There is a difference though, between crowding him and making sure he’s all right. Needing to do the latter, I enter the kitchen through the beach door. Lina isn’t here, although I see a loaf of bread, a head of lettuce, and a bowl of what looks like chicken salad on the counter, if the denuded rotisserie chicken is any indication. Chicken salad was always Dad’s favorite.

I’m heading for the hall, when I hear voices. One is Dad’s, meaning he’s safe with Lina. That’s all I need by way of permission to play.

The late-morning sun is high above, and while clouds drift, its heat is strong enough that I welcome the breeze on my skin. Heading for the beach stairs, I start down, then sit, brace my elbows on my knees, and lift the camera to my eye. The surf is up, making for more dramatic shots. I take several at a fast shutter speed to freeze the high tumble of the waves, and think to go for blur with a slower speed, but there is simply too much light. A tripod at twilight would work for that. For now, I continue down the steps.

As the surf recedes, my eye catches tiny jigglings in the sand. Stepping out of my flip-flops at the foot of the stairs, I cross the beach and squat as another wave breaks. Left behind in the ebbing is a squadron of sand crabs scrabbling to dig in. When we were kids, we used to catch them in flat-topped nets and give them to Dad as bait. Wanting to capture something of that memory, I photograph through several more breaking waves, bunches more crabs, farther out ruffles of surf, still farther ocean. I could photograph here forever. Sinking onto my bottom, elbows on knees again, I take a panoramic sweep of the ocean. That’s when, scanning far left, I see Jack.

Chapter 12

Sitting all the way down the beach near the Sabathian stairs, Jack is bare-footed, bare-legged, bare-chested. He is staring at the horizon, which, compared to the clear overhead, is a ripple of murk. The dog’s head rises between his bent knees, muzzle aimed seaward as well, and their profiles are in such perfect alignment that I can’t resist. Zooming in, I take a handful of shots, then move closer to the bluff to capture them outlined against the sea.

I’ve barely lowered the camera when Jack turns his head. I don’t know if he’s seen me taking pictures, but now that I’ve been spotted, disappearing is pointless.

His eyes hold mine. They’re too far away for me to know what shade of gray they are. But the set of his brow suggests deep grooves between his eyes. And I remember the words we spoke in the square.