He is. Absolutely. But Joy is not going on his boat without me, and right now I need a little distance. Jack Sabathian doesn’t prevaricate. Discussions with him touch on core truths, and that last remark he made before stalking off this morning is only one. I’m still grappling with thoughts of the gardener, the roofer, and the pharmacist. I need a break.

Even though I don’t look at the boat, I easily imagine Jack watching us as he readies to leave. “We’ll get Anne to take us on Papa’s boat,” I tell Joy. “It’s cool, too.”

“But she’s not here, and he’s going out now, and just think of how neat it would be to have bonding time with Guy?”

“We weren’t invited, sweetie. I think Jack wants to be alone.”

“Really? You think that? How do you know?”

“Because the clinic lost an animal this morning. He needs time to process.”

She is quiet for only a minute. “Well, I could help. I could untie ropes or raise a sail—”

“No sail, honey. It’s gas all the way.”

“Okay, so I could hold the wheel while he fixes the engine. I could wipe splashes off the deck. I could make sure Guy doesn’t fall overboard.”

I glance back. “Look at the horizon. See those clouds?”

“They’re not here.”

“They could be soon. Check out the weather on the Vineyard.”

Of course, her phone is with her. It always is, just like LipSmackers were when I was her age—and isn’t that a memory, come to me here, where Nilla Mint Frost was my go-to. Oh boy, did Dad hate the sight of those tubes. He called them hotbeds of germs, though, compared to an iPhone, they were totally benign. If she isn’t checking Snapchat, she’s scrolling through Instagram or checking House Party, waiting for an invite. Since we arrived, she hasn’t texted anyone but me, meaning none of her friends have texted back. Good to give her something practical to do with the phone.

Raising it, she searches Dark Sky for Martha’s Vineyard, which lies due east, in the direction of those clouds. “Rain? How?”

“The ocean is like that. Storms rise out of nowhere.”

“He would turn around before it rains. Please, Mom?”

“No.” Next to my book, in the shadow of my own wide-brim hat, my phone lights. She should have been.

No doubt what Jack means.

But she isn’t, I type and send.

Joy is fixated on the boat. “I thought we came here to do different things.”

It’s not too late, he texts.

“We came here to spend time with your grandfather.”

“Who is taking a nap,” she replies with disdain.

“Which is why we’re at the beach. If you’re bored, we can head back to the city tomorrow.”

Dream on, I type and send.