“I don’t know...” says Amy, when Timothy stops. But she feels like inside her a small flower bud is beginning to open itself up to the sun. She looks again at her summer list. Without Kona on there it seems malnourished, maybe even pathetic. Let’s faceit, she’s not going to readAnna Karenina. Every summer she intends to do it, and every summer she fails. She likes to read beach books at the beach, not Tolstoy! And she has a long time left to learn to knit. To get her full pension she needs to teach until she is sixty, a full seven years away. Babies will still be being born in seven years, and those babies will need hats, just as the babies of today do. That leaves only the tomatoes, and the block party. She doesn’t even like hosting parties. Does it make any sense to turn down Timothy’s offer for a few tomatoes?
“Think about it, okay? There’s nobody else I’d rather have.”
“You’re not going to get me with flattery,” she says untruthfully, because the fact is flattery helps a lot, and she’s leaning toward taking it—she’s leaning so far she could potentially fall over.
She looks into Kona’s eyes. Kona’s eyes are such a deep brown, and the sclera so unobtrusive, that his eyes seem to blend into the dark fur of his face. Amy can’t read Kona’s expression.
“Call me later, once you decide. Okay?”
“Okay,” says Amy. “And Timothy?”
“Yup?”
“Tell Sam I said hi. But tell her like I said it very casually, like it’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal,” says Timothy. “Got it.”
After she ends the call Amy sits, staring at the phone, thinking. The side door opens and in comes Greg. Kona’s tail thumps once, twice, and Greg bends down to pat him on top of the head.
“I thought you were at the Backman house,” says Amy.
“I was. I came home for lunch, and to give you a kiss.” She points her face toward his, and he kisses her, but he must see something in her expression, because he says, “What’s wrong?”
“Kona’s leaving,” she says. “Tomorrow. I’m bereft.”
“Oh, no, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” He puts his forefinger under her chin and tips it up. “We knew this would happen eventually, right? But I’m sorry.”
“AndTimothy,” she goes on, “had the nerve to offer me a job! As production manager forMuch Adoat the Empire!”
“That’s great,” says Greg. “I’m going to wash up. We have some of that pizza left from last night?” Amy nods. Greg washes his hands like a surgeon does, with extreme attention to each digit, every nail.
“Is it great?” Amy asks.
“Isn’t it?”
“He already took Sam,” mutters Amy. “Now he wants to take my summer?”
“He didn’t take Sam,” Greg says reasonably.
“He took her before.”
“Timothyhousedher when Sam went to LA. He didn’ttakeher.”
“Took,” insists Amy. “He took her back then, and he took her again this summer.”
“Sam chose to live on Block Island for the summer. Who wouldn’t prefer Block Island without parents over Narragansett with parents?”
Amy feels like she might start crying. “You’d rather be on Block Island?” First Sam, then Kona, and now Greg. Everyone wants to leave her for something better.
“Of course not! Baby. No. That’s not what I meant. I just meant, she’s nineteen! It’s nothing personal that she wants to separate a little bit. That’s what kids do.”
“I know that,” Amy relents. “I do understand the concept of separation. But does she always have to separate so... dramatically?” Sometimes it feels as though Sam’s life has been nothing but a series of separations broken up by brief periods of reunification. She sighs and turns back to her list. “Anyway. I’m not even sure if I want to do the job with Timothy! I was planning on relaxing this summer. I made a list of things I want to do.” She points the computer toward Greg so he can see the list. “I’d have to take the ferry over every day.”
“Oh, well, sure, that could be a pain,” admits Greg.
“But Timothy’s friend, the one whose house he’s living in, has a car I can use while I’m there.”
“That sounds good! You couldn’t bring a car over every day, obviously.” The car ferries book up weeks or months in advance.
