“See,” he says with a crooked grin, “I already knew that because I threw away the divorce papers you gave me on day one.”
Of course he did.
“Do you want kids?”
He stops mid-lick. “I love kids. Always imagined a life with them.” He shrugs. “You come with one, that might be good enough.”
Little does he know.
“I do.”
I absorb his perfect answer like a sponge on the ocean floor, not saying anything else as I busy myself with finishing my ice cream sandwich. Now isn’t the time to tell him the rest. There’s no sense ruining this perfect day with a conversation that can wait.
He takes the last bite of his cone, his face smiling even though his lips aren’t. The ice cream smeared on his cheek makes me grin as I wipe it with my thumb.
“You ready to talk about the gold?” he asks, bumping my shoulder with his.
“Only reason I’m here.”
“We’ll see about that.” We exchange smiles before he continues. “In 1865, there was nothing at Folly.” He slides hissunglasses down his forehead until they settle on his nose. “Union troops occupied it for the last couple of years of the war, but other than their military supplies, there was nothing. The foliage was harsh—thus the name Folly—and the area really didn’t get developed and draw tourists until the early 1900s. Some Charlestonians would have visited, but it likely would have been by boat.”
“Anson may have never been here?” I ask, crumbling the paper of my ice cream.
He nods. “And if he were, there wouldn’t have been anywhere to leave any sort of clue or part of the money that wouldn’t have been discovered or washed away.”
“You know that when you read the letter?”
He hesitates; he did.
I drag my hands down my face. What a waste. Again.
“Hey,” he says. “We’ll find what you need.”
I notice he doesn’t say “we’ll find the gold.”
“This really is a beach day?”
“Really a beach day.” He scrunches his nose. “You mad?”
Around us, kids make sandcastles, kites are flying, and the sun is shining. I wish Bennie was here. I wish everyone was. I think of what Sunny said about her husband dying and life changing in an instant, and a sense of peace washes over me. A beach day-induced sea change.
“Not even a little bit.”
He leans toward me, and in a voice only for me says, “You know us being married means you sleep in my bed, right?”
I fight a smile, not looking at him. “Is that so?”
“We have a lot of time to make up for.”
I laugh, elbowing his ribs so he grunts. “Pervert.”
“You always liked it.”
“Eight years?” I look at him sideways. “You’ve probably lost your edge.”
“Ahh,” he says with a knowing drawl. “I knew I had an edge.”
Behind me, my dad grunts from his seat several times. When I look, his prosthetic leg is in his hands, revealing a scarred nub of a leg.
