The Vacationers

She rolled onto her side, too, her nose level with Jim’s. A swath of her dark hair fell out from behind her ear, covering her eyes. “Should we worry about him?”

Jim reached out and brushed Fra

“I love you as much as I hate Gemma,” Fra

“I’ll take it,” Jim said. “And you know, I kind of like being down here. It’s more private. Doesn’t it feel like we’re in a hotel? Or, at the very least, a bed-and-breakfast?”

“Oh, God, bed-and-breakfasts,” Fra

“Yes, and have sex with your wife.” Jim put a hand on Fra

“Is the door locked?”

“I locked it as soon as we got in here,” Jim said. “I was a Boy Scout, remember?”

“Ooh,” Fra

Jim let the joke go, wanting to move on, wanting to take her clothes off while she’d still let him. That was part of the appeal of Madison Vance, not knowing when and if she would stop him. He thought he knew Fra

Fra

“Take them off,” she said to Jim, and he obediently pulled down her underwear, one side at a time, inch by inch, until they were wrapped only around her left ankle. “Now come here,” she said, and he moved back on top of her, filling her mouth with his. They didn’t speak again until it was over and they were lying on their backs, glistening with a job well done.

Day Fourteen

THE FLIGHT TO MADRID LEFT AT NOON, WHICH MEANT that they had to leave for the airport by ten-thirty a.m. at the very, very latest. Everyone was packed and ready to go, even Fra

“He said he’d be here by now,” she said. “I don’t know what to do.”

Sylvia had already texted Joan three times: The first was a friendly Hey, what’s up? The second was a slightly more aggressive You’re still coming over, right? And the third was a toe-tapping Where are you??? We’re waiting to go to the airport until you come. So come. He hadn’t responded to any of them.

They were all standing by the car—Bobby and Jim had arranged and rearranged the suitcases in the tiny trunk, with one squishy bag left over that had to ride on laps in the back. Gemma poked her head out from time to time, as if to check if the Posts were gone. Every time her lollipop head disappeared back inside, Fra

A minute later, a car honked and then pulled into the drive. Joan’s BMW. Sylvia rushed over to the driver’s side of the car, unable to keep herself from gri

“Hola,” he said, and kissed her quickly on both cheeks. Joan put a hand on Sylvia’s waist for a split second, patted her like an ineffectual airport security guard, and then walked around the car to greet the rest of the family.

“Oh, good! I thought Sylvia was going to have a heart attack,” Fra

Joan shook Bobby’s hand, then Jim’s. Sylvia stood off to the side, still hovering by Joan’s car door. “Hey,” she said, and he reluctantly returned to her side. Lowering her voice and turning her body away from her parents, Sylvia said, “You’re not taking the check, are you?”

Joan shrugged. “You’re right—I should charge extra.” He ran a hand through his hair, so casual.

Sylvia laughed. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

Fra

“Thank you, Fra

“Hey, Mom, wait,” Sylvia said. Fra

Sylvia had thought about taking a picture of Joan every day for the last two weeks, but hadn’t ever worked up the courage to do it. To take someone’s photo, you were acknowledging their importance, saying that you wanted to remember them, that you wanted to look at their face again. She couldn’t have asked to take his picture—or just fucking done it—without tacitly admitting that she liked him. He knew it, of course—Joan had known from the second he walked into the house, from the second he saw her in those tiny little towels. How could she not? She was a heterosexual human being, and he was made out of Mallorcan clouds and dreams. But it was too late. If she didn’t take his picture now, Joan would vanish into the ether, like some made-up Canadian summer-camp boyfriend, whether he’d been sweet and doting or a complete asshole or somewhere in between. No one would believe her. She wished she had taken a picture of him on the beach, his wet bathing suit slung low around his hips, but she hadn’t. This would have to do.

“Of course!” Fra

“Here, Mom, let me,” Bobby said. He aimed the phone at Joan and Sylvia and waited for them to move into position.

“Okay,” Sylvia said. She turned her body so that she was facing Joan and gave the phone her profile. Without giving herself a moment to chicken out, she reached up and grabbed Joan’s chin and turned his mouth toward her, planting one on him. She kissed him for a moment and then let go, hoping that her brother had thought to take more than one picture. “Okay,” she said again. Joan looked slightly stu

“Have a safe flight,” he said. He opened his arms to Sylvia, but she just slapped his hand instead.

“Will do.” Sylvia crossed her arms over her chest, nodding. She waited for Joan to get into his car and back out of the driveway, which he did.

“Well,” Fra

“I’ll drive,” Bobby said. Jim started to protest, but Fra