MY FATHER WAS making lunch. My mother was reading a thriller. Alma was riding around them on her tricycle, and Bubble, our dog, a beautiful Newfoundland, was sleeping in the shade of a hedge. Seeing all those familiar faces, I felt suddenly calm, and a wave of love and courage rose up within me: they would hear me. When my father saw me, he threw a round cheese at me.

“Good catch! We pillaged the market in Dax! I was like, Can I have a taste? And they gave me a piece of cheese! Can I taste? Yup, another piece of cheese! I bought one in the end. I’d have felt guilty otherwise. So how are you?”

“Sit down,” said my mother, pushing a plate in front of me. “We were calling you. Don’t you have your phone?”

I shook my head. Alma stared at me. “You’re all red.”

“Where’s Adrien?” I asked suddenly.

“He’s with his surf buddies.”

“We gave him his freedom… It’s okay, at fifteen, don’t you think?”

At my feet, Bubble was panting. He couldn’t sleep in this heat: his tongue lolled and he looked sad. He was hotter than all of us put together. He couldn’t go bare-chested. Then again, neither could I.

“Bubble’s too hot. He got aggressive this morning. You should watch out…”

“Apparently a dog went mad earlier on the beach. It bit a child.”

“Will it bite me, too?”

“No, sweetie.”

“Are you protecting yourself, Leo?”

“Yes.”

“I mean, are you wearing sunscreen?”

“Yes.”

“We won’t be leaving until late this afternoon. No rush. You have time to enjoy yourself.”

The tabbouleh, still in its packaging, was surrounded by mustard-flavored chips. Some cherry tomatoes were arranged on top of a green salad in the shape of a smiling face. My father leaned close to me. “So… did you go out last night?”

“Yes.”

“We could hear your music from here. We went to karaoke. That was good, too. There was this guy in a bunny suit. He wanted to tie a carrot to my belt so I’d try to get it into a bottle by moving my hips… You get the idea. I refused, obviously.”

“I’m sorry… I’m not hungry.” I pushed the plate away and stood up.

“Got a hot date?”

“Stop it,” my mother hissed.

“Oh, come on, I’m allowed to ask!”

“You don’t have to answer, Leo.”

“Is she pretty, at least?”

My mother shot him a look to make him shut up. I was just as embarrassed by her prudishness. There was a silence. They could tell that something was wrong. It was the moment to speak up. Adrien was with his surf friends. They could ask Alma to go and play. I’d say: Listen… But there was just that silence, the smell of the pines, Bubble’s panting, and our last day at this three-star campsite. We usually spent our family vacations with my grandparents. But my parents had been looking forward to this trip since the fall. Some evenings, coming back from work, they had shown us photographs of the Landes and live video feeds so we could see the beach in every season. The preparations had taken a long time. First we’d had to buy tents, camping equipment, and bodyboards. Then we’d had to drive across France. We’d had to pay extra for a spot with a view and direct access to the beach. Finally, there had been the outings and the restaurants to take us to the limits of pleasure. They had often repeated that the landscape was beautiful—“so beautiful” —to help us fully appreciate it. Once, a gray cloud had appeared in the sky, and each of us, even Alma, had pretended not to see it so that nothing would spoil our joy. The sky had stayed blue. The heat had blown away the memory of months of rain. The vacation had been perfect. My parents had done everything they could to make it that way. I had seen them counting the days, regretting each evening that happiness flew by so quickly. I had counted the days, too. For two weeks, I had been waiting for their vacation to end. I couldn’t ruin it even more by telling them about Oscar, his body buried, in such happy times. So I kept my mouth shut.

“Eat your salad, Leo, or you’ll waste away.”

“Shut up, Alma, I’m not in the mood. Anyway, it’s not true.”