Last night, after a rather painful trip back from Los Angeles, I was reunited with Elijah after his big trip to Florida with Grandma Connie and Grandpa Ed. I’ll admit, the kid looked a little shell shocked, which I assume was the by product of two straight days of trying to drive his two cousins nuts in the backseat of a minivan.
I tried to pry some details out of him. He responded, “What happens in Florida stays in Florida.” A line clearly planted by his grandmother.
I peppered him with more and more questions. What was the best part? Everything. Who was your favorite person to hang out with? Everyone. Who cried the most? Everyone. Who did you miss most? Mommy.
The only real detail he’d offer up was a blatant lie that a jellyfish bit him. Probably another plant from his grandmother.
Luca and I poured through his souvenirs and tchotchkes. There were the usual shells, plastic fish and a filthy feather from a clearly rabid bird.
I checked over my father’s text messages from the week. Also fairly vague.
“Just got back from after dinner beach walk. Boys in shorts, sweatshirts, barefooted. They ran. Finn examining driftwood, Fox and Eli picking up a hundred shells. Time for ice cream.”
I began to wonder if my parents were using the boys as a front to move some contraband south of the Mason Dixon line. But they don’t seem the type.
Another text read, “Grandma Connie has the boys playing slap jacks and war. Soon she will have them playing rummy for their allowances.”
“They did have some conversations including butt, pee and poop from time to time along with much laughter. I’m not taking responsibility. Just warning you.”
I figured this was the first of many mysteries with this kid. So I better get used to it.