Ten years ago, he could never have imagined wondering about such a thing. Two years, even. But middle age, he sometimes thought, had made him as reflective as a mirror. Though he’d once believed that the answer lay somehow in the music he created, he suspected now that he’d been mistaken. The more he thought about it, the more he’d come to realize that for him, music had always been a movement away from reality rather than a means of living in it more deeply. He might have experienced passion and catharsis in the works of Tchaikovsky or felt a sense of accomplishment when he’d written sonatas of his own, but he now knew that burying himself in music had less to do with God than a selfish desire to escape.
He now believed that the real answer lay somewhere in the nexus of love he felt for his children, in the ache he experienced when he woke in the quiet house and realized they weren’t here. But even then, he knew there was something more.
And somehow, he hoped his children would help him find it.
A few minutes later, Steve noticed the sun reflecting off the windshield of a dusty station wagon outside. He and Kim had purchased it years ago for weekend outings to Costco and family getaways. He wondered in passing if she’d remembered to change the oil before she’d driven down, or even since he’d left. Probably not, he decided. Kim had never been good at things like that, which was why he’d always taken care of them.
But that part of his life was over now.
Steve rose from his seat, and by the time he stepped onto the porch, Jonah was already out of the car and rushing toward him. His hair hadn’t been combed, his glasses were crooked, and his arms and legs were as skinny as pencils. Steve felt his throat tighten, reminded again of how much he’d missed in the past three years.
“Dad!”
“Jonah!” Steve shouted back as he crossed the rocky sand that constituted his yard. When Jonah jumped into his arms, it was all he could do to remain upright.
“You’ve gotten so big,” he said.
“And you’ve gotten smaller!” Jonah said. “You’re skinny now.”
Steve hugged his son tight before putting him down. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I am, too. Mom and Ronnie fought the whole time.”
“That’s no fun.”
“It’s okay. I ignored it. Except when I egged them on.”
“Ah,” Steve responded.
Jonah pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Why didn’t Mom let us fly?”
“Did you ask her?”
“No.”
“Maybe you should.”
“It’s not important. I was just wondering.”
Steve smiled. He’d forgotten how talkative his son could be.
“Hey, is this your house?”
“That’s it.”
“This place is awesome!”
Steve wondered if Jonah was serious. The house was anything but awesome. The bungalow was easily the oldest property on Wrightsville Beach and sandwiched between two massive homes that had gone up within the last ten years, making it seem even more diminutive. The paint was peeling, the roof was missing numerous shingles, and the porch was rotting; it wouldn’t surprise him if the next decent storm blew it over, which would no doubt please the neighbors. Since he’d moved in, neither family had ever spoken to him.
“You think so?” he said.
“Hello? It’s right on the beach. What else could you want?” He motioned toward the ocean. “Can I go check it out?”
“Sure. But be careful. And stay behind the house. Don’t wander off.”
“Deal.”
Steve watched him jog off before turning to see Kim approaching. Ronnie had stepped out of the car as well but was still lingering near it.
“Hi, Kim,” he said.
“Steve.” She leaned in to give him a brief hug. “You doing okay?” she asked. “You look thin.”
“I’m okay.”
Behind her, Steve noticed Ronnie slowly making her way toward them. He was struck by how much she’d changed since the last photo Kim had e-mailed. Gone was the all-American girl he remembered, and in her place was a young woman with a purple streak in her long brown hair, black fingernail polish, and dark clothing. Despite the obvious signs of teenage rebellion, he thought again how much she resembled her mother. Good thing, too. She was, he thought, as lovely as ever.
He cleared his throat. “Hi, sweetie. It’s good to see you.”
When Ronnie didn’t answer, Kim scowled at her. “Don’t be rude. Your father’s talking to you. Say something.”
Ronnie crossed her arms. “All right. How about this? I’m not going to play the piano for you.”