Page 95 of In Your Wake

“Like your mother kidnapped me,” Dad answers.

Mom scoffs. “Don’t complain. You begged to come.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You pouted until I called Spencer.”

Dad looks at me. “Your mother’s become a liar in her old age.”

“Old age? I’m sixty-three, not an old hag.”

“Robyn, you don’t look a day over thirty,” Spencer says behind me, and I roll my eyes, but Mom points at him with a dimpled smile.

“You see, Bill? That’s why Spencer’s always been my favorite,” she says.

Spencer offers her a wink, and she giggles.

“Well, he’s mine today, too, but only because he’s letting us use the boat,” Dad jokes.

We all laugh, even Mom, who leans her head on Dad’s shoulder. He smirks, but I’m not sure if it’s because he’s so proud of his joke, or because of the lady by his side. I hope it’s the latter.

While the dockhands untie the ropes and Spencer heads to the helm to ease us out to sea, I join everyone else sitting at the stern.

“He made it!” Hunter cheers, getting up to hug me.

I step into the recessed sitting area and slide onto the white leather seat next to him. Bethany and Celia are chatting with Maxine, who barely gives me a second glance, too focused on her conversation.

There’s been a lot of that lately—subtle looks laced with tension.

“Hey, Mitch,” Bethany says, finally noticing me. “Your dad seems to be doing a lot better.” Her soft, kind smile and eyes don’t hide the sadness behind them, but I smile back anyway.

“Yeah, he is,” I lie.

This morning I decided that’s how today would go: lying and avoiding reality. Which is fine. On a beautiful day like this one, hanging out with the people I care about the most, nothing should ruin it, especially not talk of lingering death.

A half-hour later, I drift away from the others, needing a second to breathe. Or rather I need a second where it doesn’t feel as if everyone is watching me.

The farther I get from the chatter, the more I focus on the creak of the yacht, the steady rush of water cutting against the hull, even the gulls crying overhead. I rest my forearms on the railing and stare out at the endless stretch of dark blue.

A few minutes pass when I hear footsteps approaching. Spencer stops beside me, leaning against the railing with his shoulder brushing mine. He hands me a beer.

“Why are you hiding over here?”

“Not hiding, just taking in the view.”

“Looks suspiciously like you pouting.”

I let out a quiet snort into my beer. “Are you always this annoying?”

“Only with people I care about.” He glances sideways at me. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

He cocks his head. “Mitch…”

I sigh. “Honestly, I’m okay. Dad’s great today. Better.” The words come automatically now. “He’s in a good mood, so that’s all I could hope for.”

Spencer watches me for a second before shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant.”