The plane touched down in the late afternoon, and the heat hit them the moment the doors opened.
It was thicker and heavier than Montclair, carrying the salt smell of the ocean and the green scent of tropical foliage. Franz had been here before, years ago, when Alex first bought the property and wanted someone to check on the renovations. He remembered the way the light looked at this hour—golden and slanted, painting everything in amber.
The children were asleep before the plane had even landed.
Julian carried Kyle with the boy's head lolling against his father's shoulder and his dinosaur backpack dangling from one arm. Franz lifted Lily and Leo, one in each arm, their bodies slack and heavy with exhaustion. Lily's face was pressed against his shoulder, her breath slow and even. Leo had the whale crushed between them.
"Are you all right?" Arianne asked, walking beside him with her hand resting on the curve of her belly—a gesture that had become automatic over the past weeks.
