"I don't know," I finally whispered.

"I do."

The tears that I'd kept at bay slipped first down one cheek and then the other. "You think you're so smart."

The trailblazing on my arms ceased. I felt a thumb graze my cheek, catching the tear, preserving it. "You think if she isn't here to brag on you, to tell you how marvelous your work is, then it's for nothing."

"That's not . . ."

"I know you, Kimberly-Boo."

"You knew me."

His hands now cupped my shoulders. I licked my lips; they were so dry I feared they'd crack.

I felt myself slipping backward, the weakness of my spine curving into the strength of his chest. His arms circled me; I could feel the sweat of our bodies mingle. He reached down, took the camera from my hand, and deftly turned it on.

It sang to life; my heart skipped.

"You can either use the viewfinder or"-he pushed a small b.u.t.ton on the right side-"you can use the monitor."

"Digital photography."

"Welcome to the new millennia, Kimberly Tucker."

I breathed out, then reached up and took the camera from his hands. It felt lighter than before. I played with the mode dial, found the right scene setting, adjusted the zoom and the angle, then raised a shaking finger to the smooth metal shutter b.u.t.ton. I inhaled, then pushed. The scene on the monitor froze. Perfectly.

"You haven't lost it, Boo," Steven said.

I switched from monitor to viewfinder; it was where I was most comfortable. I shot several new shots, changing the zoom and the settings. I focused on the sun, the marsh, and the dock. And when I was done, I held onto the camera with my right hand, then buried my face in my left. The sobbing began slowly at first, then with an intensity I didn't know was inside me. The resolve not to cry escaped from where I'd held it captive. Part of me wondered what Steven must be thinking and the other part didn't care. I felt his strong arms slip tighter around me, moving the camera out of my hand and then holding me, keeping me grounded. I sputtered a few times, groaned in travail, screamed out to my mother in such intense anger that she'd left me . . . left Dad . . . left us all. I cried for what I'd had with Charlie and what I'd lost. I wept as only a mother can for the mistakes we'd made and the price paid for them by our sons. And when there was nothing left inside me, I collapsed against the man I somehow knew had never stopped thinking of me. Never stopped caring. And had always known me as I'd known myself. Even in the short, sweet time we'd been together. It had always been there, this connection. First loves never really died, I thought. They only grew more memorable with time. His lips had been the first to ever press against mine . . . and his were the ones which now drew mine again. Tender at first until our pa.s.sion grew hungry. His hands held my face; my body twisted somehow into his. For a moment, I thought I'd break in two. For a moment, all I could think was that it had been so long since a man-any man-had kissed me at all, much less with desire.

I became keenly aware of nature around me. The gritty sand between my sandals and feet, the gentle waves brushing against the green reeds and rushes, the birds overhead, calling to each other in the rustle made by the wind trembling in the palm fronds. My muscles burned. Just when I thought I could take it no longer, Steven pulled away and turned my body toward the beach again. His arms clasped me as though I were a life preserver; his head hung limp on my shoulder. I lay my head back and gasped for air, knowing full well that the short breaths coming from behind me were from a man trying to gain control of his emotions.

Finally, he spoke. "You're doing it again."

I shook my head and said, "I don't know what you mean."

"You know," he said. He straightened, reached for the cooler, and brought out two large icy bottles of water. He handed one to me. I drank as though I hadn't seen a drop for years. He did the same. When I'd drunk half, I poured a little into the cup of my hand and splashed my face. Rivulets ran down my throat and chest as I returned the bottle's cap and dug a place for it in the sand with its base. By now Steven had done the same. He slipped a few inches away from me. I heard him clear his throat. "I never meant to hurt you."

"Don't," I begged. "I've cried enough this afternoon. I'm sure I just look a mess."

He reached up and turned my chin toward him. "You look great," he said with a smile. Then he sobered. "If you want to know what happened, I'll tell you."

I kept my eyes on his for a moment, then nodded. "Okay."

