Home Front

That was enough agreement for Jolene. “Perfect. We’re going, then. Get your coats, guys. It might be cold out. ” She spent the next ten minutes herding her family through the checklist—coats, boots, and blankets. She threw four beach chairs in the back of her car, just in case, and ten minutes later they were driving down the winding road that followed the shoreline.

The Crab Pot diner was a local institution. Built fifty years ago by a Norwegian fisherman, it was a small, shingled building positioned on a perfect lip of land between the road and the sand. A weathered gray deck fanned out all around it, decorated with picnic tables and surrounded by fencing draped in fishing nets and strung with Christmas lights. In the summer, red and white plastic tablecloths covered the tables, but in the off-season, when only the locals stopped by, the tables were bare.

Inside, the uneven floor was a thick layer of sand, reportedly brought in from the wild coast near Kalaloch. The wooden walls were barely visible beneath multicolored bits of memorabilia—pictures, expired fishing licenses, dollar bills. Whatever someone wanted to tack up was fine. There were even a few bras and panties stuck in amidst the papers.

Lulu knew just where to go. She marched into the place as if she owned it, went right to the window by the cash register, and pointed up. “That’s us,” she said to anyone who might be listening. There were only a few patrons in the restaurant, and none of them looked up.

The waitress, a white-haired woman who’d been there as long as anyone could remember, said, “Of course it is, Lulu. It’s my favorite picture of you, too. ”

Lulu beamed.

The waitress—Inga—led them to a table by the door. “You want the usual?” she asked, pulling a pen out of her hair. It was just for show, that pen; no one had ever seen Inga actually write down an order.

“You bet,” Jolene said, trying to sound happy. “Two Dungeness crabs, four drawn butters, and two orders of garlic bread. ”

They took their places on the twin benches—Michael and Betsy on one side, Lulu and Jolene on the other. All through the meal, Jolene tried to keep up a lively conversation, but, honestly, by the time they were taking off their plastic bibs, she was disheartened. Really, only she and Lulu had talked. Michael and Betsy had pretty much communicated by shrugs and grunts. They were both unhappy on this last night, and they wanted Jolene to know it. At least that was what she figured. Michael was paying the bill when the Flynns walked into the restaurant.

“Perfect,” Betsy said, slumping forward in her seat, letting her hair fall across her face.

“Tami!” Jolene got to her feet and stepped around the table, hugging her friend tightly. She should have known they’d all show up here together. Pulling back, she smiled, said, “Photo op!”

Tami and Seth and Carl immediately came together, looped their arms around each other and smiled brightly for the camera. Jolene captured their image in the clunky old Polaroid camera the Crab Pot kept for its guests’ use. It was another part of their tradition; every visit included a family photo to be tacked on the wall. “Got it,” she said. The Flynns gathered around her, watching their picture develop. When it was done—and it was a good one—Carl pinned it to the wall by the door.

“Your turn,” Tami said, taking the camera from Jolene.

Jolene gathered with her family, put her arm around Betsy (how thin her elder daughter was, how gangly) and Lulu (her baby). Michael stepped in behind her. At Tami’s say cheese, they smiled.

Flash.

Then Betsy and Michael drifted away, went outside. Jolene stood there, watching them leave.

Tami took her hand, squeezed it. “Hey there,” she said softly.

Jolene shook her head a little, forced a smile. They walked out to the deck, still holding hands. By now, it was dark. A full moon illuminated the sharp, jagged, snow-covered peaks and sent streamers across the waves.

At the end of the deck, Carl stood beside Michael. Even from here, it was easy to see how uncomfortable they were with each other, these two men with nothing in common except their wives’ friendship. Michael’s hands were shoved deep in his pockets; he bounced slightly on the balls of his feet. The cool night air ruffled his black hair.

Seth walked down to the beach with Lulu. At the waterline, they crouched down, looking at something. Jolene could tell that Betsy wanted to follow, but she held back.

“Go on, Betsy,” Jolene urged quietly. It took a moment, but Betsy finally started moving, walked down the deck steps and across the sandy beach. At her approach, Seth looked up, smiled shyly.

“What are they going to do without us?” Jolene said quietly.

“What are we going to do without them?” was Tami’s reply.

They stood there until the air turned cold in their nostrils and the breeze graduated to a wind, until Carl and Michael had stopped pretending they had something to say to each other. Then the Flynns went into the restaurant and Jolene’s family went home.

By the time they’d parked the car and gone back into the warm, golden house, the mood had grown solemn. Even Lulu seemed affected.

“Mommy,” Lulu said as they came into the family room. “You’ll be back for my birthday, won’t you?”

Betsy rolled her eyes.

“Not before your birthday, Lulu. But Daddy’s going to make sure you have a nice party. ”

“Oh. ” Lulu scrunched her face in thought. “What if I lose a tooth? You’ll come home for that, won’t you?”

Michael sat down and turned on the TV.