Chapter 22

Milton is as comfortable and guileless in his birthday suit as he always seems in his linen trousers, and as at home in the water as if he might be part mermaid. He floats, he dives, he splashes; he gives the round pot on my belly a teasing jiggle, gives the high, firm hills on Cole’s butt an admiring smack. He waggles his own half-erect penis at us like a sex-ed instructor—I suggest you use these on each other—then strikes out towards the open ocean with a crawl stroke that implies his Christmas Eve workout goal is Colombia or Bust!

Cole and I pretend to be shy about appraising each other. Standing thigh-deep in clear water, we gasp about the beauty of the unexpected little cove, but my eyes are roving his gym-disciplined torso when I say, “It’s pretty amazing, alright.”