What a summer that had been. He was all boy and all man in one package. He was ready to take on the world and about as ill-prepared as he'd ever been for the way Kim had made him feel.

And then, of course, there'd been Rosa . . .

"What are you thinking about?" Brigitte asked.

He turned his head and looked down at her. She used her right arm to shield her eyes from the sun. Steven couldn't help but notice how tan she'd become since they'd arrived on the island. That morning she'd put her hair up into a ponytail; it splayed across the rocks under her. She wore a pair of denim shorts and a neon pink bikini top. Her navel sported a new pink zircon heart-shaped belly-b.u.t.ton ring. Steven reached over and touched it with his finger, allowed the sunlight to send fire from the stone. "You look hot, you know that?"

Brigitte laughed then. "That's not what you were thinking. I saw you looking at that girl over there."

He smiled at her. "Only because she and her boyfriend were laughing and playing with each other."

"And you were thinking about how we used to play around like that when we were dating?"

"Yeah," he lied. "And how I can't wait to get you back to our hotel room."

Jack didn't offer him the full-time position like Steven thought he would. Instead he sat him down over a $1.99 breakfast at Krystal and told him about his brother who lived in Atlanta. "There's a job he knows about," Jack said after taking a long sip of coffee. "And he thinks you'd be perfect for it."

"But he doesn't even know me," Steven said.

"He knows everything I've told him about you, and all that's been nothing but good."

Steven started to take a bite of his biscuit but instead put it back on the Styrofoam plate. "Thank you, Jack. I appreciate that."

"You've earned it." The older man shook his head. "In all honesty, I don't want to see you go . . . but I can get another salesman. You'll never find a job quite like this one."

"What is it?"

"How would you like to manage one of the new malls in the greater Atlanta area?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"My brother said he can help you and Brigitte find a place to live. The people at his church will help you get settled in. The job starts in a month."

"I don't even know what a mall manager does. The only time I even go into one is to pick up Brigitte or when she makes me go clothes shopping."

Jack pulled a folded piece of paper from his shirt's front pocket. "Well, let's see what we have here for a job description." He adjusted the reading gla.s.ses he perpetually wore near the tip of his nose and cleared his throat. "It says here: staff supervision, budgeting, office management, development of mall marketing programs, sales a.n.a.lysis, financial a.n.a.lysis, community relations, tenant relations, and leasing stores including the negotiation of contracts between the mall and the tenant."

Steven shook his head. "But, Jack. I don't have the experience for something like that."

"You'll be highly trained," Jack said, replacing the paper.

"By whom?"

"My brother."

"Your brother?"

"He owns the mall."

Simon Cason helped Steven and Brigitte find and rent a townhouse in Marietta. It had a spiral staircase Brigitte absolutely loved. She said it made her feel like a movie star when she went up and down it. It only served to make Steven nervous. His first purchase for the new place was the best child gate his money could afford to keep Eliza from climbing up and tumbling down it.

It took them two weeks to get settled in. Brigitte applied for a cosmetic job at one of the new mall's anchor stores and was hired immediately. Steven asked her to work only part-time; his salary would be enough, he said, and he wasn't sure about putting Eliza in daycare. But Brigitte would hear nothing of it. She was bored, she said. Bored silly with home life.

Simon and his wife, Abbie, took them to church and introduced them to their array of friends. They also told Brigitte about the daycare program that would be perfect for Eliza. While Brigitte wasn't fond of the "going to church" idea, she loved the idea of a church-affiliated daycare. She was also pretty thrilled to hear that Eliza could go directly from the daycare to the church's accredited private school, which began with kindergarten.

By August they both worked full-time. Eliza came home from daycare each day and, during dinner, sang whatever new song she'd learned at "school" that day. In September she began kindergarten. Every morning Steven got her dressed and ready, then drove her to school before heading in to the office. He told her it was their special time of day.

"Why doesn't Mommy drive me to school?" she asked from her car seat secured to the backseat of the silver Toyota Cressida he'd traded in his truck for.

"Mommy works at night," he said. He forced a smile. "Remember?"

"Why doesn't Mommy work in the daytime like you, Daddy?"

Eliza was nothing if not bright and inquisitive. "Because," he said, "somebody has to work during the daytime-that is called first shift-and somebody has to work second shift. Mommy works second."

He glanced into the rearview mirror. Eliza's strawberry blonde hair was scooped to the top of her head in a ponytail secured by a dark green bow. She played with one of the oversized ladybug b.u.t.tons on the dress he'd put her in earlier. Her cupid lips were pursed, and her blonde brows were knitted together.

Steven's heart flipped.

"I don't like it that Mommy works at night," she said.

"Me either, baby girl," he told her.

It was true. He didn't like it that Brigitte worked second shift. It meant they rarely saw each other. It also meant that the bulk of caring for Eliza fell on his shoulders. Not that he minded, but with learning a new job, getting to know new people, trying to make his way in the world . . . it sometimes felt like too much.

Brigitte also managed to stay as unattached from their home during the day as possible. From what he could put together, she slept until nearly noon, vegged on the sofa in front of the television for an hour, then showered and got ready for work. Jason Morgan-a single man of about thirty-five who lived just a few doors down and worked the men's department of the same store-picked her up at 2:30, which gave them an hour to get to work.

Steven got off work-in theory-at five. He had until six to get to the church and pick up Eliza. Every evening, as he drove back to the townhouse, she regaled him with what she'd learned that day in school. New words. New books. New numbers. Jesus walked on water.

"Can you walk on water, Daddy?" she asked him.

"No, sweet pea. Daddy cannot walk on water. Daddy used to drive a boat on water every day though."

"At Grandpa and Grandma's?"

"Yep. In Cedar Key."

