Dinner that evening with the children is a quiet affair. They’re tired out from a day in the sun and half-asleep at their meal. Once we finish, I shoo them out to the washroom to clean their teeth while I deliver the tray of dirty dishes to the galley kitchen. For all their quiet, there will still be nightmares and tears to soothe tonight. It’s best to turn in early.
“Rae,” Bren says as I step out of the kitchen. I look up, startled. In the half-light of the passageway, he’s more shadow than man, leaning against the wall at the entry. Beyond him, the deck lies bathed in the dimming colors of sunset.
“Yes?” I ask, and then curse myself for being a fool and standing there, waiting for him to go on. I should have just returned his greeting and kept going, but I didn’t.
“I should—” I begin,
