Mom? Wait until I tell Archie—he’s not allowed on the top bunk.”
“Bunk beds?” Stacy said, moving toward the staircase. “I’m not sure Connor’s old enough for a bunk bed. We brought the fold-up bed for Sophie. I thought she’d sleep in our room.”
“For the entire summer?” Kaye scoffed. “Stacy, don’t be ridiculous. The children need their own room. Both beds have rail-guards and the steps on the ladder to the top bunk are extra-wide. The man at the store assured me the children will be fine.”
“Well, if the man at the store said it’s safe, who am I to argue?” Stacy muttered under her breath, annoyed at herself for not being more assertive with her mother.
“But you’re welcome to check if you want,” Kaye added, in a tone that made Stacy wonder if her mother’s hearing was sharper than she had remembered.
“I’m sure it’s fine, and if it’s not, we have options,” Ryan said as he slipped his arm around Stacy. “I’m looking forward to seeing Chase. Is he on the deck?”
Kaye nodded, her expression softening. “Yes, in fact he is. Come on back.”
Stacy and Ryan followed Kaye into the house, through the kitchen and onto the deck. The deck was one of the best features of the house and the last thing Stacy’s paternal grandfather, Santos Bennetti, added before he stopped working altogether. He had been an exceptionally talented woodworker, with skills he accepted as a gift from God. He honored that gift by offering his services to anyone who needed them, whether they were able to pay or not. He supported his family, putting all six children through school, with work he did for the carriage trade, but he fed his soul with work he did for his friends.
Back then, the best cedar came from the Pine Barrens, a swath of land so vast that it spanned seven counties along the coast of New Jersey. The soil there was sandy and acidic, useless for anything but the most determined trees. When the craftsmen realized that determined trees produced the strongest wood, everyone wanted Pine Barren timber, especially the owners of the posh new marina a few towns over.
It just so happened that the men working at the marina were friends of the family, skilled dockworkers who had no problem “redirecting” some of the materials ordered for the marina to the alley behind Santos’s house. The men and their families would join Santos on Saturdays, bringing lawn chairs, food, and beer. Santos would make them whatever they wanted out of the wood they’d “found” for him. At the end of the summer, they all chipped in to build a deck for the friend who never charged them for his work.
Years later, the deck was still the best part of the house. Men who knew how wood fit together had built it and it looked as good today as it did the day it was christened. They built it large enough to accommodate an oversized dining table and groups of wide chairs, and they angled it in such a way that it overlooked the pond beyond the yard. The salt pond was where a lanky white egret lived and families of loud mallards made their home. At the end of the day, family and friends could gather to watch the sun make its descent through the tree branches and listen as the air stilled.
It was her father’s favorite place to sit.
“Look who’s here,” Kaye announced as she stepped onto the deck.
Stacy’s father was seated in one of the slatted Adirondack chairs that faced the pond. A green market umbrella provided shade and a pale glass of iced tea sat forgotten on a side table nearby. He rose, folding his newspaper and slipped it under his chair.
“Hi, Dad.” Stacy wrapped her arms around her father and hugged him.
“How ya doing, kiddo?” His deep voice vibrated against Stacy’s ear.
Her father used to be a brick of a man, with a chest Stacy could barely get her arms around and an oversized personality that dominated the room. It was still unnerving to see the physical changes his illness had wrought, even after his recovery. He was much too thin, his clothes falling in soft folds from his shoulders, and his once-enviable head of hair had thinned and grayed.
“Good, Dad. I’m good,” Stacy answered as she pushed back, careful not to meet his eye in case he could read her thoughts. “How are you? That’s the more important question.”
“Can’t complain,” he said benignly, as