"I wish we lived with Grandpa and Grandma . . ." Her voice trailed.

"You don't like living in Atlanta?"

"It's fine, Daddy," she said with a tender sigh. "I just like having water all around." A glance in the rearview mirror showed him his daughter with her little fist pushed against her cheek, her elbow on the padded bar of her car seat.

She saw him looking at her, and she smiled. "Hey, Daddy," she cooed.

"Hey backatcha," he said.

One thing he could say for Brigitte-at least she waited until after the holidays to leave him and their daughter behind for what she declared would be a better life for herself.

"Jason is my soul mate," she wrote in the six-page letter left on the dining room table. "He gets me in a way you never could," it went on.

I'm leaving Eliza with you, Steven, because you are the one she is most connected to. I could never do that to my daughter. I could never rip her from her home and from her daddy. And you are a good daddy, Steven. You just aren't fulfilling my needs. Jason not only understands them, he fulfills them in a way you never could. I'm not saying that to hurt you, but just so you can understand that there is nothing you can do to change how I feel.

I'm sorry to say I don't think I ever loved you. I loved the idea of you. Now Jason has shown me what true love is. I tried to fight my feelings, but I know now that I have to have what he gives to me.

I'm sorry.

Brigitte and Jason were halfway to Nashville when he read the letter. They eventually settled in a small town just north of it. In the beginning she drove the three-hour difference about once a month on a Sat.u.r.day. She took Eliza to places like the zoo, Chuck E. Cheese, and the mall. While it gave Steven a much-needed day to himself, those days were always followed by a night of his daughter crying hysterically for her mother.

Twelve months of once-a-month visits went by. Then, late one February afternoon when Steven had dropped his keys on the kitchen countertop and pushed play on the answering machine, he received the call he somehow knew would come.

"Hey, Steven." Brigitte's voice was whisper soft. "It's me. Um . . . listen . . . I've left Jason and I'm moving to Dallas. Um . . . I met someone who . . . oh man, how do I say this?" Steven stopped the tape. Eliza stood at the kitchen door.

"Was that Mommy's voice?" his Einstein asked.

"Yeah. She was just calling to say h.e.l.lo."

"Who did she meet?"

Steven looked from his daughter to the answering machine and back to his daughter. "The m.u.f.fin Man. Now then . . . what do you say to you and me going out for some pizza tonight?"

Eliza jumped up and down. "Yes! Yes! Pizza! Pizza!"

"Then go upstairs-hold on to the handrail-put away your book bag and brush your teeth before we go, okay?"

Eliza was out of the room before he finished the command.

After supper and bedtime book reading and after Eliza's breathing told him she was sound asleep, he listened to the rest of the message.

"How do I say this? His name is Clarke. Clarke Biscoff. He's from Texas and . . . well, I don't have to tell you, do I? He's got money, which Jason never would, and he gets me. It's like the first time I met him I thought I had known him my whole life. Anyway, I've left Jason, and right now I'm on my way to Dallas with Clarke." She giggled. "Actually, right now I'm in the bedroom of a fancy suite in Atlanta's Ritz-Carlton. Clarke just went out for a minute and I thought this would be the best time to call. So . . . anyway . . . kiss my angel for me. Tell her she's my stars in the sky. Tell her I love her to the moon and back. And tell her I'll call her soon." She took a breath. "Oh, and Steven . . . I'll send some money to you soon for child support, okay? I mean, I'm going to be rich. I can afford it now, right? My father and mother are going to be thrilled at this news . . ."

But the calls rarely came. And the money never showed. Not that he needed it. He and Eliza got along just fine on what his salary provided.

Eventually they only heard from Brigitte twice a year, on Eliza's birthday and at Christmas. And every couple of years the calls or the gifts came from somewhere else, where she lived with somebody else who had more money than the last someone else.

And it was always someone who "got" her.

21.

I woke Sat.u.r.day morning feeling like a new woman. I felt loved, even though the "L word" hadn't been said. But we'd kissed good night like young lovers and we'd set a date for the following night, tonight.

I premade a pot of coffee the night before, had it scheduled to come on at 8:00. When I heard the last gurgle and its rich scent reached the bedroom, I got out of bed long enough to let Max out, get a cup, and then return. I propped up with a book I'd snagged from Dad's library on the way back from the kitchen. For the next two hours, I sipped coffee and read a musty, time-stained copy of Charles Mercer's There Comes a Time. It outdated me by more than a decade, but I found it riveting.

Around 10:00 I let Max in, got dressed, made both of us breakfast, then sat cross-legged on the sofa and called Chase. He answered right away; the sound of his voice let me know something was up.

"What's going on? And don't say nothing because I can hear it in your voice."

"Nothing, Mom."

"Chase." My words were met with silence. Finally I asked, "Where are you?"

"At work with Grandpa," he said. "I'm standing in the middle of the azaleas."

"And your father?"

More silence.

"Chase Joshua Tucker."

"He's at the beach."

"The beach."

"Don't make a big deal out of this, Mom."

"Why aren't you at the beach with him?" Silence. I didn't have to ask any other questions. I knew the answer. His second weekend with our sons and . . . "He's with a woman?"

"I a.s.sume."

"He never quits," I said under my breath.

"Mom. Seriously. If you make something out of it I'll be so mad at you and I'm not kidding."

I sat stunned. My son would be mad with me? As always, I tried to put myself in his skin . . . in Cody's skin too. They loved their father. They loved me. They hated when we fought. "All right, I won't say anything. When will he be back?"

"He said tomorrow."

"Sunday."

"Yeah."

"Okay. You and Cody staying with Grandpa and Grandma?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that's not the worst thing that could happen."

"You know how it is. They're cool. And Grandma said . . ."

"What did Grandma say?"

"Nothing."