Comfort & Joy

Daniel’s sigh threads the night, falls toward me. I’m pretty certain it’s a story he doesn’t want to tell. He leans forward, rests his elbows on his thighs. Shadows and firelight mark his face. “We were livin’ in Boston, in a house not two doors down from Nana and Papa. Your mom managed the makeup counter at Macy’s and I spent my days—and too many nights—on the thirtieth floor of the Beekman Building. I used to dream of towering trees and lakes that were full of fish. Mostly I dreamed of us being together all the time, instead of all going our separate ways. One day I read about this summer house for sale in Washington State. It was a bed and breakfast that had gone bankrupt. ”

“And we bought it. Just like that,” Bobby says, “Without seeing it even. ”

“Aye,” Daniel says, and this time I’m sure it’s wistfulness I hear in his voice. “We had our dreams, didn’t we?”

“Yeah. ”

In the silence that follows, I know they’re thinking about how far apart they are. All I can see is how close they’ve become. It will only take the merest move by either one of them to find the middle ground.

I twist around to face Daniel. We are so close now. I can see the tiny grains of sand and bits of ash that cling to his skin and hair. His green eyes look at me with an unnerving intensity. Behind me, I know Bobby is watching us. “I can see why you fell in love with this place. It’s magical. ”

“That’s what Mommy always said. ” I can hear the sadness in Bobby’s voice. “Why?” he asks suddenly. “Why do we have to move?”

Daniel looks down at his hands, as if he’ll find the answer in his flesh and bone. “I want the best for you, Bobby. ”

“This is the best. ”

Daniel looks at his son. “How am I supposed to run this place all by myself? I don’t know anything about fishin’ or such. ”

This is a question I can answer. “There are dozens of books tha

t can teach you. I’ve read a lot of them. If you take me to the local library, I’ll help you find them. ”

“Mommy tole me you were smart,” Bobby says accusingly.

Daniel smiles at that. “I like to think so. ”

“Then learn,” Bobby says.

“I’ll tell you what,” Daniel says finally. “I’ll think about staying if you’ll think about leaving. ”

They look at each other, father and son, and in the fading sunlight and firelight, I am struck by how alike they are.

“Okay,” Bobby says solemnly.

“Okay,” Daniel agrees. “Now, how about some hot dogs and marshmallows before the sun leaves us for good?”

For the next hour, as the sun slowly drops from the sky and the stars creep into the night, we roast hot dogs and make smores and walk along the darkened waterline. I am too full from my late lunch to eat anything, but a lack of appetite doesn’t keep me from enjoying the fire. A battery-operated radio, perched on a log behind the fire, cranks out one pretty song after another. Often, we sing along. Daniel’s voice is pure and true and sometimes renders me voiceless. We are packed up and ready to leave when a beautiful rendition of “The Way You Look Tonight” starts.

By the way Daniel sings along, the harshness of his voice, I know the song means something to him.

“You used to sing this song,” Bobby says.

“Aye. ”

“Dance with Joy. ”

I catch my breath, surprised.

“I don’t think so,” Daniel says, careful not to look at me.

“Pleeease,” Bobby says, looking at us. “For me?”

I am in the darkness just beyond the dying fire’s glow. Daniel is across from me. His face is all shadows and orange light. I can’t see his eyes, but I know he’s not smiling.

“She’s right there, Daddy,” Bobby says, pointing at me. I know it’s not dark enough here to cloak me. I start to say, “No, that’s okay,” but my words grind to a halt.

Daniel is moving toward me, his hand outstretched.