. .”
Jake makes the introductions.
“I know who this boy is,” Delia says, tugging Marco toward her large chest and squeezing him tight. “I watch the news. I’ve been praying for you, boy.”
“She doesn’t pray,” Kaylee whispers.
“I do. Sometimes.”
“Well, thank you,” Marco says, pulling away and straightening his shirt. “I’ve done some praying myself of late.”
“You’re riding with us,” Delia says, grabbing his elbow. “He’s riding with us, Jake-y boy. You just follow. Kaylee knows where we’re going. Right? You know where we’re going? Yes. She does. We’ll get you there.”
Marco is hauled away, looking amused and slightly panicked. We should have helped him, or at least prepared him for the cataclysmic event that is Delia.
“Think he’ll survive?” I ask.
Helene pulls her hair into a ponytail. “He’s survived worse.”
Dad and Olivia are already at the lake when we arrive. They’ve managed to avoid the crowds gathered for the annual fireworks display and still found a picnic area not far from the water. A couple tables positioned on the hard-packed dirt and flanked on three sides by a shaded wood. It’s kind of perfect.
Canaan and Helene duck into the trees. “Just checking things out,” Canaan says. “Be back in a sec.”
I throw a towel over my shoulder. “He’s been ‘checking things out’ a lot lately.”
“You just used air quotes,” Jake says, closing my door.
“Kaylee doesn’t own them.”
Marco joins us. “That is one heck of a woman,” he says.
“Sorry, we should have—”
“Let me sulk away the holiday in a darkened room? Na. Delia—that’s her name, right?—Delia, she’s crazy, but she’s a good audience. I got this.”
Dad’s already grilling, a plate of hot dogs at his elbow, tongs in one hand and a beer in the other. I can’t help but notice the three empty bottles at his feet. I resist the urge to check my phone for the time, but I know it’s not yet noon.
“Hey, Dad,” I say, kissing his cheek.
Jake steers clear. He and Marco walk down to the water while Kaylee does whatever she can to make Delia comfortable, which apparently includes some sort of plastic pool float positioned precariously close to the water on the lava rock that surrounds the lake.
I can’t imagine that ending well.
I step away from the barbecue, shielding my eyes from the sun. The lake is smooth, like glass, like a mirror reflecting the periwinkle sky. It’s strange to see Marco out of place. He’s so at ease in the city, surrounded by cement and brick and grungy coffeehouses. But the lake seems to truly freak him out. He places a foot in the water and then yanks it out. With all the snow runoff, I know it’s freezing, but Jake’s having none of that. He wraps his arms around Marco’s chest and hauls him out into the water. Marco’s a few inches taller, but there’s no doubt who’d dominate a wrestling match. With a testosterone-fueled grunt, Jake throws him. Marco lands with a water explosion that has Delia protesting. She waves her arms, demanding Kaylee move her farther from the water. Marco comes up sputtering and laughing and promising revenge.
I spent last Independence Day on a bus traveling from St. Tropez to Paris. It was hot and crowded and smelled like armpits. This beats that by miles and miles. I inhale the spicy woods and the musk of water deep into my chest. Today has potential.
And then I catch Dad glaring over my shoulder at the splashing, laughing boys, his face murderous. I wrap my arms around his waist, and he breathes a little easier, patting my back, splattering beer down my shirt.
“Dad!”
“Sorry, baby,” he says, mopping me with his apron.
I hate when he drinks like this. Hate it. He gets forgetful and clumsy and—his eyes are back on Jake—he gets vicious.
“It’s fine, Dad.” I push him away and back toward the barbecue. The back of my swimsuit cover-up is drenched, so I pull it off and readjust the suit underneath. “Where’s Olivia?”
“Round here somewhere,” he says, flipping a dog blistering on the grill. “Looking for cell reception.”
“Ah.”
I grab a soda from the ice chest and climb up on the picnic table.
“I wish you liked her,” Dad says, bringing me a hot dog.
I could say I’ll try, but I’m not going to lie to him.
Still, I’m not going to start a fight either.
“I do too, Dad.”
When Canaan and Helene return, I’m stretched out in a perfect patch of sunlight. Helene lays her towel next to mine. She’s humming. Always humming. Canaan splashes into the