“It was clinging. Uncomfortable. Purely a temperature decision.”
“Temperature.” He nods slowly, the way a man nods when he doesn’t believe a single syllablecoming out of your mouth. “And Emma happened to be standing there.”
“She came around the corner later.”
“While you were standing on the dock looking like something off a paperback cover.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“The old lady from the book club has a different version.”
“She has binoculars and an overactive imagination.”
“Plus a notepad. She’s tracking your relationship status. Apparently you’re ‘progressing.’”
I put down the wrench. “Can we not do this?”
Justin almost smiles. Almost. The corner of his mouth lifts a millimeter, which for a Spencer is the equivalent of a standing ovation.
“Holly would have liked her,” he says, quieter now.
My chest tightens. “I know.”
“She would have said you’re in your own way.”
“I’m not in my own way.”
“You’ve been in your own way since age twelve. The science fair project. Asking Holly to prom. Proposing. The only spontaneous thing you’ve ever done was jump into the water for a stuffed elephant, and I think that tells yousomething.”
I don’t respond. The truth doesn’t require a response. It just sits there, heavy and warm, like the July sun on the back of my neck.
“Matt’s coming Saturday,” I say.
“I heard.”
“The kids are excited. Aidan’s been bouncing off the walls all week.”
Justin sets down his tool. Looks at me directly, which he rarely does when feelings are involved.
“You worried?”
“About what?”
“Don’t do that. You know about what.”
I stare at the water. A pelican lands on the end of the dock with its usual graceless thud.
“He’s their father,” I say. “He has history with them I’ll never have. Sixteen years of bedtimes and birthdays and inside jokes I don’t understand. He can walk back into their lives anytime and he’sDad.I’m the neighbor who makes pancakes.”
“You’re more than that and you know it.”
“Am I? Because legally, biologically, in every way that actually counts on paper—I’m nobody. I’m the guy next door who dove in for a toy.”
“You risked ruining your boots for a kid who was fallingapart. There’s a difference.”
The pelican takes off. Water drips from its beak. The dock rocks gently.
“What if he shows up and he’s wonderful?” I say. “What if he’s charming and present and everything he should have been all along, and the kids remember why they loved him, and Emma remembers why she married him?”
