Waves banged against the wood pilings; she wanted to wait until the water calmed before she jumped. Nick broke the calm of the water, broke the calm of her mind. Debris rose to the surface: a Coke can, a bottle cap, memories—but she listened to him and jumped with the waves still returning to bang the boat against its slip. She mistimed the waves, and she and the waves hit the hull of the boat simultaneously. She flew into the air; Nick grabbed her arm and used his body to steady her—to keep her from plunging between the dock and the boat. He held her tight against his chest, his arms wrapped around her waist.

She knew where to rest her hands, her mouth; she knew what to hold and when. His hand pushed on the small of her back and she understood where to bend and push at the same time. But of course, she didn’t.

She laughed. “That was graceful of me.”

He didn’t laugh. Pain passed over his face—a look she recognized with acute awareness. “Did I hurt you?” she asked.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Thanks for catching me. It’s not your fault I decided to hit the boat like a whale.” Her lips shivered as her smile shook—he’d notice.

He touched her bottom lip; she pulled away.

“You still leave me weak, Amy Malone.”

“Reynolds. It’s Reynolds. Stop.” She held up her hand.

“Nicky . . . is the cooler already in the boat?” Eliza called from the top deck. Amy turned.

“Yes, got it,” Nick called up.

Amy laughed out loud. “Nicky?”

“Not funny, Ame.”

“Yes, very funny, Nicky.”

Eliza’s drawl and domestic familiarity broke the reverie as Phil walked down the wooden planks leading to the dock. He appeared, Amy thought with shame, smaller, dimmer against Nick’s magnitude and energy. She reached out her hand for Phil as he climbed into the boat balancing a glass of wine and a fleece.

Jet Skis roared up behind the boat; Molly sat behind Alex, who bore the genetic kiss of Eliza in his high cheek-bones and thin face, his flashing hair falling over his eyes. Molly arms grasped Alex’s waist. She leaned forward, yelled out, “Come on, let’s rock.”

“Whoa . . . ” Phil said. “Slow down, Mol.”

“Whatever, Dad.”

Alex yelled over the engine, “Which cove do you want to head to, Dad? I’ll meet you there.”

“Son, wait for us.” Nick leaned across the boat and pulled in a rope.

Jack and Lisbeth pulled up next to them on another Jet Ski. Lisbeth’s legs were wrapped around Jack’s’; her hands were clasped in front of his chest as she melded to his body. Amy turned from their physical contact, her limbs lazy as though she herself sat on the back of the vibrating Jet Ski.