"You nearly drove me crazy that summer, did you know that?"

I turned back toward the beach. Of course I knew it. I knew it now; I hadn't known it then. Teenage girls rarely know the depths of the power they have . . . or the damage that power can cause.

"I'm not blaming you," he went on, slipping close to me again. "I'm just telling you the way it was. Eighteen and all hormones and you looking like you did. Coming on to me like you did."

I started to say something, but he stopped me by speaking quickly. "I remember . . . I remember not wanting to do anything to hurt you. Not you. Not in that way. Sometimes I'd think, 'Man, would she? Nah, not Kim . . . she's too good.'"

I closed my eyes against the memory. "Teenagers and hormones should have never been put together," I spoke quietly. "I wonder what in the world G.o.d was thinking when he designed us that way."

Steven chuckled. "You and me and cold showers-that's the way it was that summer."

My eyes opened. Two egrets danced together in the marsh in front of us. Their own love ballet, I supposed. One seemingly much more playful than the other, much more determined. I wondered if it were the female of the two. Like me at seventeen. "But you never even so much as tried anything, Steven. Don't beat yourself up. You were a good kid. Now that I have sons, I can only hope that when they start dating . . . I can hardly wrap my mind around this, but . . . when they do, that they will treat their dates with the same respect you gave me."

"I met Brigitte about a month or so into school," he said, as though I'd not uttered a single word. "She was one of those girls who hung out at frat houses. I'm not going to tell you that she wasn't pretty because she was. She was beyond that, actually. She looked like one of those girls you see advertising underwear and blue jeans. The kind of girl I keep praying her daughter never becomes." His fingers brushed away a mosquito that had bravely lit on my arm. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of an airboat pa.s.sing on the water grew loud and then faded. All the while, Steven remained silent.

"Go on," I finally said. "I can take it."

"She set her eyes on me. Only she was more persistent, more . . . cunning . . . than you'd ever thought to be. I figured . . . she and I . . . I figured what the heck? Go for it. Who's gonna know? Who's gonna get hurt?" He sighed so deeply I wondered if there could possibly be any air left in his lungs.

"But she got pregnant," I finished for him.

He sighed. "Yeah."

"And you married her."

"Because it was the right thing to do."

We sat silent again. I found the camera still lying next to me, picked it up, and shot a few photos of the sun as it made its scheduled descent. The sky was nothing short of brilliant, the sun as red and round as I'd ever seen it. When I was done, I braved the question. "Did you love her?"

"Goodness." He took the camera from my hands, pressed the playback b.u.t.ton, and studied the shots for a moment before answering. "What does an eighteen-year-old know about love, Kim?"

I peered over my shoulder at him, wondering what kind of picture I made at that moment. A silly thought, but there it was. "I was seventeen and I thought I was in love."

His face-rosy from the sun's glow-grew pinker still. "I know you did. But now? Now do you think you were?"

I nodded. "Mmmhmm. As much as I knew how to be."

"That's fair."

I continued to study him, and his eyes never left my face either. I swallowed, then asked, "So what happened after the baby was born?"

A mosquito lit on his face, and he swiped it. He pulled his hand back, studied the smear of black insect and red blood on his fingertips. I grabbed my water bottle then used its contents to wash his hand.

"We'd best get going," he said. "Pretty soon it'll be too dark to see to get back to the boat."

Disappointment washed over me. "Sure, I guess you're right."

We packed up the few things we had with us, then walked hand in hand, silent, to the boat. "Want to get in first?" he asked me again.

I shook my head. "No," I said, then encircled my arms around his shoulders. His head tipped back; his eyes searched mine. "First," I said, "I want you to kiss me one more time."

20.

February 1989 When Steven lost his job at Pizza Hut, he slammed out the back door of the kitchen and stomped through the parking lot, right past his truck. The back alleyway-used mostly for deliveries and employees-stretched right to left like a road to nowhere. It was lined by squatty trees and oversized trash cans.

