The Rest of the Story(105)

“Could happen,” I said, pulling some sunblock out of my bag. “So only half a day, huh? Are you off too, or just going to another job?”

“Driving the Yum truck around all the beaches until five,” he said. “Then I promised Silas I’d come by the Station for backup in case he needs it before the fireworks start. But then, I am free and clear.”

“Which will be when? Like, ten or so?”

“Probably,” he said, and I laughed. “But still, it’s something. Which is good because everyone knows the Fourth is my favorite holiday.”

“Just like your dad, huh?”

“You remembered,” he said. I remember everything, I wanted to say. “Yeah. My mom always talked about how much he loved the fireworks. The Fourth was one of the times we always remembered him, with the whole sparkler thing.”

“What sparkler thing?”

“You haven’t heard about that?” he asked. Then, before I could reply, he said, “Well, I guess you wouldn’t have. It’s kind of a lake thing.”

So many lake things. Even if I’d had a whole summer, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t learn them all.

“When my dad died, my grandparents planned the whole funeral,” Roo explained as I hoped against hope Juan was gone on a long errand this time. I wanted to hear this. “Church service, very formal and sad. But my mom felt like it didn’t capture him as he really was, you know. So that evening, she had a service of her own.”

“With sparklers?”

“Hundreds of them,” he said. “She, Silas, Celeste, and Waverly bought every box they could find in the entire county. When people arrived, they got a handful and some matches. Then, after everyone said what they wanted to, they lit them all at the same time.”

“Wow.”

“I know.” He was quiet a second: I could hear buzzing on the phone line between us. “The thing about sparklers? They’re cool but quick. You light them, they go like crazy, and then it’s all over. So it always seemed fitting to me, you know, that they did that for my dad. A big life lived, gone too soon. That sort of thing.”

I was quiet for a moment. Then I said, “Like my mom, too.”

“Well . . . yeah,” he said. “After she passed, they did it again. Same beach, same crowd. And every Fourth since, that I can remember anyway.”

“Sparklers.”

“Yep. All year we buy them up wherever we see them. It’s one of our few family traditions.”

Out by the pool, the sun was growing stronger, people arriving to the chairs around me with their beach bags and floats. “I was already sad I was missing the fireworks with you guys,” I said quietly. “Now I’d give anything to be there.”

“You will be, in spirit,” he said. “And if you’re watching from the Tides, you’ll probably see it. Hard to miss, especially if you know when to look.”

“Which is . . .”

“At the very end, when the last big blasts are over,” he finished for me.

I pulled my legs up to my chest. “I’ll be watching,” I told him. “And Roo?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“For what?” he asked.

“For the stories. And the album. And just calling.”

“Don’t thank me, it’s mutual,” he said. “I’d go nuts if this was seriously about windows all day long.”

I smiled. “I will listen anytime.”

“I appreciate that,” he said. We were both quiet a second. “So, look. When you’re free to come and go as you please—”

“If,” I corrected him.

“When,” he repeated, “do you think you might want to . . . well, I’m glad you asked! Once we run the credit check, we’ll go ahead and set you up for a visit by one of our knowledgeable, bonded technicians. They’ll take measurements, then discuss the best options for protection of your home, at which point . . .”

He kept talking, but I couldn’t think about windows. I couldn’t think about anything but those words he had been saying, leading to what I thought was a question, now unasked. Would I what? Want to buy storm protection? Light sparklers together? Or something else?

Just then, there was a burst of feedback from the Pavilion and Tracy appeared, now in her own swimsuit, to take the beach chair next to me. In between covering my ears and greeting her, I lost Roo. Sadly, with this job he could only call out. I’d have to wait. And I knew I would.

It was around six, as I walked across the lobby with Tracy and Dad, headed to the cookout on the beach, when the concierge called out to us. “Mr. Payne?”

My dad stopped, looking over at the desk. “Yes?”

“Something was left for you earlier,” he said, reaching under the counter to pull out a small brown bag. “Or, for Saylor?”

“Emma?” he said.

The concierge looked at the bag, then back at us. “Perhaps I misunderstood? This says Saylor Payne, but . . .”

“That’s me,” I told him, stepping forward.

He handed me the bag. “Have a wonderful evening.”

I thanked him, taking it, then carefully opened the flap. Inside was a box of sparklers and a pack of matches. I smiled.