"I'm rinsing."
"You're stalling."
"I'm thinking."
"Think faster."
By the time the women took their turns, the sun was lower and the water pressure had recovered.
Meredith went last. The water was lukewarm now, but she didn't mind. She could hear the others out by the pool—splashing, voices, the clink of ice in glasses.
The pool filled up without anyone organizing it. The teenagers claimed the water; the women took the middle deck with their drinks. Carrie had found a bag of pretzels and put them in a bowl. Lori had her feet up. Jen had the chair facing the street, not the ocean.
"I could stay right here forever," Lori said.
"Until the hot tub's ready," Carrie said.
"Even better." Lori stretched her arms overhead.
Carrie threw a pretzel at her. Lori caught it and ate it.
Olivia's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen—Dan—then turned it face-down on the armrest.
"You can answer that," Jen said.
"It's fine." She didn't look up. "It's just Dan."
Nobody pushed. Carrie slid the pretzels toward Jen.
"I'm going to grab more water." Olivia stood and went inside. Through the sliding door they could see her moving through the kitchen, phone in hand now, then through the living room and out of sight.
Jen's eyes followed her. So did Meredith's.
Inside, the trash was overflowing. Meredith dealt with it herself, then wrote "trash" on the notepad she'd left on the counter that morning. She called everyone together before dinner—"just a quick thing"—and went through the chore chart she'd made before they'd left home. Trash rotation, dishes, beach gear.
"Is this mandatory," Brittany asked from the doorway, "or more of a vibe?"
"Mandatory," Meredith said.
"Got it. Just checking the vibe."
The chart went on the refrigerator. People drifted back to wherever they'd been.
Lori stayed at the counter after the others had gone, fingers wrapped around a glass of water she wasn't drinking. "I keep thinking he'll snap out of it," she said, voice low. "But he's just getting further away."
Meredith leaned against the counter, listening.
"He used to talk to me," Lori said. "Before the divorce, even when things were bad, he'd still talk. Now it's like he's behind glass."
"He's angry."
"I know he's angry. I just don't know how to reach him through it."
"Maybe he needs to come to you."
"And if he doesn't?"
Meredith didn't have an answer. She wasn't sure there was one.
