“How was the drive?” he asks, taking a seat beside her in the sand, not enough to crowd her but closer than a stranger would venture.
“Long,” Grace says. “But worth it now that we’ve arrived,” she adds and looks down at her son, knowing that the timing of things—this trip, this moment, everything—feels exactly right.
Ray adjusts his hat, then tilts his face to get a good look at the baby. “So this is the big guy, huh?” He smiles, then gently touches his small, soft foot. When he does, Ray’s finger swipes her hand, featherlight but still enough to make her breath briefly catch. “That’s a good-looking kid right there.”
Grace laughs. “Thank you. He is pretty cute, if I do say so myself.”
Ray slowly drops his hand, cups some sand, lets it fall down on his calves. “So ... August.” He looks at the baby once again. “It’s a solid name.” He playfully winks. “Even if hewasborn in March.”
She shrugs, feeling herself smile. “It felt like the right fit the first time I held him.”
Out in the water, a few kids throw down skim boards in the shallow surf. They run to chase them, jumping on, then gliding as long as they can until they crash right where the waves break.
“So you’re renting Caleb’s place for the next couple days?” Ray asks, even though he already knows—Grace told him a few weeks ago when she called him at the Dive to say she’d be down during her normal week.
“I am,” she says. “It’ll be nice. He said he’s cleaned a few things up inside, which I’m looking forward to seeing.”
“It looks good in there,” Ray says, to which Grace offers him a sideways glance. “I popped over to see it recently after we went fishing.” One side of his mouth rises in a timid grin. “It’s possible your name came up and that I finally filled him in on a couple things.”
Ray is right about one thing: The island is small. A smudge on a map. A tiny dot out in the sea. And yet, tucked among its white-sand shores, weathered houses, and old landmarks is enough space for it to hold a lifetime’s worth of memories.
“Well, I’d better be going. I just wanted to pop by and say hello.” Ray pulls himself up to standing. “I gave one of my managers the day off, so I’m up for night shift.” He brushes sand from his legs, delaying a minute while he looks down at his old summer friend. “Motherhood looks good on you, Grace. You seem happy. Content.”
“Thanks, Ray.” She smiles up at him. “I am.”
He reaches out a hand. She takes it and lets him help pull her up. They stay this way for a beat longer than is necessary, their palms cupped together, their eyes cast in a line.
Nearby, the kids all splash into the water and emerge from it laughing. Their youthful sounds are enough to make Grace and Ray both turn, breaking their gaze, before they both laugh, too.
“Meg says hi, by the way,” Ray says. “I told her you called me at the bar to let me know you were coming down for the week, that we were hoping to get together while you’re here.”
“How’s she doing?” Grace asks.
“She’s getting there,” Ray assures her. “My folks spent the first half of the summer in Pennsylvania to give her a hand once school let out. After they left, she and the kids came down to stay with me at my place for two weeks.” He lifts his palms toward the sky. “Uncle Ray equals free vacation house,” he jokes. “Lucky them.”
He leans in then, gives Grace a hug and a soft kiss on her cheek. Time slows. His face lingers next to hers—one second, then two, three—their skin just barely touching. Ray pulls in a long inhalation, like he wants to remember this moment. Breathe it in. Finally, he exhales and pulls back.
“Can I give you two a hand walking up the dune?”
Grace shakes her head, still feeling the heat of him on her neck. “We’re okay,” she tells him. “We’re going to stay down here a bit longer, watch the first part of the sunset.”
Ray stuffs his hands into his pockets. He begins to walk backward. One slow step. Then another. It’s like he knows he needs to go but doesn’t want to leave yet.
She watches his silhouette becoming smaller, a shape she’s known in every season of her life—the pull still there, gentle but certain, like the tide.
Maybe next summer,she hears a voice inside her say.
“I’m glad you came back down, Grace,” he calls out before he makes it too far. “It’s nice knowing you’re here.”
On her chest, the baby starts to wiggle and wake up.
“It’s nice knowing you’re here, too,” she says, the late-day sun like honey on her shoulders. “It’s good to be back.”
Or maybe sooner,she thinks.
The water feels cool but refreshing. It splashes up Grace’s ankles and onto her calves. The baby carrier in a pile on the sand, she holds her sonwith his face forward so he can see the water, too. Together, they look out at the horizon—that perfect line full of promise where the sea kisses the sky. Up above them, the sun has begun to settle, what was earlier a bold orange canvas now a wash of soft, muted pastels.
For a moment, Grace softly closes her eyes and lets herself feel her.
