SAM AWAKES the next morning to find me studying the map in bed.

“So, what does the clipboard of fun say for today?” he asks.

I smile sheepishly. “I dunno.”

“Yeah right,” he says with a snort.

“OK, what would you like to do today?”

He nods toward the mini-fridge. “Let’s start with those leftovers.”

I retrieve the Knott’s Berry Farm doggie-bag and return to bed where we watch TV while eating cold chicken and boysenberry pie. Sam expertly balances the containers on his chest, mindful of not wasting any unnecessary energy actually sitting up.

“That’s quite a skill,” I say, gently poking him in the ribs with my fork.

“What would you think about us visiting my mom’s best friend today?” he asks. “She lives in San Diego and I know she’d love to meet you.”

“Sure.” But this surprises me. Visiting people is not high on Sam’s list of preferred vacation activities.

Yet this evening, we find ourselves in San Diego, drinking peach juice and chatting with an older Greek couple at their kitchen table. Not twenty minutes into the conversation, we get onto the topic of death. The woman shows us a photo of an infant.

“Friends of ours lost a baby a year ago.”

“That’s too bad,” says Sam.

The woman nods. “She got pregnant again immediately.”

“Oh my!” I say.

She looks at me. “I guess they felt that was best, Adri.”

I nod my head and keep my mouth shut—but I wonder how someone could replace a dead child with a new one so quickly.

We’re then taken on a tour of their home. At the top of the stairs, the woman stops outside a closed door and turns to face us. “My mother was widowed very young,” she says. “She was a devout Greek Orthodox.”

Sam and I nod our heads in somewhat baffled silence.

“I admired her absolute faith,” she continues.

I smile. “Well that’s good.”

“And I guess I’m a pretty strong believer myself,” she says, reaching over and opening the door. “Because this is my prayer room.”

My eyes widen at the sight of the room filled with images and icons of Jesus, the disciples and saints. Pictures depicting Christian scenes as well as several gold crosses hang from the walls. Candles in red glass containers flicker gently, casting a warm reddish hue. The powerful scent of incense hangs in the air. Sam and I stay in the hall.

“Come on in,” she says at our obvious hesitation, “it’s safe in here!”

We go inside and stand quietly a moment. Undoubtedly, it is peaceful.

AS WE’RE pulling out of their driveway half an hour later, I ask Sam what the heck that was all about.

“Ya got me.”

“She’s pretty religious.”

“No kidding,” he says. “But I couldn’t stand the smell of that incense.”

I nod. “I hear ya.”

We drive in silence for a few minutes.

“Where were we recently where they were waving that stuff around?” I ask.

“My uncle’s funeral.”

I nod. “Right.”

For the first time in our eleven and a half years together, I’d attended a Greek Orthodox funeral four months ago.

Sam glances over at me. “You were pretty upset that day, hey?”

When we’d got back into the car after the graveside service, I’d burst into tears. Sam’s brother and sister had been with us.

“I just hated how we left your uncle in the ground, all alone like that,” I say.

“Adri, he was dead.”

“I know! But it was just so weird how one second, people were making such a fuss—wailing and throwing dirt on his coffin and then the next, the tears were gone and it was like, ‘OK, what’s for lunch?’”

Sam throws back his head and laughs. “Greeks are like that—very dramatic.”

“I’ll say.”

“I guess we could have taken him to the reception…”

I look over at Sam.

“Wheeled his casket right on by the buffet table…”

“Sam!”

“Uncle, would you like a cookie?”

“Stop it!” Laughing, I reach over and swat him on the forearm.

THE NEXT morning, however, I wake to a growly husband.

“I’m very angry with you,” he says.

“Why?”

“I had a dream that you cheated on me.”

“Uh oh.”

“With another cop.”

“Who?” I ask.

“The one with the sexy voice.”

I smile. I know who he’s referring to because the guy is really good-looking, plus he practically purrs when he phones in a report to us girls at work. I went on a police ride-along with him years ago and we’d had a riot.

“I’m serious, Adri.” He gets out of bed. “I can’t believe how mad I am at you.”

“It was a dream!”

Sam shakes his head. “It felt too real to be just a dream.” With a snort, he heads into the shower. Today we’re off to Universal Studios.

WE’RE ONE of the first to arrive at the Waterworld show, so from our seats we watch other audience members walk in. As people go past the massive water stage, representing a futuristic flooded earth, an actor pretending to be a maintenance man squirts them with a hose as they walk by. Most people can’t figure out where the water is coming from and Sam howls watching their confused reactions.

“I’d love to be an actor,” he says.

“Oh yeah?”

“Uh huh. Especially if I got to play the bad guy.”

“Maybe that’s why undercover work appeals to you so much?” I suggest.

“Maybe.”

After the show, I convince him to take the tram tour through the studio. When our guide isn’t chirping half-truths about what’s around the next corner, a director promotes his upcoming film on an overhead TV monitor. As our tram rolls along, I wave at Jaws, who is far more decrepit than dangerous since I last saw him twenty-two years ago; cringe at King Kong, who ought to be retired by now; and shrug at the old house that Psycho was filmed in forty years ago. I keep hoping we’ll catch a glimpse of a new movie being filmed versus tired remnants of old sets. I tell Sam this.

“But they can’t control what you might see on a live film set,” is his reply. “They’re only gonna show you what they want you to see. It’s Hollywood—what do you expect?”

“To see movies being made…the behind-the-scenes stuff.”

Our tram enters a burning building and the false floor collapses beneath us. The woman behind us screams. Sam looks at me and raises his eyebrows. “Better?”

By late afternoon, we’ve had more than enough. I suggest we go to Malibu for dinner and find a nice restaurant overlooking the sea…

Sam sighs. “Are you sure you want to go all that way?”

“Uh huh.”

Of course, he’s right. By the time we actually arrive in Malibu, the sun has set. Thus, we sit in our ocean-view restaurant with no ocean view.

“Chicken?” I snip, after the waiter has left. “What the heck are ya ordering chicken for, when we’re at the sea?”

“Because I feel like chicken.”

“Don’t you want fish?”

“No, I don’t. I want chicken.”

“I’m sorry, Sam…I guess I’m just tired.”

He shakes his head and takes a drink of beer. “You’re a weirdo.”