They hadn’t slept together until the very end, that last week. Bobby was sorry that the sessions were coming to an end, and he knew that his father would object if he charged another thousand dollars at the gym. He asked Carmen out for a drink, not knowing if she poisoned her body in that way or any other. She said yes, and they met at the bar at the Del Mar hotel. Bobby had picked one of the less glitzy bars on the strip on purpose, not knowing how Carmen looked when she was out of her gym clothes, and not wanting her to feel uncomfortable, but he needn’t have worried. She arrived five minutes late wearing Lucite heels and a white dress that ended only a breath below her firm, round bottom.
“Zip it,” Carmen said, and started her squats. She pivoted her body so that she was facing away from the pool. She would be forty-one in a few months. Everyone at the gym said that forty was the new twenty-five, and they were right. She was thinking about running a marathon, or maybe doing a triathlon, or maybe both. The difference was in the muscle groups, and in the toning. To run, you needed solid hamstrings and quads, which were good for riding the bike, too, but once you got in the water, it was all about your back and your core. Carmen visualized herself in the water, a swim cap tight around her head. She imagined breaking the surface of water with each breath, drawing in exactly as much energy as she needed to take the next stroke. She would finish in the top of her age bracket, if not higher, that much she knew for sure. Lots of her clients at the gym were in their forties, bodies pouchy from childbirth or laziness. Carmen would never let herself be like that, soft and passive. She was strong.
Bobby hoisted himself out of the pool and lay down, dripping wet, on the recliner closest to Carmen. The sun was directly overhead, but he didn’t mind. His whole family pretended they were vampires or cancer victims, deathly afraid of a little vitamin D, but Bobby liked getting some color.
“So,” Carmen said, stretching out one calf and bending herself in half over it, her toes lifted toward the sky, “what’s up with your parents?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.” She pulled her left leg back and straightened out the right one. “Tension much?”
Bobby rolled over onto his stomach. “They’re always like this.”
“My ass.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, were we talking about your ass? Because I am way more interested in that conversation.” Bobby lifted his head and raised his eyebrows.
Carmen walked over and sat down next to Bobby, both of their bodies too big for the narrow lounge chair. “I’m serious. Are your parents okay? They seem so, I don’t know, touchy.”
“They’re fine. They’re always like that. I don’t know. It’s a transition, you know? My dad just retired. Can you imagine retiring? That’s like saying, ‘Okay, world, I am officially too old to be of any use. Put me on the ice floe, or whatever.’”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know, like Eskimos? Anyway. I’m sure that’s all it is.” Bobby shifted onto his side, to make more room, and Carmen lay down in the space, curling her dry, warm body next to his wet one.
“Why did he retire, then, if you don’t think he wants to feel like an Eskimo, or whatever?” Bobby put his wet hands around Carmen’s waist and pulled her close. She smelled the tiniest bit like sweat, which he’d always found sexy.
“I have no idea,” Bobby said, “but I’d really rather talk about something else. Like getting you out of these pants.” He slid one wet hand into the waistband of her Lycra shorts.
Carmen squirmed away from him, pretending to be disgusted. She stood up and shook herself off, ridding herself of imaginary cooties before slowly peeling off all of her clothes. “We should go on vacation more often,” she said, and jumped into the pool. Bobby was hard before he could follow her, and tripped over his bathing suit as he followed her in with a great big splash.
After Joan was dropped off at home and the rest of the group was fetched, everyone set out for dinner in Palma proper. Joan had recommended a tapas restaurant, and Franny had taken copious notes about what to order. This was her area of expertise, her chief joy in life, figuring out what to put in her mouth next, and when. It was out of the question to go before nine, but Bobby was starving to death and Sylvia was moping, so Franny rounded up the troops and loaded the cars and barked directions to the city.
The plan was to walk around town before dinner, which seemed to be everyone else’s plan as well. They parked the cars on a narrow street by the cathedral, a massive gray pile just off the beach. After a few days in Pigpen, Palma felt like being at home—the city was lively, the streets filled with couples and families and dogs, everyone strolling slowly and drinking at small tables outside. Bobby and Carmen walked ahead, holding hands.
“Look,” Franny said to Jim, who shrugged. “Maybe it’s love after all?”
“She’s fine,” Jim said. “She doesn’t bother me.”
Franny glared at him. “You’re a bad liar.” She had liked this about him for most of their marriage, but now, as she said it aloud, it occurred to Franny that this was a flaw.
The cobblestone streets were pitched, heading up- and downhill. There was a little shop selling Mallorcan pearls, and Franny ducked in, Charles and Lawrence trailing behind her. She bought two strands, both blue and satisfyingly lumpy, and strung one around her own neck and one around Sylvia’s.
“Mom,” Sylvia said, fingering her new necklace, “I think my stomach is actually going to eat itself. Like, my stomach is going to think that the rest of my body is trying to kill it and it will attack the rest of my organs like parasites. And then I’ll be dead in an hour.”
“You’re welcome,” Franny said, and hooked her elbow in Sylvia’s. “Let’s follow the lovebirds.”
“Oh, please,” Sylvia said. She looked over her shoulder to make sure no one else was close enough to hear. The pedestrian-only streets were filled with well-dressed people of all ages—dapper white-haired gents in thin sweaters and loafers, rambunctious teenagers licking each other’s necks. They made it a block before they hit Bobby standing by himself in front of a clothing store.
“Ditched her?” Sylvia said.
“She’s in there,” he said. The store was blasting dubstep so loudly that they had to raise their voices to be heard. “I couldn’t take it.”
The mannequins in the window were wearing asymmetrical dresses printed with three different patterns, clothing that Frankenstein might have sewn.
“Barf,” Sylvia said. “This is clothing for blind strippers.”
“Well, she likes it, Sylvia, okay?” Bobby crossed his arms.
“You know, I’m going to go in and check on her,” Franny said. “It’s no fun to shop alone.”
Charles and Lawrence were trailing behind, and Sylvia watched as they walked in and out of a sunglasses store, a shoe store, a candy store. They did everything together. She wondered if her parents had ever been like that, even before Bobby was born. It seemed unlikely.
“Where’s Dad?”
“I don’t know,” Bobby said. “Didn’t say anything to me.”
“Are you okay?”
“What do you mean? Of course I’m okay.” Bobby’s hair was getting long, and the dark curls hung to his eyebrows.
“Jeez, nevermind.” Sylvia peered into the dark hole of the clothing store that had just eaten her mother.