“I am.”
For a second, neither of us looked away.
Then Ellie stepped back.
“Unpack. We’ll walk before dinner.”
She left.
I sat on the edge of the spare bed.
The flight had been easier than the pillow arrangement.
I opened the suitcase and put my clothes into the dresser because Ellie had once accused me of treating drawers as surrender.
Two shirts.
Jeans.
Toiletries in the bathroom.
The bad hat went on top of the dresser. I looked at it for several seconds before turning the embroidered side toward the wall.
When I returned to the living room, Ellie was waiting by the door.
We walked toward the water.
Pelican Key had not changed. Bicycles leaned against fences, a man washed a boat in his driveway, and two children moved buckets of sand between the beach and a construction project with unclear permits.
A few people recognized me.
One woman smiled and kept walking.
A man outside the marina lifted his hand.
“Welcome back.”
“Thank you.”
That was all.
I looked at Ellie.
“She didn’t ask for a photograph.”
“She has three children. She no longer spends energy unnecessarily.”
At the seawall, Ellie sat with her feet resting on the lower ledge.
I sat beside her, leaving enough space to communicate respect and enough to feel ridiculous.
The last time we had sat there, she had invited me to dinner.
The water moved below us while a small boat headed toward the marina.
“You came out publicly,” Ellie said.
“Yes.”
