The Vacationers

“It’s weird to go on vacation with your whole family,” Sylvia said, in Spanish. “Really weird.”

“Tell me about them,” Joan said. He swiveled in his chair so that he was looking out the window, too. “That’s your brother?”

“That’s what they say,” Sylvia said.

There were footsteps in the hall, and both Joan and Sylvia turned to look. Lawrence had changed into his bathing suit and was holding a sweating glass of water. He walked up to the door to the garden and watched as Carmen and Bobby took turns doing handstands in the shallow end.

“Maybe I’ll just take a nap,” Lawrence said, and turned back around.

“And who’s that?” Joan asked.

“My mother’s best friend’s husband. They’re gay. I don’t think he wanted to come.” Sylvia paused. She wanted Joan to laugh, but only because of Lawrence’s reluctance. This was important.

“And now he’s stuck with you for how long?” Joan asked, the right question.

“Two weeks,” Sylvia said, smiling so hard that she had to lean forward and pretend to take a sip out of her empty water glass. If she didn’t interact with anyone else for the entire two weeks, Sylvia thought, that was okay. Joan looked like an excellent candidate for sex. In fact, if sex had made a poster advertising its virtues, they might have put his face on it. Sylvia let her lips linger around the rim of the glass. Wasn’t that what one was supposed to do, draw attention to one’s mouth? She gave the glass one little lick, decided that she felt like a camel at a zoo, and put it down, hoping he hadn’t noticed at all.

It was too hot to walk during the middle of the day, and so Jim waited the sun out. He switched into his ru

“Be back soon,” he said.

Sylvia grunted a response.

“Tell your mom I went for a walk.”

“Where else would you have gone?” Sylvia asked, still without looking up from her book.

Jim headed up the hill. Mallorca was dustier than he’d anticipated, less rolling and green than Tuscany or Provence, more rocky and sun-bleached, like Greece. There was supposedly a plateau of some kind a few hundred feet up the road, from which one could see the ocean, and Jim liked the idea of a vista.

Weekends were fairly easy—he wouldn’t have been at the office, anyway, and so ru

For the past forty years, every day at work had been spent moving ahead, trying to be the smartest he could, trying to be the best he could, trying to open as many doors as possible, and now, just like that, the doors had closed, and he had nothing to do but sit at home and wait for the phone to ring. Which it wouldn’t. The board had made that clear: it wasn’t a threat, it was a promise. Jim was finished, professionally. As long as he wanted them to keep their mouths shut, he would stay home and take up bird-watching. This was presented as a courtesy. The gaping maw on the other side of the silence was that every magazine in New York and every website with a gossip column would be delighted to list the salacious details at length. Jim would have balked at the threat if he hadn’t recognized it as the truth. Gallant’s new editor would be a clear-eyed man of thirty- five—even if no tragedy had taken place, Jim’s tenure had an expiration date. No one wanted advice from their father.

The road was steep, and even though the most intense heat of the day had passed, there was no cover over Jim’s head, and the sun felt strong on the back of his neck. If this house had come along three months later, Fra

Gallant’s board had been unanimous in their decision. That’s what surprised Jim the most—he expected censure, yes, but not outright vitriol. The girl—he hated to remember the excitement he felt just hearing her name, Madison, a name he would have ridiculed otherwise—had been twenty-three, the age that Fra

Jim rounded a corner. There was a long stone wall a few yards ahead, on the ocean side of the road. The mountains seemed to have shifted color with his elevation, and now were tinged with blue. He brushed off the stones and sat down, swinging his legs over so that they dangled a few inches off the ground on the other side. Before him, sheep grazed and strolled, their heads low and content. They wore bells around their neck, which clanged pleasantly as the sheep snuffled in the grass. He didn’t know how much Fra