She might join us later in the week,” he said, pouring the coffee. “It depends on her schedule.”
He took a sip, looking out the window at the neighbor’s yard. He did not look at Sophie.
“But Ava is sixteen,” Sophie said. “She doesn’t drive to Grand Haven by herself.”
“Aurora might drop her off,” Nathan said.
The name of his first wife sat in the kitchen like an unwashed dish. Nathan had always maintained that Aurora kept her distance from his parents, yet now she was driving his daughter to their beach house.
“I thought your mother preferred to keep the guest rooms clear of extra visitors,” I said, my fingers finding the edge of my watch strap again.
“It is different with Ava,” Nathan said, setting his mug down with a soft click. “She is Thomas and Linda’s first grandchild.”
“I thought we were all family,” Sophie said, setting the mug down on the counter.
Nathan didn’t answer. He picked up his coffee and walked toward the hallway where his leather suitcase lay open on the bench.
By noon, the hallway smelled of shoe polish and the cedar chest Nathan kept in the spare bedroom. His large leather suitcase sat open on the wooden bench, already half-filled with neatly folded linen shirts.
Caleb stood by the coat closet, his thumb marking his place in a paperback about Michigan reptiles. He had his blue hood pulled low over his forehead, almost touching his eyebrows, though the house was warm.
“Dad,” Caleb said, his voice quiet.
Nathan did not look up from rolling his grey socks into tight, identical spheres. “Yeah, buddy?”
“The lake is four blocks from the house, right?” Caleb asked.
“Three blocks,” Nathan said. “You can hear the foghorns when the humidity is high.”
“Could we come for just one weekend?” Caleb asked. “Just Saturday and Sunday?”
