“For just one minute.” They put their arm around his waist, squeeze gently. “Then we go home and watch the Muppets.” (One of their favourites; they always get teary during Rainbow Connection.)
Wolfgang helps them up and towards the opening, supporting his weight so he doesn't have to make even that short trip alone. It's several hours later here than it is in New York, and the sun is starting to set. It's still burning hot and will be for a while after the sun has gone down, but the red sun is casting softer shades of yellow and pink over the jewel-toned water instead of the bright white glare from earlier in the day. There's a breeze, and it smells like the ocean, a salty tang, and hot sand, a kind of dry spice.
They hold him when they step outside, a constant contact. Their fingers wrap around his, palm to palm. No one explodes or disintegrates. The wind keeps blowing.