“Dad, I don’t understand why we left Capeside,” Jason said petulantly as I pulled him along the strip of sand at Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. “Capeside has sand, and a beach. But not so many hotels,” he added thoughtfully. He resumed his complaints. “South Carolina is hot. And Mom isn’t here.”

I flinched, as I always did when Jason referred to Jen as “Mom.” Jen had moved in with Jason and me when he was a year and a half old. He’d grown accustomed to her being his mother, and he was too young to understand when we tried to explain why she wasn’t. He got used to calling her “Mom,” and even when he was finally old enough to understand that she really wasn’t, he still insisted on calling her that.

“When can we go back to Massachusetts?” Jason asked petulantly. “I want to see Uncle Doug and Aunt Bessie again. And I want to play soldiers with Alexander. Uncle Doug said I could stay with them while you were here if I wanted to. Dad, why did I have to come here with you?” Jason continued his stream of whining until I had finally had enough.

“Jason, we’re here because it means my job,” I said sharply. He quieted down, not used to hearing anger in my tone. “We might have to move here permanently if the administrative executives in Boston decide that I’m needed here in Myrtle Beach,” I continued, calming down a little. “I figured it was a good idea to introduce you to the area, just in case we end up moving here."

“Will Mom come with us?” he asked hopefully.

I sighed and rubbed the back of my hand over my forehead, the smooth metal of my wedding ring catching on a few strands of my hair. “Jason, Jen is not your mother. Your mother died giving birth to you.”

“She’s still Mom to me,” Jason pointed out stubbornly.

I sighed again. “If we move, Jen will stay in Capeside. It’ll be just you and me, kiddo,” I admitted. Jason frowned.

“I want my real mom to live with us,” he said quietly. I blinked. Jason very rarely mentioned Joey. He had pictures of her in his room, had heard the stories about her from Bessie and Doug and Dawson and Jen, but he almost never referred to her as his mother. “Jason, I want your real mom to live with us, too,” I whispered. I picked him up, even though he was seven years old and very heavy. After a minute he squirmed and I set him down. We continued walking along the busy beach, Jason’s gripes finally coming to a halt.

We reached our hotel after a few minutes and we went upstairs. Jason eagerly called Jen, who missed him as much as he missed her. I got on the line after Jason said his goodbyes.

“Hi, Jen,” I greeted her.

“Hey Pace,” she returned. “How are things down South?”

“The same as they are up North,” I replied, trying to shrug my shoulders while holding the phone trapped between one shoulder and my chin. “Except it’s hotter and muggier down here, with a lot more hotels and more chicks in string bikinis,” I added, trying to force some levity to the conversation. It was a farce; my interest in other women was minimal. I hadn’t had one serious relationship in the seven years since Joey had died.

“Well, Bessie and Doug miss you and Jason, and Alexander wants to know when his favorite double cousin is coming back to play with him,” Jen chuckled. I smiled briefly at the mention of Jason and Alexander’s unique relationship. Alexander was cousin to Jason both through their mothers, who were sisters, and through their fathers, since Doug had legally adopted Alexander when he married Bessie.

“I miss them, too, and Jason was just whining today about wanting to see Alexander,” I admitted. I sighed. “Jen, it looks like the corporate execs are gonna want me to move here,” I said quietly. Jason was watching TV and I didn’t want him to hear me. “I don’t know what to do. I hate to disturb Jason’s life so much. In Capeside he has Doug and Bessie and Alexander, and most importantly he has you. I don’t know if I can take him away from all that. I don’t know if he can survive life with a bachelor father as his only support. What he needs is his mother,” I realized painfully.

Jen sighed. “Pace, you can’t keep doing this to yourself. Joey’s gone. I understand if you don’t want to pursue other relationships, but you can’t expect Jason to pine for a mother he never knew,” she argued gently.

“I know, Jen,” I said quietly, wandering back into my bedroom. “I always wonder why Jason doesn’t miss his mother more than he does. Every time he calls you Mom I die a little bit inside, knowing how much it would hurt Joey to know that her son calls another woman by her title. But then I have to force myself to remember that Jason didn’t know Joey like I did, like we did. He only has the stories and the pictures, and those aren’t enough to make his mother a real person to him.”

I sank down onto the bed, picking up the framed photo of Joey that I had taken on our honeymoon. We’d gone to Paris, a gift from Doug and my father. We were standing on some little French street, outside a shop that sold expensive coffee and pastries. There were lots of sidewalk artists with their easels and berets, and Joey had the most captivated expression on her face.

Joey had begged one of the artists to loan her one of his paintbrushes and a canvas and she stood looking at it, seeing some wondrous picture that only she could see, and she was beautiful. I’d snapped the picture while she was using feathery brushstrokes to try and create whatever it was that she saw. She’d stood there for three hours, painting alongside the man, frowning in concentration at times, chewing her lower lip while she fought to get her vision onto the canvas. I watched her the entire time, never understanding what quirk of fate had allowed me to capture this vibrant, gorgeous, enigmatic woman and bind her to my side with our marriage vows.

I came out of my reverie and listened to Jen for a few more minutes. Not really concentrating, I walked over to the window. We were only on the third story, so the people next to the pool out back weren’t so far away as they would be otherwise. I watched them frolic in the water, slather sunscreen on bronzed skin, and read in the shade of the umbrella-covered patio tables.

My eyes roamed over the expanses of tanned, naked flesh, not really seeing. Then they landed on a beautiful woman, an extraordinarily beautiful woman, with long legs and flowing, lush, dark brown hair. My heart lurched and my eyes turned sad when I realized just how much she resembled Joey. The woman turned around and threw off her floppy, wide-brimmed hat, and my heart stopped mid-beat.

“Joey?” I whispered unbelievingly.