Maurice smiled. One of his guys was out there making it happen. He typed back.
MAURICE
That’s great news. You got this.
Call me after and let me know how it went
Another buzz. This one an email from Deb’s assistant, Sofia.
Hi, Maurice! Just checking in. The Miller Street project crew is asking about measurements for the cabinet install. Should I tell them to wait til you’re back or do you want me to pull the specs from your office?
Maurice’s jaw tightened. He’d meant to leave those specs before he left, but he had been so focused on packing, on prayer schedules, on not thinking about this trip, that he’d forgotten.
He typed back.
I’ll call you in an hour.
“You good, son?” Deb asked, handing him a cooler to fill with ice.
“Yeah. Just work stuff.”
She smiled. “Work can wait. This is your vacation too.”
Was it, though? Maurice had never taken a vacation. Didn’t know what that was supposed to feel like.
“You and Monique seemed comfortable together,” Deb continued, studying him.
Maurice kept his face neutral. “She’s easy to be around.”
“Uh-huh.” Deb’s smile widened. “That’s one way to put it.”
Before Maurice could respond, Sunny appeared with condiments.
“Maurice, you’re on sandwich duty. Turkey or ham?”
“Both?”
“Perfect answer.”
His phone buzzed again. Another text from Newark—this time from Jerome, asking about lumber delivery schedules for next week.
Deb huffed. “I told everybody to take the week off. Why do you encourage this, this overachieving?”
As empathetic and thoughtful Deb and Fairbanks Construction had been over the years, there were still a great many things they couldn’t understand. Like how hard holidays were after you’ve done a long bid. It wasn’t that Maurice encouraged anything except that his team do what they needed to feel safe and grounded. If work was that, then who was he to stop them from crossing T’s and dotting I’s? Measure twice, cut once. That was practically their creed.
Maurice silenced the phone and pocketed it. For him, he needed that reminder that work could wait. Had to wait. He was here. He should be present. Monique had asked that little of him.
They worked in comfortable rhythm—Maurice assembling sandwiches, Sunny organizing drinks, Deb overseeing everything with quiet authority. He scanned the beach without meaning to. The lounger Monique had been sitting in was empty, her bag still beside it. She hadn’t gone far.
Maurice returned to his task.
Tommie bounced over, grinning. “Yo, this is perfect. Beach day is perfect. Tomorrow’s gonna be—”
“Say perfect one more time,” Lanie called from across the cabana, “and I’m calling the whole thing off.”
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately.”