light across the sky. Patrick had only seen two; there was a chance Maisie was inflating her count, on the other hand it was a blink-and-miss-it affair.
A blink-and-miss-it affair. If that didn’t aptly summarize their summer, Patrick didn’t know what else could. “Are you looking forward to going home?” he asked, and the sound of his own voice in the darkness startled him.
The kids didn’t reply, although Grant might have punctuated his silence with a perfunctory Uh-huh that could also easily have been a snore.
Maisie adjusted herself on her float; on the grass it was like trying to find firm support on a dreadful waterbed. “I keep thinking Mom’s going to be there.” And then she added, “It’s silly, I know,” as if her thoughts were girlish and unserious.
“I don’t think that’s silly at all.” Patrick pointed to a quadrant in the sky for her to monitor, a demonstration of his belief in her and how much he understood. In some ways it had been like they were away at some posh summer camp, the dramatic change of scenery itself a serum to keep the worst of life out of reach, at least for small stretches of time—fleeting as they may be.
“You don’t?” Maisie asked.
“Not at all. And here’s the thing: she will be there.” Patrick rolled his head to see if they were listening. “In the kitchen where she cooked for you, in your rooms where she kissed you good night. Some days you’ll hate it. It will feel torturous. You’ll be reminded of the bad things. She’ll be both so close and so far. But other days you’ll like it. She’ll be a shadow on the wall, or a reflection of the light, and she’ll look healthy and you’ll be so happy to see her. And it will feel like a great big hug.”
“How do you know this thtuff?” Grant muttered. Patrick was happy for confirmation he was awake.
“Because I do.” Because of Joe.
“Will you come visit so you can see her, too?”
Patrick fluttered his feet, as if miming timid steps into an uncertain future. “We’ll see.” He was acutely concerned with the kids’ ghostly presence in his own house after they returned to Connecticut. The warmth of a snuggle at bedtime. The faint echo of a laugh from the pool. He refocused his attention on the sky and tried hard to nudge such thoughts from his mind. “You know who will be there? Your dad.” Nice pivot, he thought.
Maisie interrupted him. “Grant, you look this way, and I’ll look that way.”
“I don’t want to.”
“GUP!” Maisie bellowed. She didn’t want to miss a single flash in the sky.
“Let him do as he will, upside-down cake.” All summer he had failed to find the right nickname for Maisie; her preference for the pineapple float provided the only inspiration.
“I don’t like it when you call me that.”
“Really?” The name was growing on Patrick, but he was also happy to let it go. “Is there anything you want to do for your dad when he comes home?”
Grant rocked back and forth on the Pegasus. “We could draw him pictures. Or make a thign.”
“A what? A sign?” Patrick scratched his chin. His skin
