“Have a nice trip,” I said.

It was practically dark by the time John and I got to the beach to hang the pine cone birdfeeders I’d made on the beachy little Christmas tree. Horatio raced ahead, stretching his retractable leash as far as it would go.

John and I held our available hands, swinging them back and forth to the sound of the waves crashing.

“When I stayed overnight at your condo,” I said, “sometimes I used to pretend that the sound of the traffic was the ocean.”

“I’m sure the short-term executive rental company who’s handling it could find a way to get that into the pitch materials. Distant ocean sounds or something like that.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Like those peek-through ocean views we almost fell for a couple of times when we were house hunting.”

“Sometimes,” John said, “when I wake up in the middle of the night now, it’s so quiet I can’t get back to sleep. I guess I got used to that sound.”

“I bet there’s an app for that,” I said. “You know, traffic sounds to lull you softly to sleep.”

The beachy version of Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree came into view.

The scruffy dog we’d seen last time was standing up on its hind legs in the fleeting light, sliding a ribbon-tied dog treat off one spindly tree branch with its teeth.

“Aww,” I said. “How cute.”

The dog turned at the sound of my voice, gulped down the treat. When it saw Horatio, it began wagging its tail a mile a minute. Horatio got low, wagged his tail back.

The scruffy dog and Horatio dashed toward each other like long-lost friends.

“No,” John yelled as he retracted Horatio’s leash. “Go away,” he added in a really mean voice in the other dog’s direction.

The scruffy dog backed away, cowering. Then he turned and ran.

We stood in front of the tree. It was weighed down with candy canes and popcorn garlands and double the amount of ornaments that had been here last time. It still had more dog treats on it.

John pulled a flashlight out of his back pocket and shined it on the tree. I reached into the plastic bag I was holding. I pulled out the pine cone birdfeeders I’d made. One by one I hung them on the tree.

It should have been a beautiful moment, maybe even the start of a new yearly tradition for us. The beach to ourselves. The crash of midnight blue waves in the distance as the dark closed in on us. Decorating the most beautiful little Christmas tree in the world.

“How could you?” I said.

To his credit, John didn’t pretend not to know what I was talking about. “I don’t want that dog near Horatio. It could have been anywhere. It might be sick. There’s a leash law.”