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“Thanksgiving? That’s a long ways off.”

“I’m not saying that’s the first time you guys come to visit, I’m just telling you to save the weekend so we can go to the game.”

“What’s the date?”

“It’s the weekend before Thanksgiving. Then I’ll just come home with you and Mom on Sunday for break.”

Terry McDonald scrolled through his phone and set a reminder. How easy it was to think November would come without problems.

“You ever hear from MACU?”

Megan smiled and rubbed her father’s forearm. “Not yet, Daddy.”

It was a longstanding joke, between just the two of them, for her father to ask about her status with the Mid-Atlantic Christian University, the closest college to Emerson Bay. He sometimes asked about Elizabeth City State, as well. Both schools were within thirty minutes. Megan had applied to neither.

“Well, maybe they’re just making you sweat.”

“You know I’ll be home for every holiday, and even some long weekends.”

“MACU is twenty minutes. You could commute. Keep your room at home.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Sounds super fun for college. Keep checking the mail for me, okay?”

They ordered lunch, two salads per Megan’s request. Her father, now in his early fifties, had gathered an impressive bulge around his waist Megan was constantly on him to lose.

“So what’s going on this weekend?” her dad asked.

“End-of-summer beach party.”

“Adults going to be present?”

“It’s right next to my friend’s house, so her parents will be around.”

“Name?”

“Jenny Walton.”

“No drinking.”

“Got it.”

“And if you end up making a bad decision—”

“I’ll call for a ride home.”

“And when you’re at Duke, the same rules apply. I know kids drink, I’m not an idiot. I bust enough punks around town to know what’s going on. But no drugs, and no drunk driving. And that means—”

“No drunk riding, either. Don’t drink and drive, don’t drink and ride. I got it, Daddy. I never have.”

Terry McDonald leaned over and kissed his daughter’s cheek. “As long as you keep that deal with me, anything else can be worked out.”

“Don’t forget the deal I have with you,” Megan said. “I get straight As first semester at Duke, you lose fifteen pounds by the end of freshman year.”

Her father picked at the salad in front of him, pushing arugula to the side. “Yeah. Deal.” He took a deep breath. “Got a feeling I’m going to be eating a lot of this crap.”

They ate a quiet lunch together, two weeks before college, discussing the future—basketball games and Thanksgiving break and weight loss and medical school and big cities. The future was something taken for granted. It was always there, waiting to be lived.

CHAPTER 27