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Charlie seems to turn that over in his head a few times. Then he shrugs again.
“Yeah.”
He frowns like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. He looks so similar to my Dad when he’s disappointed. I smother a smile.
“Okay. If something changes, you let me know.”
I focus on the road in front of me. The road splits, the right fork heading toward town, the left fork seemingly heading right down to the water. I take the right fork, coming up over a crest. Suddenly, the beach is right there, sand piled up in a long furrow on the other side of the freshly repaved black asphalt highway.
“Gonna see Mimi?” Charlie asks.
I slow down again and take the right turn into the long driveway that leads to the sprawling Italian-inspired estate where I grew up. From here, I can see the white marble mansion and the crushed pink stone turnaround before the house.
“Yep. Big Daddy and Mimi live at the beach. We’re going to stay with them for a while, remember?”
I know the next question is coming, whether I want it to or not. I steel myself.
Charlie asks quietly, “Where’s Mommy?”
My recent ex wouldn’t stay here if it were the last place on earth. Not only is it too far from the city for her tastes, but she never got along well with my dad.
Besides, we aren’t exactly on good terms now. Not after she threw a very public fit over my taking Charlie and dragged me on social media. Her actions were directly responsible for several athletes finding new representation.
So my ex can cool her heels in California for another six months. Then we’ll talk.
Meanwhile, I still have to answer my son’s question as tactfully as possible.
“It’s just going to be you and me for a while—a fun father-son trip. We can build sandcastles and pet the horses and walk into town. Doesn’t that sound good?”
I look back. Charlie's head is turned away toward the beach. He seems to study the sandy terrain and crashing waves for a moment. His blue eyes are so expressive. I often find myself wondering what Charlie’s inner monologue is about.
“Okay,” he finally says. But he doesn’t sound sure about it at all.
Like father, like son. We make quite a pair.
I pull the convertible up in front of a massive, Italian granite mansion. Before I can even blink, my dad’s lumbering form appears at the passenger side door.
“Y’all made it!” he crows. “There’s my favorite grandson. Welcome to La Villa Coralle!”
My dad is a tall, broad-chested man with short salt-and-pepper hair and indigo eyes. He wears an untucked light blue button-up and a pair of jeans. My son Charlie lights up as soon as he lays eyes on him.
“Big Daddy!” he shouts, instantly reaching out to my father. My dad leans into the car and unbuckles him, swinging him high in the air. For a second, I’m sure my kid will plummet to the ground. I scrabble with my seatbelt, bracing for impact.
But my dad swings Charlie down without incident. My heart stutters back to life. Charlie squeals delightedly as my dad kisses him.
I get out of the car. My stepmom Sarah catches me by surprise because I didn’t see her standing there.
She’s as tiny as my father is big, with long blonde hair that’s teased to high heaven and a neon orange oversized t-shirt thrown on over a pair of green patterned leggings. Little gold crosses hang from her delicate necklace and the matching bracelet on her wrist.
“Sam, you really shouldn’t be throwing your grandson around like that,” she tells my father. Her accent is thicker than molasses. The gentle way she scolds my father is like a mere mortal tiptoeing around the presence of a god.
“I’ll be fine,” my father says. He tickles Charlie’s stomach. “Isn’t that right?”
“Charlie has to use the little boys’ room,” I warn my dad.
“Is that right?” Dad says to Charlie. “Let’s go inside real quick. Hurry! Hurry!”
Charlie laughs as my Dad chases him into the house.
