And then I just … started laughing. The relief of that news was physical. It was like my whole heart just unclenched.

“I do think neutral colors are better for safety. But that mural was all the things you said. It was sunshine. It was magic. So I researched paints until I could find something temporary. They were supposed to paint it over the break—and I was going to warn you, and explain it all before you saw it. But they got things out of order. I’m sorry.”

I just stared at him.

“When the world is a safer place, we’ll bring it back.”

And then, I couldn’t help it. I hugged him.

“Thank you,” I said. Then I took what felt like the deepest breath of my life. “I was so angry at you, it was physically painful.”

Duncan nodded. “Are you less mad now?”

I thought about it. The relief left me almost tingly. “I’m less mad.”

Just then, down the beach, Helen started jumping, and waving her arms, and calling for Duncan, so we started walking in her direction.

“So,” Duncan said, as we fell into step. “While you’re less mad, I have a kind of odd favor to ask. I’ve been meaning to call you about it.”

“Okay.”

He took a breath. “I know that we do not always see eye to eye on Kempner-related issues.”

I let out a bitter, “Ha!”

“But … it turns out that, these days, you are the one person in this town that I’m closest to.”

“That is very sad,” I said, “given that we’re mortal enemies.”

“And,” he went on, “it turns out, the week before New Year’s, I have to have a quick surgery.”

“A quick surgery?”

“It’s outpatient. No big deal. But they’re going to sedate me—hopefully heavily—and so I’m going to need a ride home. I scheduled it for when Helen would be here, but it turns out they have to go back early.”

I nodded. “So … you need a ride home?”

“I said I could just take an Uber, but they want to release me to a known party.”

“Um. I don’t drive.”

“You don’t drive?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

No way was I telling him the real reason. “Just eccentric, I guess.”

“You can use my car.”

“No—I don’t drive at all. Like, ever.”

“Oh.” He looked disappointed.

“But I could call a car service, if that works.”

He nodded. “That would be … really helpful.”

“What’s the surgery for?” I asked then.

He shook his head. “Just … breaking up some old scar tissue. It’s called cryosurgery, actually. They freeze you with liquid nitrogen.”

“Cool,” I said.

He sighed like “cool” was the last word he would’ve used. Then he said, “Not really.”

When we caught up to Helen, she had her arm around the waist of a tall, cool guy wearing a peacoat and aviator glasses—and they had two little girls running in circles around them, now throwing the tennis ball for Chuck Norris.

“Sam,” Duncan said. “This is my best-friend slash brother-in-law, J-Train. J-Train, meet my … employee. Sam Casey.”

J-Train stuck his hand out in my direction. “Great to meet you, Sam.”

I took his hand and shook it. “Great to meet you, too—” and just as I was trying to decide if I should actually say J-Train, Duncan slapped a hand on J-Train’s shoulder and said, “He also goes by J-Money, J-Town, J-Dog, and J. J. McJayJaykins.”

“Among others,” J-Train concurred, grabbing Duncan by the neck as he did and pulling him into a noogie. “But Jake works, too.”

“Jake. Gotcha,” I said, but the words were lost as Duncan tackled him, and they hit the sand and started wrestling.

“Jake!” Helen called out. “Glasses!”

Both boys held still for one second while Jake pulled off his aviators and handed them to Helen.

“Careful of the left side,” Duncan said to Jake during the pause.

“Careful of the eyes,” Jake said to Duncan.

Then they got back to wrestling.

Helen stepped over closer to me and we watched them for a minute. “They’re basically just human puppies,” Helen said.

“Huh,” I said.

Helen and I turned toward the girls, now a little farther down the beach, turning cartwheels while Chuck Norris barked at seagulls. Helen pointed. “That’s Virginia. She’s six. And that’s Addie. She’s four.”

We walked a few steps toward them.

“So,” Helen asked then, “how’s Duncan doing?”

“I can hear you!” Duncan called from behind us, where Jake had him in a wrestling hold. “Don’t ask her how I’m doing.”

“The grown-ups are talking,” Helen called back with a dismissive wave. Then, back to me: “How is he doing?”

“Um…” I wasn’t really sure what to say. “Fine? I guess? I don’t really know him that well.”

