I leaned back in one of the Adirondack deck chairs, watching the surf roll in and wondering why Naomi turned me into a goddamn idiot. I thought that she wanted me the same way I wanted her. It seemed clear from the way her eyes caught mine sometimes, the way she arched her back when her body was against mine, the way her fingers fell against my shoulders. But maybe I read her wrong.

Maybe she really was too smart to fall for a Delaney.

Under the yellow morning sun, the ocean reflected back a bright, blinding blue. The roar of waves was distant but still overwhelming. Foam churned white as the waves crashed in, and I itched to slip into that cool water.

When Naomi stepped quietly out onto the deck behind me and dragged a table over to my elbow, I asked, “Do you still swim?”

"No. I don't know how you like your coffee yet. I brought you out milk, sugar." She set the cup down.

"Black is good." I took a sip. Pulled a face. "You drink coffee?"

She shook her head. As tightly pulled back as her hair was, wisps had escaped already, whipped around by the ocean breeze.

"Too bad." She probably would have been able to make a decent cup if she drank it herself. I liked my coffee strong, but this stuff was even more abrasive than she was. "How do you like it? I’ll make some for both of us tomorrow morning."

"You don't have to do that."

"I'm capable of running a coffee maker," I said. "I can even use one of those French presses. For fancy coffee."

"Well, I don't like coffee, plain or fancy."

"Tea?"

She shook her head.

"Let me guess. You drink nothing but champagne?"

At that, she actually cracked a smile. A tiny one. But I still felt relieved by that little uptick in her lips, the break in tension between us.

I took another unthinking sip of coffee, and regretted it as bitter dredge filled my mouth. I could have sworn it was gritty. "Are you sure this is coffee? Not revenge?"

"I have a house to clean," she told me, already moving back toward the French doors. "Holler if you need anything."

"It'd be easier to text you. You know, Amy gave me her number within three minutes of meeting me, but I don't have yours yet."

"Hmm," she threw over her shoulder as she stepped back into the house. "Maybe we should keep it that way."

Sometimes, like now, it seemed like she was pretending to hate me. And sometimes it seemed very real. She talked to me the way I thought women should’ve responded to Mitch. I couldn’t even remember the names of half the women who had passed through this house, just like I wasn’t sure I could really remember my mother.

“This house is full of memories,” I said. “Bad ones.”

The French doors creaked slightly, as she stopped abruptly. “What is it, Rob?”

They were her usual brusque words, but her tone was different. Softer.

I glanced back at her, regretting that I’d said what I was thinking out loud. It wasn’t like me.

“Plenty of good ones, too,” I said lightly.

She walked to the edge of the patio and rested her elbows on the rail. I watched as the wind whipped her hair back, but I couldn’t see her face. That made it easier to talk. I figured I had one chance to remind her I was a person, not just a Delaney. A person she used to care about.

“When I was a kid, I thought I saw Mitch and my mom out here. He had his arm around her waist and he was whispering in her ear. I had come into the kitchen for Frosted Mini-Wheats and here I thought I was getting my mom back instead.” I shook my head. I’d run out there like an idiot, a big grin splitting my face, but when the two of them turned around, it was my dad romancing some sweet-faced co-ed I’d never met before.

“Who was she?” Naomi asked.

“I don’t remember.” She’d been nice. She had laughed a little too hard at both my jokes and my father’s, and taught me how to shuffle a deck of cards, which had turned out to be an essential skill in the military. I was starting to like her when she stopped visiting. I knew better than to ask too many questions. I couldn’t even get those answers about my own mother.

“What made you think of that? The surf?” Her voice was quiet, and the wind almost whipped her words away.

“The way you talk to me,” I said. “Like she should’ve talked to him.”

She turned, her eyes wide. “Rob, I didn’t—”

“I know,” I said gruffly. I didn’t know what she was going to say next, but I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t need her pity.

Her cell pinged, and she pulled it out of her pocket. Her cheeks were flushed like she was upset. I wished I had time to talk to her.

“Your grandmother’s car just pulled in.”

I nodded. I was comfortable in my chair, with my bad coffee. I wasn’t sure why my grandmother was invading my vacation anyway, or how long she intended to stay.

She hesitated. "Aren't you going to go meet her?"

I wanted to say no. But if I didn't go unload the car, then my grandmother, Rebecca, would expect Naomi to carry the suitcases upstairs. I pictured petite Naomi bumping one of those heavy bags up the long, slick-marble staircase, and I rose from the chair.

As we walked back through the kitchen towards the foyer, she looked up at me shyly and asked, "So does this mean you won't be needing a chauffeur?"

"Are you kidding?" I asked. "I'm going to need someone to drive me away from her."

"I heard that, Robert," called my grandmother, her heels clicking across the foyer floor.

We turned the corner, and she came into view: tall and slender with her toned arms opened wide for a hug. She wore her white hair in a pixie cut, the same style she'd worn for almost as long as I could remember. Her navy dress and madras scarf highlighted her tanned and toned body. Except for her beautifully coiffed white-gray hair, she would have looked like she was in her forties.

"You look lovely and well-preserved as ever," I said, hugging her, breathing in the scent of her Chanel No. 5. In my head, I thought, half-fondly, you old vampire.

"Trying to win me back over after that little dig?" she asked, her eyebrows arching over crystal-blue eyes.

"Do I have to? I'm still your grandson."

She squeezed me a little tighter before her hug loosened, and she took a step back with her hands still gripping my forearms. She looked up at my face as if she wanted to stare at me, to take me in, after being apart for so long.

But what she said was, "You do have three brothers. You can be replaced. You're not even the only SEAL anymore."

"Do you brag about that at the tennis club?"

"All I can say is, thank god you became a SEAL. It didn't sound so great at first. Agnes' grandson is a big shot lawyer who's always on the TV—national—giving his opinion, Clary has two disappointment-grandchildren but at least the third is a Harvard-educated doctor." She switched into a falsetto imitation of her own voice. "My grandsons are such patriots. They all went into the Navy."

"Sorry to be such a hardship."

"Well, now if anyone starts bragging about their grandchildren, I can always say my grandson can kick your grandson's ass."

The word ass coming from my impeccable grandmother made me crack a smile. "You are incorrigible. I wouldn't put it past you."

"Of course not, sweetheart. You shouldn't put anything past me." She patted my arms with her wrinkled and tanned hands before she let go, gesturing towards the front door. "Would you go get my bags, please, before the limo driver decides he desperately wants a matched set of Hartmann luggage, or at least to go home to supper?"

“Sure,” I said. I took a step towards the door, turned and kept walking backward as I asked her, “How long are you staying, anyway?”

She just smiled in response.

Old vampire.