Summer's Sweet Afternoon

Arthur sat on his porch, the peeling paint rough against his palms as he watched seven-year-old Toby line up plastic bottles on the lawn. The boy adjusted his stance, knees bent, eyes focused—just as Arthur had taught him.

"Grandpa, you really played baseball?" Toby asked, swinging the plastic bat with a whiff that missed everything but air.

Arthur chuckled. "Son, I was the worst center fielder in three counties. Butterfingers, they called me. But your grandmother came to every game anyway. Said I looked handsome in the uniform. That's love, Toby—that's what you remember."

The screen door creaked. Sarah emerged carrying a bowl of papaya chunks, their sunset flesh glistening in the afternoon light. "Your father's favorite," she said, setting them on the wicker table between them. "Remember how he'd eat three servings at Christmas dinner?"

Arthur's throat tightened. Four years gone, and still the missing hurt like a fresh bruise.

"Now," Sarah continued, pressing two white pills into Arthur's palm, "your vitamin D. Doctor said bone strength."

"I remember when doctors recommended cigarettes for nerves," Arthur grumbled, but he swallowed them dry. The boy watched, solemn.

"Grandpa?"

"Yes, Toby?"

"Can we go in the pool now?"

The above-ground pool shimmered behind the house, its blue surface dappled with sunlight. Arthur's knees protested as he stood, but he smiled. "Your grandmother and I bought that pool the summer after we retired. Thought we'd swim laps every morning. Instead, we just floated and talked about what we'd do with all the time we thought we had."

Sarah squeezed his hand. Her skin was paper-thin, her veins visible rivers of blue beneath the surface. "We did enough, Arthur. We loved well. That's what counts."

Toby cannonballed into the pool with a splash that soaked Arthur's shoes. The old man laughed—for a moment, he was twenty again, strong and whole, watching his own children summer after summer, year after year, the seasons folding into each other like waves.

"Come in, Grandpa!"

Arthur stepped forward. His bones ached, his heart was full, and somewhere, somehow, he knew his son was smiling too.