Helen glanced back at the boys. “You don’t?”

“I mean … we’re—”

“Helen!” Duncan shouted—Jake now sitting on his back. “We’re just work colleagues.”

Just as I said, “Work colleagues.”

“Oh,” Helen said. “That’s all?”

I shrugged. I could have added “mortal enemies,” I supposed. But it didn’t seem to fit with the wrestling-in-the-sand energy of the moment.

“Huh,” Helen said. “I got a different vibe.”

“Helen!” Duncan shouted, now overtaking Jake. “Shut up!”

Helen turned back and eyed Duncan. “How much does she know about you?”

“Nothing!” Duncan shouted. “And keep it that way!”

“I wouldn’t say nothing,” I said. “But he does keep to himself.” Plus, I didn’t add, I was still trying to get him fired, washable paint or no.

“Yeah,” Helen said. “We’ve been worried about that. Maybe you and I should go get coffee.”

“No! No getting coffee!” Duncan shouted, breaking free from Jake at last and launching himself up into a run toward Helen, looking dead set on tackling her. She held still as he came at her and then, at the last second, she darted away like a matador.

So Duncan wound up tackling me, instead.

He was covered in sand, and when we landed, there was another spray of it. I squeezed my eyes closed, and in the background, I heard Jake say, “Did Duncan just tackle somebody?”

“Yes,” Helen answered. “His work colleague.”

Then Jake said, “That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

I opened my eyes, and there was Duncan, backlit by the sky, looking straight down at me. “You okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” I said.

We hesitated there for a second, the wind fluttering the hair over his forehead, and I felt suddenly so elated that I didn’t have to be mad at him anymore. Or, at least, not as mad.

“Close your eyes,” Duncan said then.

“Why?” I said, but I closed them. For one crazy second, I thought he might be about to kiss me—there in front of his family, and God, and the whole Gulf of Mexico.

But the next thing I felt wasn’t his mouth on mine—it was the tips of his fingers, brushing sand off my cheekbone. “Keep ’em tight,” he said.

I squeezed them tighter.

“Not that tight.”

I tried to relax.

“Man, you got sand all over the place.”

“Um,” I said, eyes still closed. “You got sand all over the place.”

“True enough.” Then he was quiet as he brushed my hairline, my forehead, my chin, and my ears. The softness of it was a stark contrast from getting tackled, I’ll say that. At one point, Chuck Norris tried to come over and lick us, but Helen snapped his leash on pretty quick and walked him over to Jake to hold.

Then, Duncan paused. After I hadn’t felt his touch for a few seconds, I opened my eyes.

He was looking at me, like there was something he wanted to say.

Finally, his eyes crinkled in a wry way, and he said, in a faux-scold, “Be more careful next time.”

“You be more careful.”

That’s when Duncan looked up and saw his sister and brother-in-law watching us intently. “Sorry about that,” he said then. “I was aiming for my sister.” And at the word “sister,” he launched himself up and went chasing her off down the beach.

I sat up. Was I fine? I took an inventory.

Fine enough, I decided.

I stood up to brush myself off and noticed that Jake had put his aviators back on and was doing the same. I walked a little closer to him. “They have a love-hate thing,” Jake said, still brushing. “In a good way. Most of the time.”

The girls took off running after their mom and uncle, and then Chuck Norris, wrenching the leash out of Jake’s hand, took off after them like a blur.

“He’s chasing them?” Jake asked.

“Do you want me to go after him?” I asked.

“Nah.”

I watched him run, his gray fur undulating with each leap. “Chuck Norris is the worst security dog in the world.”

“That makes sense,” Jake said. “He failed out of training school for ‘overexuberance.’”

“That sounds about right.”

“Duncan was sure he could fix him,” Jake said.

“He hasn’t managed it yet,” I said.

Jake went on, bending over to shake sand out of his hair. “It’s good for him, though. We tried to get him to move home to Evanston after everything, but he wanted to come here.”

But I’d stopped listening to what he was saying—distracted instead by the way he was saying it. I turned to stare at Jake. “Can you say something else?”

“Like what?”

“Anything. Pledge of Allegiance? Recite a poem?”