“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
“For what?” he asked.
“For the stories. And the album. And just calling.”
“Don’t thank me, it’s mutual,” he said. “I’d go nuts if this was seriously about windows all day long.”
I smiled. “I will listen anytime.”
“I appreciate that,” he said. We were both quiet a second. “So, look. When you’re free to come and go as you please—”
“If,” I corrected him.
“When,” he repeated, “do you think you might want to... well, I’m glad you asked! Once we run the credit check, we’ll go ahead and set you up for a visit by one of our knowledgeable, bonded technicians. They’ll take measurements, then discuss the best options for protection of your home, at which point...”
He kept talking, but I couldn’t think about windows. I couldn’t think about anything but those words he hadbeen saying, leading to what I thought was a question, now unasked. Would I what? Want to buy storm protection? Light sparklers together? Or something else?
Just then, there was a burst of feedback from the Pavilion and Tracy appeared, now in her own swimsuit, to take the beach chair next to me. In between covering my ears and greeting her, I lost Roo. Sadly, with this job he could only call out. I’d have to wait. And I knew I would.
It was around six, as I walked across the lobby with Tracy and Dad, headed to the cookout on the beach, when the concierge called out to us. “Mr. Payne?”
My dad stopped, looking over at the desk. “Yes?”
“Something was left for you earlier,” he said, reaching under the counter to pull out a small brown bag. “Or, for Saylor?”
“Emma?” he said.
The concierge looked at the bag, then back at us. “Perhaps I misunderstood? This says Saylor Payne, but...”
“That’s me,” I told him, stepping forward.
He handed me the bag. “Have a wonderful evening.”
I thanked him, taking it, then carefully opened the flap. Inside was a box of sparklers and a pack of matches. I smiled.
“What is it?” Tracy asked. My dad, suspicious, was watching me, too.
“Nothing,” I told them, dropping it into my purse. “Let’s go.”
We did, out to our reserved spot on the sand, where three chairs, an ice bucket with beverages, and a full viewof the lake awaited us. As we sat and ate, I tried to focus on my dad, happily devouring a burger and fries from the plate on his lap, and Tracy, who was telling a series of honeymoon sailing stories.
Finally, after the ice cream sandwiches were served and the anthem played, the fireworks began. Set off from a Tides boat anchored near the raft, they were gorgeous and loud, with color exploding across the dark sky and reflecting in the water. All around me, people oohed and aahed, waiting for the next big burst. After the extended, no-holds-barred finale, everyone applauded.
But as my dad gathered up our trash, and people began dragging their tired, sugar-filled kids back to the hotel, I walked the other way, down the shoreline until I could see, distantly, Mimi’s dock and beach.
“Emma? You coming?” my dad called out.
“I’ll be there in a sec,” I replied, then pulled out my box and the matches, getting a sparkler ready. I was worried the wind would blow out the flame, or it wouldn’t catch at all. But as I saw the lights appear on that beach, shimmering and sudden, I dipped the tip of my own offering into the flame and watched it spark for all those big lives lived, gone too soon, and all the unanswered questions. I let it burn all the way down.
Twenty-Three
Finally, it was the day of the Club dinner. I was nervous and excited, but all anyone could talk about was the tropical storm that was supposed to hit the coast that evening before heading our way. While what it would do then was anyone’s guess, everyone had an opinion.
There was theBly County News, which ran pictures of destruction and damage from other storms, including Richard, which had taken out Mimi’s dock two years earlier. The TV anchors had gone from occasionally breaking into programming to taking over the air entirely with footage and discussion of preparations, even though nothing had even happened yet. At the Tides, though, no one seemed concerned.
“There’s absolutely no need to worry,” I overhead the concierge saying to a woman in a brightly colored caftan and a straw hat that morning. “The Tides was built with more storm protection than any other structure on the lake. You could not be in a safer place.”
