The Vacationers: A Novel by Emma Straub

Author:Emma Straub
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-05-29T00:00:00+00:00

Franny was in bed with an ice pack on her head, where a large goose egg had already formed. Antoni had driven her home himself, a ride that she dearly wished she remembered for more than just her own throbbing skull. Antoni tried to explain to Charles, who answered the door, what had happened, but there wasn’t much to say. She had hit herself in the head with the butt of her tennis racquet and briefly knocked herself unconscious. She would be fine, Antoni was sure, though he admitted that he hadn’t seen it before, not such a direct hit on one’s own scalp. Antoni had been very sweet about the whole thing—when Antoni had his sunglasses and baseball hat off, Charles could see what had made Franny’s heart go aflutter. He was still gorgeous, and spoke so quickly with his beautiful mouth, Charles almost didn’t even care what he was saying, just so long as he kept talking. She had a strong swing, Antoni said, and smiled. They would reschedule, if she wished, and he would call to check on her. Antoni wrote down the name of his personal doctor for Charles and then left, getting into a waiting car driven by one of his employees, who had followed them up the mountain.

They’d cooked and eaten dinner without her—Charles delivered a plate to her bedside and returned when Franny had taken a few bites. Carmen was eager to help with the dishes, even more so in Franny’s absence, but Jim shooed her away from the sink. He pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and turned on the faucet. “You go on,” he said. “I’ll do it.” Jim spoke with authority, and Carmen backed away, hands raised.

“You wash, I’ll dry,” Charles said, setting out a dish towel on the countertop. Bobby had vanished into his bedroom, and Sylvia was sitting at the dining room table, hypnotized by her laptop. The house was as quiet as ever, though outside the wind was picking up, and occasionally branches tapped against the windows.

Jim dampened the sponge and dove in. They worked silently for a few minutes, an assembly line of two. At the table, Sylvia gave a loud snort and then a louder laugh. Both Jim and Charles turned to her for an explanation, but her eyes stayed glued to the screen.

“I do not understand the Internet,” Charles said. “It’s a giant void.”

Jim agreed. “A limitless void. Hey, Syl,” he said. “How’s it going over there?”

Sylvia looked up. She had the crazed expression of a child who’d stared directly into the sun, blinking and temporarily blind. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Nothing, dear,” Jim said, laughing. Sylvia went back to the computer screen and started typing quickly.

Charles shrugged. “At least she could always get a job as a typist.”

“I don’t think those exist anymore. Administrative assistants, maybe, but not typists.”

“Franny seems okay.” They made eye contact for a moment while Jim handed off a dripping plate.

“Does she?” Jim wiped the back of his wet hand across his forehead.

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