Page 47 of Parentmoon

“You still deserve a vacation, darlin’.” He reaches around me and takes the phone from my grasp.

Twisting to face him, I say, “But at Michael and Keli’s expense?” Our eyes meet and while I’m certain mine are full of doubt, his are full of mischief.

“So, you’ve been enjoying yourself with me?” He crooks the corner of his mouth, flipping on that dimple and dismissing my concern.

“You’re okay, I guess.” I lift my hands to smooth over the soft, fresh T-shirt covering his chest. He’s wearing longer, looser swim trunks in bright green, but the top of his snug swim briefs peak above his waistband.

“Just okay?” He leans forward and kisses one corner of my mouth. “Guess I’ll need to work on a few things.” He kisses the other corner of my lips and I chase after him, but he pulls back before our mouths fully connect, chuckling.

“You improve anymore, and I won’t be able to walk,” I mutter to myself.

Dallas laughs harder, richer, and rubs his hands down my arms once more. “I’d just carry you, then.”

He’s so full of the right words. I’m ready to retort that I’d be too heavy for him to lift when he scoops down and catches me by the back of my legs. He hoists me up to his chest, cradle-holding me, and carries me over the threshold to exit the beach house for our next adventure.

+ + +

We’re back in a golf cart heading in the opposite direction of town. The day is heating up and since we aren’t by the ocean, the ride is warm with only a roof over our heads and no sides on the vehicle. Dallas points out homes that are being built in what looks like the middle of nowhere as well as resorts that are only half finished.

“What made you buy here?”

“Some of the best fly fishing in the world is here, like I told you. I’d been here twice and decided I’d rather buy than keep renting out hotel rooms for a week. Plus, leasing out my place is an investment and income.” He winks at me. “I consider this place my retirement fund, but I don’t see myself retiring anytime soon.”

“How old are you?” Keli has told me, but I don’t quite remember.

“Forty-nine years young and proud of it,” he chuckles.

“So you had Keli when you were twenty-three?”

“And you had Michael when you were eighteen.”

Dallas knowing this detail shouldn’t surprise me. Michael knows I was pregnant with him and married too young.

When I don’t respond, Dallas side-eyes me. “Let’s make a deal. No more talk about Michael and Keli today, okay? We can’t pretend their day isn’t haunting us, but let’s not let it get in the way of us enjoying ourselves. If we don’t hear from them by tomorrow, we reach out then.”

My mom-brain rushes through worst case scenarios, but then I accept that both our kids are mentally stable adults, despite their current heartbreak.

“Deal,” I say as we hit a pothole in the road Dallas couldn’t avoid. The pavement is narrow with a bog on either side of us, and in some places, the divots span the width of the packed dirt. There’s no way around some ruts, only through them.

“Kiss on it,” Dallas demands as we hit smoother pavement. He side-leans toward me, and I give him a quick peck. “That will have to do. You can make it up to me later.”

“You’re driving,” I remind him, laughter in my tone.

“Still gonna hold you to more kissing later, darlin’.”

I laugh harder, letting this man make me giddy and clear my mind little bit of the ache around my heart for our children.

Eventually, we arrive at Secret Beach, which Dallas remarks is not secret. Natives know about it and tell every tourist to visit it. We pass a beach that is loud and rambunctious with bouncy slides and water toys in the ocean, and drive down a secluded looking path that dead ends.

“It’s gorgeous.” My breath hitches as I take in the view.

The water is blue and clear. This is a private cove separating this beach from the one down the way with all the noise. Positioned on a hard point of land jutting into the ocean, a long wooden pier extends into the water, further segregating this section from other parts of the beach. An open-air bar provides drink service and has a kitchen for food. Beach chairs and loungers are scattered in small groups beneath a variety of thatched huts, canvas cabanas, and oversized umbrellas. Additional chairs are open to the sunshine.

“You said you wanted to swim in the ocean. Now you can.”

He came here for me. I can’t find the words to express my gratitude.

“Can’t take the sunshine as much as you, but we can start out in the sun and move under a canopy later,” Dallas suggests pointing at a cabana with lounge chairs both underneath it and beside it.