MONDAY IS our last day of vacation and we spend it in Santa Monica, walking on the beach. We’ve walked for about twenty minutes when I suggest we go for a swim.

“You’re on your own,” Sam says. “I left my swim shorts in the trunk.”

I open my mouth to ask a bitchy Why? But I catch myself. Instead, I say, “No worries. I think I’ll still go in though.”

“Absolutely! I’ll hold your stuff.”

Sam stands on the sand while I run into the surf. I’m only in up to my calves when I stop, my childhood fear of sharks suddenly returning. I turn back to Sam and he nods, as if to say ‘go on.’ I take a deep breath, run straight into the waves and dive under. When I come up, I check to make sure Sam’s still keeping an eye on me and then I dive under again. When I come up this time and first open my eyes, Sam looks different—as if he’s surrounded by a sort of salty haze.

We walk back along the beach and on the way, come across a family splashing around in the water. Wordlessly, Sam and I both sit on the sand and watch. “That’s nice,” he says a few minutes later, nodding toward the ocean. “I mean, the whole family playing together like that…”

I want to ask him if that will ever be us: mom, dad and a couple of kids? But deep down, I already know his answer. I just nod. Then I reach over and scratch his scalp. He loves it when I do this.

He closes his eyes. “Mmmmm…”

I am actually quiet for a few minutes.

“I’ve got one picture left, Sammy,” I finally say.

He opens his eyes and smiles. I hand him the camera then wrap both my arms tightly around him. He leans back into me, holding the camera out at arms-length and snaps the last photo. As the film is rewinding, he glances at his watch. “We better get to the airport.”

I laugh. “Our flight home isn’t for hours.”

“We might run into some heavy traffic. I mean, it is LA.”

“True.”

We walk back to the parking lot and are climbing the steps from the beach when we both see a disheveled-looking older woman sitting cross-legged in the sand. Her head is slumped over her chest and bottles and cans lie strewn around her.

“That’s got to be a shitty way to live,” Sam remarks, once we’re in the car.

Frankly, his comment surprises me. Compassion for fainting Pooh Grandma is one matter; empathy toward a homeless alcoholic is something Sam has had very little of lately.

“Are you OK over there?” he asks, when he catches me staring at him.

I smile. “I’m thinking you better put that top down one last time.”

“You betcha.”

Once we’re on the freeway, Sam says, “It’s a big world. I’d forgotten how big it is.”

I look over at him.

“But this trip,” he continues, “has really made me realize there’s so much more to life than our little city back home.”

I nod.

“It can be a cruel world, Adri, but it is a big one.”

I giggle. “Have you been drinking coffee again?” Chatty Sam usually only comes out after a strong cup of coffee or a few beers.

He smiles. “I was just thinking how much it bothered me that I didn’t get on with the Priority Crimes Unit.”

“Oh?” We’ve scarcely talked about his work this trip.

“But now that I’m away from home, I realize there are so many other opportunities to work undercover.”

“Such as?”

“CSIS, the FBI, CIA, Secret Service…”

“I think you’d need a green card for some of those, hon.”

“My point,” he says, “is that I’ve been thinking way too small.”

“Oh.”

We travel in silence for a few minutes. “Just out of curiosity,” I say, “what would your undercover name have been if you had gotten on with Priority Crimes?”

“Some co-pilot you are,” he replies, pointing to the airport exit sign as we drive past it. “Pay attention, will ya?”

“Oh shit. Sorry.”

He grins, tapping his temple with his index finger. “That’s why it’s good to leave lots of extra time.”

“YOU’RE A bit early for your flight,” says the guy behind the check-in counter at the LAX airport.

“Yeah,” I whisper under my breath, “like five hours.”

As we walk away from the counter, I say to Sam, “You’re the weirdo.”

“I did get us here too early, huh?”

“Then again,” I reason, “if we stayed at the beach much longer, we might have hit way worse traffic.”

Once we’re through security, I find a comfy chair and devour the LA. Times. Sam finds a spot at the bar and has a beer watching Monday Night Football. We wave at each other occasionally but for the most part, we do our own thing. The vacation is over.