Page 68 of On Fire

I squat down to his level, though my lower back and quads are so tight I have to suck in some air.

“That’s us. We’re married,” he says, pointing as he explains. There are thin, colorful arcs of color behind the house. “That’s a rainbow.”

I almost can’t speak. I clear my throat. “Is this for me?” With Cory you always have to ask, and now that he answers questions, his ability to communicate fostered behavioral leaps.

He nods, but his forehead is still furrowed.

“Can I give you a hug?”

“No,” he says cheerfully enough, but he takes my hand to help me up when I rise from the floor to stand. Laurel and Mateus have worked so hard with him and for a kid with autism, he’s come far in the two years I’ve been privileged to watch him grow up.

Then Devon and Luke walk through the kitchen door. They both look tired. He’s had to work four sites in the last three days, and she’s dealt with four house fires and two accidents—one on the Interstate 95 involving a tractor trailer and an RV.

“You up for a walk?” asks Finn.

“I came here to work.”

“Right. Well, you’re not getting debriefed on anything until we hit the beach.”

Claire returns with a commuter mug of coffee and hands it over. “To keep you warm.” She grabs an oversized sweater draped over a wicker chair and slips it on.

It is slightly chilly this morning—a welcome relief after the temperatures last week. I had decided to lose the suit today and wore jeans. The forest green, long sleeve, button-down shirt hides my wrists. I don’t want any excuse for people to talk about what happened.

The conversation during the stroll down to the water is surprisingly light. Talk goes from funny to recipes, to sports and back to funny. I don’t have Keller’s gift for small talk and remain pretty quiet.

I like it like that. This way I get to see people, observe them. The way Bryce’s hand stays at the small of Chloe’s back or how Finn can be talking and still tenderly tuck a strand of blonde hair behind Claire’s ear, is lovely. Cory’s palpable delight to be sandwiched between his mom and Mateus and how that amplifies how they feel about each other—you can tell when their gazes connect—makes me hopeful, in a way, for the world. Luke just keeps his arms round his wife’s shoulders the entire time. After being separated for two years and thinking he lost her, he is never letting her go. They laugh together and I see him touch her face with such tenderness, I have to look away.

And then another Russo yells and we stop and wait for Travis and Maya to catch up.

It’s ten-thirty on a Tuesday. Don’t they all have places to be? Carlson texted me earlier about a meeting this afternoon at the precinct. But this seems like a meeting as well.

The group reorganizes itself along the beach and we trudge along, I show Travis the picture Cory gave me. He grins and clutches his heart. “Oh my God. He wants to marry you? I’m so jealous. I got one last month when he wanted to marry me.”

He whips out his drawing. It’s very similar to mine except instead of a blue suited stick figure, there’s a tall Black man holding hands with a yellow topped boy.

“And me,” Maya says, a slip of a young Black woman, thin and tall, and a brilliant law student. She fumbles through her wallet and hands me a much smaller piece of paper. I love that all three have rainbows arcing in the background—or the foreground—it’s hard to tell.

“Well, now I don’t feel so special,” I say and watch Cory dance out to the foam and run shrieking back to Laurel.

Travis laughs.

Just as we reach the spur for the trail to The Inn’s costal garden, we turn around and head back.

This time, Finn and I take up the rear. The deep sand pulling my bare feet and legs is exhausting and my still-sore muscles need a break. I point to the hard packed sand along the surf. We amble over.

“Listen,” begins Finn, and I know he’s going to make this about what happened.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“I know. But I do.”

“No, you don’t. Please don’t.”

We walk in silence for a moment. Be he can’t leave it alone.

“You are my oldest, best friend. Besides Claire and the baby . . .” He can’t find the words and finishes simply. “I love you.”

“I feel the same way.”