We Own the Sky(44)

Flanagan’s neck.





12

I listened to the waves lapping against the shore, with the occasional crash, the wake from a distant boat. Anna was reclined on the chaise lounge, reading her book. Jack sat on his beach mat, flicking through his Pokémon cards. His hair was beginning to thicken with salt and sand, his nape tinted blond with the sun.

We loved watching his hair grow after the operation, back to how it was when he was young, when the barbershop was an ordeal. Anna wanted him to grow it long, to let it curl and flop into his eyes. She didn’t want him to ever cut it again.

Dr. Flanagan had been right. The MRI showed that she got it all. Jack soon regained his strength. He started school again. He went up the London Eye with his class. He even started football training with Hampstead Colts. Did we dream it all? Look at him, look at him, I thought as I watched him play football or jump into the swimming pool. Does that look like a boy who had a brain tumor?

It had been Anna’s idea to come to Crete, an apartment her colleague had

recommended. It was a penthouse suite, a terrace with an unbroken view of the sea. The apartments were at the quieter end of the beach, away from the boat trips and Jet Skis, the hawkers selling dresses and coral necklaces and salted corn on the cob.

Suddenly, Jack shrieked, jumped off his beach mat and ran to the water’s

edge, dodging and weaving, leaving wet footprints in the sand. We jumped up, thinking something was wrong, and then we saw the butterfly dancing around his head.

“It’s chasing me, it’s a wasp,” Jack said, waving his arms around, his little feet jumping in the sand.

“It’s a butterfly, Jack. It’s not going to hurt you,” I said.

“How do you know?” he said. “Butterflies can eat people sometimes.” He

walked toward me, holding out his hands like a dinosaur. “Really, Daddy. How do you know?”

“Because I’m very clever.”

“Ha,” he said, twisting my toe, “you’re not as clever as Philip Cleaver.”

“Is he clever then?”

“He can read and write and do all the sums, since he was a baby.”

“Wow, do they call him Clever Cleaver?”

“What?” Jack said, his hands bolshily on his hips. “His name isn’t Clever, it’s Philip.”

Anna laughed. “It’s okay, Jack,” she said. “No one gets Daddy’s jokes. By the way, is it too early for a beer?”

“It’s 11:05,” I said, looking at my watch.

“That’s acceptable on holiday, right?”

“I thought we had decided 10:30 was the acceptable cutoff.”

“Ah, then one beer, please, and some of those little chocolate pretzel things.”

Anna stretched out on the chaise longue, her legs turning a light shade of brown.

“Anything else?” I said.

“No, no,” she said, “that will be all, although you could do my back before you go?”

Anna sat forward and handed me the cream, and it was nice to touch her

again, to feel the soft purchase of her skin.

“So nice,” she said, sighing a little too hard, as if we were alone after Jack had gone to bed.

“It is nice.”

“But you should stop, otherwise I might do something inappropriate.”

“Okay,” I said, laughing and rubbing in the last bit of sun cream.

“Right, matey,” I said to Jack. “Shall we get some ice cream?”

“Again?” Jack asked. “Is it the weekend?”

“We’re on holiday, Jack. We can have ice cream every day.”

We walked along the beach to the bar, Jack running ahead with a stick he had found. His camera strap was slung over his shoulder, and it reminded me of how Anna used to carry her viola case around campus.

As the beach curved into another bay, we stood on a little outcrop and looked out to sea.

“It’s beautiful here, Daddy.”

“It is, isn’t it? Look, can you see the little fish jumping in the water?”

I pointed to the ripples and bubbles on the surface. “Fishies, fishies,” Jack said, hopping up and down. “Why are they jumping, Daddy? Are they playing?”

I tried to think of an answer but didn’t really know why. “I think so, or maybe they’re looking for food.”

Jack began to take his camera out of the case.

“You going to take some pictures?”

Jack nodded, carefully holding his camera with two hands as we had shown

him. He then pointed it toward the fish and started snapping away.

I watched him, crouching down, getting as close to the water as he could. The weather was perfect, the sun beating down, not a cloud in the sky. In the distance, there were yachts out on the open sea, their masts twinkling in the sunlight.

“Daddy, Daddy, look,” Jack shouted excitedly. He was holding out his camera.

I looked at the little screen, and there was a close-up of a fish jumping out of the water, its silver skin shining, its mouth agape.

“Wow, Jack, that’s amazing. That could win a competition or something.

You’ll have to show Mommy.”

Jack beamed. “I’m going to show my teacher when we go back to England.”