Steven shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and turned left. He kept his head down, focused on the pair of shoes in bad need of replacement, and wondered how he was going to tell Brigitte. Then he wondered what she would have to say, if she would be sympathetic and supportive, telling him that she still had her part-time job at Dillard's and they'd make do until he found something else. Or, if she would cry and curse and ask him what he'd done wrong to deserve being fired. He'd tell her then that he wasn't fired. He was let go. That a lot of people were being let go, but he'd find something else for sure. He wasn't being paid enough anyway, now that they had another mouth to feed.

Which brought him to another point. With every other mother out there getting back into breastfeeding, what was wrong with Brigitte that she never did? It would have saved them a fortune in formula. Not to mention it was good for Eliza. But all Brigitte could think about was what it would do to her physically. "You want me to look like my grandmother before I'm even in my twenties?"

He shook his head now at the thought. Steven didn't even know her grandmother. He hardly knew her parents. They'd spoken on the phone, that was it. And they promised to come soon to meet their first grandchild. Steven supposed they wanted to meet him too. One thing he knew for sure-if some kid in college ever got Eliza pregnant, he'd make sure he got to know him real fast. So fast the boy's head would spin.

He came to an intersection and turned left again. The chill in the air whipped around his face; he turned up the denim collar of his jacket and kept going. He walked until his shins ached and his calves burned. Eventually he hit a major intersection; the noise of traffic surprised him and he looked up. He blinked, completely unsure how long he'd been walking or where, exactly, he had managed to land.

A Sh.e.l.l station stood at his right. Across the six-lane highway, a Texaco station competed for business. Between the two of them, he'd say, they were doing all right. Not wanting to risk the traffic, he rounded the sidewalk in front of the Sh.e.l.l station and kept walking. Eventually, he figured, he'd either walk straight into the Gulf or return to the restaurant where he'd left his truck.

He continued past a vacant stretch of property scattered with overgrown shrubbery and discarded trash. Just past it, an oversized warehouse-type building dominated a lot. Letters spelling out "Jack's Boats" in red were displayed on the white aluminum siding over the double front doors. A ma.s.sive parking lot was about half full of customer trucks and one-in Steven's mind-very nice Ranger ba.s.s boat.

His feet guided him into the store, which was more showroom than anything else.

"Can I help you?" a voice from his right called out.

Steven looked at the man walking toward him. He felt his brow furrow. "Hey, I know you," he said.

The man extended his hand, and Steven took it. "Jack Cason," he said.

"As in Jack's Boats?"

The man laughed. "One and the same." He pointed at Steven. "Son of a gun, I believe I know you too. You're the young man in the maternity waiting room."

Steven nodded. "My wife and I had a little girl." Even after several months, his chest swelled with pride just mentioning the baby. "We named her Eliza."

"Eliza. Now, that's a pretty name for a little girl."

Steven felt his face grow warm, and he turned to look at the showroom. "You've got some nice boats here. I don't think I've ever seen so many pontoons in one place."

"You know boats?" Jack asked. Together they stepped closer to the displays.

"I know boats," Steven said. "My dad owns a tour boat company in Cedar Key."

"No joke?" Jack stopped short. "My wife and I used to love to go there. We haven't been in years but . . . yeah. We used to enjoy Cedar Key."

"You should come back to visit sometime. One thing about Cedar Key-it never changes."

"My wife used to say that Cedar Key wasn't a town, it was a way of life."

Steven smiled and nodded in agreement. "Speaking of your family, sir, how is your new grandson?"

Jack threw back his head and laughed so hard it echoed throughout the warehouse. "Our grandson turned out to be a granddaughter. All that planning . . . all those little boy clothes and the nursery set for the next major league phenom . . . and the next thing you know Jack III is now Jacqueline the first."

Steven couldn't help but laugh along with the older man. When they'd both sobered, Jack put his hands on his hips and said, "So what brings you in to my place, son?"

