“It’s just...” She picks at the edge of her blanket. “Trying and doing aren’t the same, are they?”
I sit on the edge of her bed. Smooth her hair back. My ten-year-old philosopher.
“No, baby. They’re not.”
She nods and goes back to her book. I kiss her forehead and close the door.
Jenna’s light is off. I knock softly.
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“Okay. Love you.”
“Back at you.”
I close the door. Stand in the narrow hallway of my houseboat. Three children in their rooms. One sleeping with a folded list in his pocket. One reading with recalibrated arms. One behind a closed door, counting phone checks at dinner because somebody has to keep the honest record.
I walk out to the deck. The night air is warm. The marina is quiet. Paul’s boat rocks gently beside mine.
His light is on.
I sit on the top step. Hug my knees. Breathe.
Paul’s screen door opens. He comes out on his deck without a word. Sits in his chair. Doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t need to.
We sit in the dark, ten feet apart, on our separate boats. The water between us catches the moonlight. Somewhere down the dock, a fishjumps.
“Eleven,” I say.
“What?”
“Jenna counted. He checked his phone eleven times during lunch yesterday. Tonight was four more during dinner. She’s keeping a tally.”
Paul is quiet for a long time.
“I’m sorry, Emma.”
“Don’t be. He showed up. He’s making an effort. That’s more than he’s done in two years.”
“You deserve more than effort.”
The words hang in the dark between our boats. The water laps. The fairy lights hum.
“I know,” I say. “I’m starting to figure out whatmorelooks like.”
I’m looking at it right now. Sitting on a boat in the dark, no phone in his hand, no place he’d rather be.
“Goodnight, Paul.”
“Night, Emma.”
I go inside, lock the screen door, and lean against it with my eyes closed.
Tomorrow Matt comes back. Tomorrow there will be more trying, more phone buzzes, more of Aidan’s hope meeting reality in real time. Tomorrow I’ll stand on this dock between the man I married and the man who brings my daughter cookies for herdock readings, and I’ll have to figure out what kind of life I’m building.
But tonight, for five minutes on the deck, the canyon between Paul’s boat and mine didn’t feel so wide.
That’s enough for now.
