Chapter Forty Nine
The Architecture of Us
The sun rose on the morning of our departure without a single cloud to block its light. The Atlantic was calm, a vast, unbroken sheet of turquoise that looked almost solid under the early glare.
On the deck of the yacht anchored just outside the cay’s shallow reef, Chase was leaning against the railing with a pair of small binoculars. He was trying to spot the sea turtles that frequented the seagrass beds near the point. Arthur, who had traded his heavy dark suit for a light linen shirt, stood a few paces back, watching the boy with a quiet, protective smile.
Alexander came up behind me as I finished packing the small canvas bag we had used for beach days. He slid his arms around my waist, his chest warm and broad against my back. There was no