Steven shook his head. "Nothing, actually. I . . . well, to be honest, I got laid off from my job today and I just started walking. Next thing I knew, I was here." He extended his hands. "It's boats! One thing I know a lot about."

Jack peered down at him for several moments before saying, "Enough to, say, sell them for a living?"

Steven blinked. "Are you serious?"

"Small base salary plus commission. I also have a pretty good insurance plan if you're interested. And with you supporting a small family, I'd say you should be."

Steven knew he looked taken aback and he didn't care. "I . . . well . . . you know I'm in school."

"We'll work around that."

"Are you kidding me? Just like that, you offer me a job?"

"No, not really just like that. One of my part-time salesmen just left; moved back to Alabama."

Steven smiled at the way Jack said the name of the state; emphasis on "bama." Jack Cason was what Steven's father called a good ole boy. Like himself. Like Steven had hoped to be. "How could I say no?"

"How indeed?" Jack slipped his arm around Steven's shoulders and said, "Come on back to my office. Let's talk some business, shall we?"

It took five years for Steven to earn a four-year degree, but he did it. By then, he and Brigitte and Eliza had moved from their tiny apartment to a more s.p.a.cious two-bedroom duplex, which had a fenced-in yard, small but perfect for a toddler and all her Fisher Price yard toys. By then, Steven worked nearly thirty hours a week and Brigitte had scaled down to no more than ten at the mall. Between the two of them and Mrs. Cason, they'd managed to keep Eliza out of daycare until it was time for her to attend pre-K.

On the morning of Steven's graduation night, Eliza graduated into kindergarten. Both sets of grandparents came, and Jack and Mrs. Cason as well. The whole clan also attended Steven's graduation.

For Steven, the most important accomplishment of the day was Eliza's. Somehow, this little girl he hadn't banked on just a few years back had managed to take center stage in his life. And he knew, above all else, she always would.

Steven's in-laws gifted him and Brigitte with a two-week, all-expenses-paid trip to Hawaii in honor of his accomplishments. Steven insisted he couldn't take that much time away from work; Jack insisted he could.

Eliza went with her paternal grandparents for the first of what would become many two-week visits to Cedar Key.

Hawaii was good for Steven and Brigitte. They were somehow able to leave life in Tallaha.s.see behind and just be. Steven even found himself drawn to his wife again, which was something that hadn't happened in a while. He was either too tired physically or worn out emotionally from her constant demands to make their lives better. Nothing ever seemed to satisfy her. Not even Eliza.

But in Hawaii things changed. They touched. They held hands. They made love like they had their first year of marriage . . . like they meant it. Like it mattered.

The most amazing place they visited was the Seven Sacred Pools in Haleakala National Park. They'd hiked along trails and through the bamboo forest. When they reached the pools, they stopped to sit on the rocks by the water. Brigitte laid back and closed her eyes while Steven rested his elbows on his knees and focused on the beauty and the people around him.

This also gave him time to think about what he was going to do with himself now that his diploma had been earned, matted, and framed. Jack would let him work full-time, no doubt about that. But Steven wasn't sure that was what he wanted to do. He'd toyed with the idea of returning to Cedar Key, but he knew Brigitte would just as soon die first. She hated going even for short visits.

He heard a shriek of laughter coming from one of the bikini-clad girls splashing about in the water. He turned to gaze at her. Her long blonde hair dripped water, her face was alive with happiness. In front of her, a young Hawaiian of about seventeen cupped his hands, filling them with water, and then threw the water on her.

"Stop it, you fiend," the girl said with a laugh. "I'll tell your mother on you!"

The young man said something Steven couldn't make out, but it didn't stop him from splashing the girl again. This time, though, she returned the gesture, only he caught her by the hands, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her fully on the mouth. When their lips parted, the girl laughed so fully it made Steven laugh too.

He shook his head then, remembering that summer so long ago when he and Kimberly had toyed with each other like that. She'd driven him nearly crazy looking like she did. Feeling the way she did in his arms.