Page 45 of The Beach Trap

His house is on a side street between Old and New 98, not far from where his parents’ convenience store used to be. It’s a one-level bungalow, painted pale blue, with a small front porch. Not that I’m an expert, but it looks like it could use some of the love he’s giving to my beach house.

Armed with a bottle of rosé in one hand and a sparkling bottle of grape juice tucked beneath my arm, I knock.

The door opens, and a little girl with blond hair in spiral curls looks up at me. “Hi!” she says, and her giant smile reveals a missing tooth. “You’re my dad’s old friend who he used to know when he was a kid!”

“I am,” I say, laughing. “And you must be Sunny.”

“That’s me,” she says, beaming. “I’m six and a half, mybirthday is in November just like Thanksgiving, and my dad says he’s the most thankful for me than anything else in the whole world.”

I nod, instantly enamored with this little girl. “I bet you’re pretty thankful for him, too.”

“Sometimes,” she says with a shrug. “Except for when he snores.”

“Hey now,” Henry’s voice booms from inside. “That’s supposed to be between you and me.”

“Oops,” Sunny says with a giggle. “I forgot.” The girl really is sunshine embodied.

“Come on in,” Henry says, opening the door wider.

“This is our living room,” Sunny says, holding her arm out to the cozy room. “It’s where we watch TV. I love cartoons. Do you like cartoons?”

“I do,” I tell her.

She beams and I wish adults were this easy to win over.

“Want to see my room?” she asks, reaching for my hand.

“Later,” Henry tells Sunny, a slight warning to his voice.

Sunny shrugs it off and plops in front of a toy box that’s overflowing with trucks, dolls, and colorful building blocks.

“Want something to drink?” Henry asks, and I follow him into the kitchen, where the refrigerator is covered in Sunny’s art.

“She’s adorableandtalented,” I say, admiring a drawing of what looks like Sunny and Henry out on a tiny boat.

As if she senses the compliment, Sunny is instantly by my side again. “Purple is my favorite color. What’s yours?”

“Cerulean blue,” I tell her.

“Ooh, what’s that?”

Henry shakes his head and takes the bottle of wine from my hand to open while Sunny and I continue to talk about all things color, art, fashion, and ice cream.

The girl’s chatter is constant and continues all through dinner.I wonder if Henry doesn’t say much because he can’t get a word in edgewise, or if the reason Sunny talks so much is to fill the silence that seems to surround her dad. Either way, they are one hell of a dynamic duo.

After we eat the most incredible cheeseburgers I’ve ever tasted—Henry said the secret is ranch seasoning and crumbled blue cheese—I insist on washing the dishes.

Sunny “helps” by standing next to me, regaling me with stories about her and her dad and their life together. I notice none of the stories include her mom, which makes me more curious than ever. But I can’t exactly ask a six-year-old where her mommy is.

“Say good night, Sunshine,” Henry says, walking back into the kitchen as the day turns to dusk.

“Good night, Sunshine,” Sunny parrots. “Can Kat tuck me in?”

Henry’s eyes dart toward mine and I nod. “I’d love to,” I tell them both.

That’s all Sunny needs to hear. She leads me down the hallway toward her bedroom, where she takes me through her bedtime routine: picking out pajamas, brushing her teeth, and choosing a bedtime story.

I meet Nuh-Nuh, a stuffed bunny that has seen better days. He or she only has one eye, and its left ear seems to be hanging on by a thread. It reminds me of Beary, and I’m still not sure what to make of the fact that Blake kept him for me after all these years.

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