It would have made more sense if this happened: Just imagine, please. I need you to go with me here. Under a perfect Hawaii wind, Rawlins paddles on his surfboard, out, and out, and out, until he just drifts. The sun bakes away his mind, and the gulls fight over an empty bag of Doritos. He thinks about you, sits up, straight-backed, his legs dangling on either side of the board. He misses you, although he doesn’t completely understand this. Then he turns onto his stomach and lets his fingers and arms drift in the cold water.

After an hour of floating, he paddles into the beach. The distance is long and when the board finally grinds across the sandy bottom, he remains in the surf to catch his breath. He finishes the day with a pint of beer, or maybe one of those pina coladas they serve in pineapples, and he promises himself that tomorrow he will try to catch a wave. He tells the locals about you, about how much he misses you. He says the smell of the candle in his room reminds him of you.

He returns to you, suntanned and ready for his job interview at the bank. He smiles all of the time and brings you tropical flowers that look like birds. He cooks dinner for you, and when you wash the dishes he approaches you from behind, wraps his arms around you and whispers in your ear that he loves you. You both listen to NPR and scoff at the program about rising divorce rates. You will live happily ever after. You will be great grandparents.

Just imagine. Now stop.