Matt takes the paper. Reads it. His expression starts soft—amused, maybe touched. His jaw tightens for half a second before he smooths it out. I don’t know which item caused it, but I can guess.
“This is great, buddy. Let’s see how many we can knock out today.”
They start with the boardwalk. Bikes rented from the shop near the brewery. Aidan, Millie, and Matt pedaling down the boardwalk in a line, Millie’s daisy dress replaced with shorts and her helmet slightly crooked. Jenna stays behind. Says she has homework. It’s summer.
I let her stay.
Paul is on his boat when I come out to the dock. He’s sitting on the deck with a mug, staring at the harbor. He sees me and nods.
“They went biking,” I say.
“I saw.”
The distance between our boats is ten feet. It feels like a canyon.
“You’ve been quiet,” I say.
“Didn’t want to crowd the situation.”
“You’re not crowding anything, Paul.”
He looks at me. Really looks, the way he did in the office when I put my hand on his chest. Steady. Full of something he hasn’t said out loud.
“He seems like he’s trying,” Paul says.
“He is.”
“That’s good. For the kids.”
“For them,” I repeat.
Neither of us says what we’re actually thinking. The dock stretches between us. A gull lands on the railing Paul repaired yesterday. The silence isn’t the good kind—not the kind that holds something warm. This silence has edges.
“I’ll be here,” Paul says. “Whatever you need.”
“I know.”
He goes backto his coffee. I go back to my houseboat. The canyon stays exactly as wide as it was before.
The cracks start at dinner.
The seafood restaurant on the boardwalk is loud and bright, and Matt orders a bottle of wine without asking if I want any, which is such a small thing, such a meaningless thing, except that it’s the kind of thing he always did—decided for both of us, assumed his preference was the default.
I order water. He doesn’t notice.
Aidan is mid-monologue about hermit crab habitats when Matt’s phone buzzes. He glances at it, and puts it face-down on the table. Aidan keeps talking. Matt’s eyes drift to the phone, back to Aidan, then back to the phone. He picks it up.
“Sorry, buddy. One sec. Work thing.”
He types for thirty seconds and puts it back down. Aidan picks up where he left off, but the rhythm is different now. He’s talking faster, like he’s trying to get the story out before the next interruption.
Millie sees it, like always. She puts her fork down quietly and stares at her plate.
Jenna sees it too. She pulls out her own phone in solidarity or protest—I can’t tell which.
“Jen, phone away at dinner,” I say.
“Dad has his out.”
