“I was thinking about the houseboat,” he said, pointing. Sure enough, there was a little floating house out there that Rebecca had never noticed. On the upper deck she could see two people sitting in Adirondack chairs.

“It’s adorable,” she said. “Is that someone’s actual house?”

He had his phone out. “It could be ours,” he said. “I mean, for a night.” He tapped on the screen. “It’s a rental. Newburyport Houseboats. A buddy of mine manages them. Look, they have availability for the day after tomorrow. Should I book it? Here, look at this.” He held the phone out to her. “See how great it is? There’s a little kitchen with a two-burner stove, and a bathroom. There’s a hair dryer! And a bed, of course.” He winked. “There’s a really nice bed. Let’s book it!”

“Daniel!” She tried to keep the note of exasperation out of her voice. “I can’t do that. I can’t just—stay on a houseboat with you. I have children. And they don’t know about you. What would I tell the girls?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “That you’re seeing somebody? That you’re a tiny bit happy?”

“No,” she said. “Nope. I can’t do it. They’re not ready. I’m not ready.”

He put the phone in his pocket and sighed. She fixed her gaze on a family looking up at the tall ship. Their heads were all pointed at the exact same angle. She didn’t want to fight with Daniel. She really, really didn’t want to, but she could sense the fight coming the way an animal could sense a thunderstorm from a change in the air. “Rebecca, we’ve been together for almost six months now. You know I’m going to be as respectful of your grief as anyone else, but I don’t think I can live in the shadows forever. You don’t even have me as a contact on your phone!”

“I know your number by heart.”

“That’s not the point.”

“You don’t know what it’s like for me, Daniel. You don’t have kids. That part of it is really complicated.”

Daniel’s face had taken on an expression Rebecca had never seen on him before: a cross between a teacher who’d stayed up too late grading exams and a Boston-bound commuter who’d just encountered construction on the Tobin Bridge. When he spoke, it was with someone else’s voice, a sharper, harsher voice. “With all due respect, Rebecca, you don’t know what it’s like for me. I feel I’m grieving your loss and my loss, while you’re only grieving yours. I’ve got to be honest with you. It feels unbalanced.”

The family moved on. A curly-haired dog put its front paws on the adjoining bench, looking at its owner’s ice cream cone.