Pop finally drops it and returns to organizing my luggage. He likes to roll the clothes into neat little tubes, which somehow allows him to cram more into the carry-on suitcase than should be physically possible. My mom always makes our family travel with carry-ons only. She doesn’t like to wait for luggage at the airport.

“Wait,” Pop says after a minute. “Don’t you have a swimsuit?”

I shake my head. “I don’t own one.”

“Ada!” he exclaims like I am personally offending him with my appalling lack of swimwear. “We live in California.”

“I’m aware.”

“You can go to the beach any time you want.”

I shrug. The beach makes me think of Santa Cruz. Which makes me think of Leo.

“We have a pool,” Pop says.

“I know. I swam in it, like twice, when we first moved here.” That was around the time Abby was born. Swimming just isn’t my thing. Especially now. God. I never want to set eyes on a pool again. Because that of course also makes me think of Leo.

It’s a good thing that I’m escaping to Hawaii, which is made up entirely of pools and beaches.

Pop huffs. “How do you not own a single swimsuit?”

“I used to.” It was black, if I remember correctly, with a white diagonal stripe across the chest. I grew out of it and never got around to procuring a new one. That time I swam in Leo’s pool, I did it in my underwear. Which felt bold and sexy at the time. I swallow. “I could get one—maybe, somewhere . . . before tomorrow morning. Hmm. This seems unlikely.”

Pop apparently decides it’s not important. “No worries. If there’s one thing a person can buy in Hawaii, it’s a bathing suit.” He sighs wistfully. “I love Hawaii. Your mother and I had our honeymoon in Kauai.”

“I remember. I was mad because you didn’t take us.”

“We had a beautiful time there. One morning we got up early, just as the sun was coming up, and we went paddleboarding. It was so tranquil out there on the water. It was an almost spiritual experience.”

That sounds amazing. It also sounds like just what I need. “You’ll have to teach me,” I say.

His faraway gaze focuses on me. “Teach you?”

“How to paddleboard.”

His mouth tightens. “Oh. About that,” he says quietly. “I’m not coming this time.”

“Not coming paddleboarding?”

“Not coming. To Hawaii. We’ve had a last-minute change to the schedule.”

I stare at Pop breathlessly. “What? But you always come to the STS conference.”

“I can’t this time. It turns out that they need me at work.”

Abby stops jumping on the bed and flops down onto the bedspread. “Wait, why can’t you come, Poppy?”

He strokes her hair. After taking a minute to consider, he says, “Well, you know that I’m a nurse.”