He thought it over. “Sounds like something I would say.”

“Uh-huh.” I sank down in the water next to him, aware of his shoulder brushing against mine. I drifted sideways a bit to break the connection. “So this was a dead end. What’s next? I guess we could go back to—”

He stood up suddenly, tipping his sunglasses so he could see over the top of them.

“What?” I asked, following his gaze. A man pushing a cart full of basketballs had stopped and was talking through the fence to some middle-school-aged boys standing in a recessed corner of the building. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” he said, but his voice said otherwise. “I think I know that guy.”

“That guy?” I pointed, but Chris pushed my hand down into the water. I stood so I was shoulder to shoulder with him again. Ignore the rainbow, Nikki. It is not a good time for the rainbow. “That guy?” I repeated, in a softer voice.

He chewed his lip, still watching. The man opened his cart, handed something through the fence, closed the cart again, and moved on. Chris sighed, resigned. “I don’t know. I thought maybe I knew him, but I guess not.” He pressed his palm to his temple and rubbed in circles, a scowl forming on his face. “I’m so sick of this. The ringing ears, the headaches. Trying to recall something impossible.” He gestured toward where the guy had been. “It’s like it’s all right in front of me, but I can’t grab it. Every time I think I’m back to my old self, I’m reminded that I’m not.”

I watched as the man with the cart came back into view. This time he was carrying an armload of foam kickboards, which he hauled to the shallow end and dropped onto the deck, scattering them about with his foot. As he started back inside, another kid—about the same age as the last ones—walked out onto the pool deck. The man stopped and talked to him.

“Wait, I definitely know that kid, though,” Chris said. The guy shook the kid’s hand, clapped him on the back, and they went into the shadows. A few seconds later, the kid came out, hopped on a bike, and sped away.

Chris pulled himself out of the water and stood on the deck, watching the boy go. I scrambled up the ladder and stood next to him, shading my eyes from the sun. “Who is it?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “I know him, though. I want to say his name is Sam.”

We watched until the kid rode out of sight, then got our towels and dried off. “So maybe you do know that guy, then. Maybe he’s Sam’s dad. Or cousin. Or brother or . . . or uncle?”