The night air on the balcony was thick and warm, smelling of salt water and the damp concrete of the pool deck below. The children were finally asleep in the double beds inside, their small faces pale in the glow of the nightlight. Mark sat on the metal chair on the balcony, a half-empty glass of melting ice water on the small table beside him.
I stepped out onto the balcony and closed the heavy glass behind me, sitting in the chair opposite him. The distant sound of pool toys splashing and music from the resort bar drifted up through the dark.
“The kids loved the pool this afternoon,” I said, looking at him.
He did not look up from his phone screen, which cast a blue light across his nose and forehead.
“That is good,” he said.
“I was thinking tomorrow we could go to the nature trail at ten,” I said, touching the edge of my silver wedding band. “Then we have the lunch reservation by the marina.”
Mark set his glass down, the ice clinking against the glass.
