Page 87 of In It to Win It

She takes her glasses back and we resume walking along the worn wooden pier.

“Churros, churros, churros!” a woman calls.

We pass by kiosks and shops, dodge strollers, wait while Byron and another dog check each other out. As we pass by a woman digging in a trash container who pulls something out and eats it, Taylor makes a pained sound in her throat.

“What?” I squeeze her hand.

She grimaces. “That hurts.”

“Huh?”

She rubs her chest. “It just . . . hurts. I hate it that people have to do that.”

“Ah.” I throw an arm around her shoulders and bring her in for a hug. “Yeah, I get it.”

At the end of the pier, we stand at the railing. Byron pokes his nose through the wooden structure.

“A seal!” Taylor points down to the animal swimming in the ocean below us.

Byron spots it too, and barks.

The seal pauses and looks up at Byron. Then he barks back.

Taylor laughs with delight.

Byron and the seal keep barking at each other. A crowd grows around us, everyone laughing and enjoying the impromptu show, especially the kids.

“They’re talking to each other!” a boy says, clapping his hands.

“What do you think they’re saying?” Taylor asks him.

He tilts his head. I catch his parents’ amused looks. “I think the seal wants him to come swimming.”

“I think so too. And I bet Byron would like to jump in there and play.”

Finally, Taylor reaches down to grab Byron’s collar. “Okay, buddy, enough.”

He stops, but he looks like he’s having a hell of a good time.

We wander to the other side of the pier and again pause to look out over the great expanse of blue, the water a deeper blue, the sky lighter and swept with brushstroke clouds. On a level below us, men are waiting with fishing lines cast into the ocean.

“Have you been thinking about your mom?” I ask Taylor.

Leaning against the rail, she turns to me. “Yes.”

“Want to talk more about it?”

“Maybe.” She says nothing more.

“I . . . I have no idea what you’re going through. My parents are still together. Still crazy about each other, though they’ve had some, uh, heated arguments over the years. But I can listen.”

“It hurts.”

I’m getting to know that Taylor has a soft heart. Kids, animals, homeless people . . . and her father. “I see that. I’m sorry.”

“I love them,” she says quietly. “I thought they loved each other. I didn’t realize how important that was to me until I found out . . . they don’t. It’s fucking me up.”

I swallow a chuckle. “I get it.”

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