without Connor and Sophie seeing their dad. Stacy’s mother may have thought the arrangement worked well, but Stacy remembered a father who was absent most of the time, and summer wasn’t any different. Even when he was physically present he was distracted. She wanted more than that for her own children.
“I’m sure you’ll come up with something. I’ve made up the blue room for you and Ryan. You remember, it gets a nice shore breeze? Bunk beds for Sophie and Connor are set up in Brad’s old room.”
“Mom—I’ll have to let you know.”
“Your father will be thrilled,” Kaye continued, as if the decision had been made. “Send me a list of what the kids like to eat and I’ll make sure to have it. And if you’re coming on Saturday morning, don’t forget traffic backs up on the inlet bridge. You should leave early.”
They arrived home just before noon. Sophie first, bleary-eyed and wired from a nap in the car. Stacy followed, dropping her car keys on the table.
Ryan rose from his place on the couch to greet them. “Hey, Soph, aren’t you going to say hello?”
Sophie paused, just for a moment. “’Lo, Daddy,” she said, then continued down the hallway to her room.
Ryan moved toward his wife. As she dropped her bag and kicked off her shoes, he noticed how tired she looked.
“Why don’t you go lie down? I’ll order takeout.”
“No, it’s fine,” she replied, her voice flat.
Years before—before the job, before the kids—he would have been able to tell what was wrong. Now, he wasn’t sure what was wrong, but something was off.
“How was ballet?” He followed her to the kitchen.
“Fine.” She opened the refrigerator and stood before it, scanning the contents. “Sophie needs a brand-new costume for the recital on Thursday, which, coincidentally, the ballet studio happened to have in stock. Lucky me.”
“Your mother called.”
“Called here? And you picked up?” Stacy glanced at him.
“Sure.” Ryan reached into the cabinet for a bag of chips. “We had a nice chat.” He opened the bag, careful to keep his tone neutral. Nothing good ever came from getting between Stacy and her mother. “She mentioned something about the shore house?”
“She called me too. She said Dad wants us all to come down for the summer.”
“Aren’t we already planning that?”
Stacy pointed to the family calendar. “I scheduled two weeks at the end of August. That’s not the whole summer.” Stacy closed the refrigerator door with a sigh. “She swears Dad’s been looking forward to it, but I’m not sure I believe it.”
“How do you know your father didn’t ask for it? He’s had a rough time of it lately. Maybe he does want to spend time with his family.”
“That’s what my mother said.” Stacy reached for a glass and filled it with water.
“And why don’t you believe it?”
“Because he’s not that kind of father. Never has been. I’m pretty sure he only came to the shore on summer weekends because my mother made him. He worked so much that I don’t think he would have noticed a summer without us.”
“So what did you tell her?” Ryan popped a chip into his mouth and crunched.
“That’s garbage; don’t eat that.” Stacy grabbed the bag from him and rolled it closed. “I told her I had to check with you, just to get off the phone. I’ll call her back later to say you can’t get the time off work and we can only come for the two weeks in August. That’s enough.”
“Well, let’s think about it first.” He leaned against the counter and folded his arms across his chest. Why shouldn’t he take a break if his wife wanted to spend the summer with her family? Sean clearly had no trouble clearing his calendar and they hadn’t heard from Jeff in weeks. “It might be good to get away. Spend some time by the ocean.”
He thought he saw a flicker of something in his wife’s expression, but it was gone in an instant. The fact remained, though, that if spending the summer with Stacy’s family would allow her rest, he would make it happen.
Stacy set her glass on the counter and pointed to the calendar. “May I present our family calendar.”
He squinted at it, unsure of how to respond. That calendar had hung in the same space since Connor was a baby; the only thing that changed was the year or the amount of writing on the pages. He barely noticed it anymore. He glanced from the calendar to his wife. Her expression