"And?"

"Your mom answered."

"And?"

"I told her who I was." He blew air between his lips. "She was sweet. Asked me how I was doing. How the baby was doing-not that Eliza was a baby anymore. I told her-in a roundabout way-that I was a single father. That I had custody of Eliza." Steven smiled. "She actually gave me some advice on raising a daughter."

I smiled too. "That was Mom. She always had a ready answer for any and all of life's problems and circ.u.mstances. After Charlie left I would sometimes drive to the cemetery and sit at her grave and pour my heart out. I didn't really expect her to rise up and answer or some great piece of wisdom to come floating through the trees, but . . . somehow . . . it made me feel better just talking to her there."

Steven released my hands, reached up, and swept the hair over my shoulders. His fingertips stroked the bare skin there, then trailed down the length of my arms. In the heat, I shivered. I straightened, forcing him to do the same. His elbows came to rest on his knees; his hands hung limp between them. "She was special."

"But . . . I don't understand. She never told me you called."

He shrugged and winced a little. "You weren't home. Not that home, anyway."

"But, still. I never got the message. If I had, I would have at least called you back."

"And then what?"

And then what? The possibilities ran wild inside my head. "Oh," I said.

He took my hands again. "Don't worry, Kimberly."

"But I didn't get the message, Steven."

"Kimberly, listen to me, because I'm only going to say this once." A mosquito hummed around his ear; he shooed it away, then reached for me again. "Apparently, my time is limited, anyway. Pretty soon these bugs will just carry me off and you'll never have to deal with me again." We both smiled before he continued. "When I met Brigitte, I was so pa.s.sionately in l.u.s.t, I couldn't think straight. A lot of things had led up to that-I won't get into all of it now-and, yes, you were a part of it. Not that I'm blaming you. It's just something teenagers go through when they're left to their own devices. Some successfully, some not so successfully. Eliza became both my consolation and my penitence. And, in the process, I lost one of the finest young ladies I've ever had the pleasure of calling my friend, not to mention a girlfriend."

"Me?"

"You."

"But I wasn't perfect in all that, Steven. I know now-as an adult and as a Christian mother-that I must have driven you completely crazy that summer."

He laughed easily. "You did that, sweetheart. You surely did. But . . . still." He swallowed. "So, here's what I want to say. Not to sound cliche, but we know what the Bible says in Romans."

I instinctively continued his thought along with him. "And we know that in all things G.o.d works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."

He blinked.

"Romans 8:28," I said.

"Our past is our past. And our future . . . it's up to us. I know what love feels like, Kim. And I know the difference between love and l.u.s.t. I love you, Kimberly-Boo, and I don't need another twenty-four years to realize it."

I felt dizzy. Good, but dizzy. I squeezed his hands for support.

"So, let me propose this to you." He swallowed again. "Stay the summer. Stay here and spend the days getting to know me better. Getting to know us better. Meet my daughter when she comes next month for the big July 4th Clamerica celebration."

I grinned, perhaps a little too broadly. My cheeks actually ached.

He continued. "And when your sons are done with their visit with Charlie, bring them back here. We'll take them out in the boat. Every day and every night if that's what you want. We'll go fishing and clamming and walk all over Sh.e.l.l Mound and Atsena Otie." He swatted at the air again. "Unless these mosquitoes get any worse."

Reality set in again. "But come August . . . Teachers have to be back at school the second week."

Steven scooted to the end of his chair. Our knees touched; electricity shot through my body. "Maybe come August you won't want to return to teaching. Maybe come August, you'll be happy to be just a tour guide's wife."

"Steven . . ." I felt both breathless and full of life, all at once.

His hands released mine and took hold of my face. His fingertips splayed along the damp roots of my hair as he drew my lips to his. "Don't answer tonight," he spoke against them, then pressed mine with his.

When the kiss had broken but the magic had not, he said, "Think about it?"

I shook my head. "No."

He leaned away from me, but his hands remained locked around the base of my skull. "No? Kim . . ."

I shook my head again. "No need, I mean." Then I smiled. "I'm staying, Steven Granger. Wild dogs couldn't make me leave this island now. Not the island, not the house, and certainly not you."

As he kissed me again, I thought, And maybe not ever.

After I woke the next morning-after I'd had coffee and a shower and had applied insect bite ointment along my arms and legs-I went to see Patsy. Both to check on her and to fill her in on my evening the night before.

She was still tired, she said, but she was happy to know I'd found love again.

"It is love, isn't it?" she asked.

I nodded. "It sure feels like it." I looked at my watch. "I have to get back to the house. Luis is coming today for the first cleaning, and I really have to make some calls back to the family before he gets there."

"Any news from your brother-in-law? About . . . Heather, is it?"

I shook my head. "No. But . . . today is the day, I suppose. She'll be in rehab before the sun goes down."

Patsy patted my arm. "She'll be just fine, honey. Don't you worry. The good Lord has her in the palm of his hand."

"I know."

When I returned to the house I heard my cell phone ringing. I darted through the house to where I'd left it lying on the bed. It was Dad; he was more than a little upset about the chain of events with Heather and about Andre's accusations against Mom.

"Then, they're not true?" I asked, settling on the rumpled sheets, which would soon be stripped, washed, and replaced so I hadn't bothered to make the bed. I looked at my watch again. In a half hour Luis and his sister would arrive. When Dad didn't answer, I said, "Dad?"

"Of course they're true, Kimberly. But these things are private. They should be handled just within the family and not discussed."

"But Dad, we are family. Andre is family. Heather is family."

"He's been going to those meetings. He shouldn't have . . ."

"Dad, how can you say that? You're a doctor, for heaven's sake."

"I was her husband!"

My right shoulder jerked. I was no longer talking about Mom, but Dad hadn't shifted. And he was angry; angrier than I'd seen him in some time. "I know that, Dad. And I know you loved her very much. But, if I'm to be totally honest with you, what I don't understand is why you didn't do something."

"Do something? What would you have had me do, Kimberly?"

I shrugged as though he could see me. "I don't know, Dad. Make her stop drinking."

"And how would you propose I do that? I could have removed all the alcohol from the house and she would have managed to smuggle it in there somehow. I could have forbidden it and she would have done it anyhow." I heard him sigh. "When Ami was a baby, she used to keep beer in that little baby pack thing because she knew I'd never see it there, did you know that?"

"Baby pack thing?" I had to think a moment. "You mean Ami's diaper bag?"

"Yeah."

I paused. Dad was clearly rattled, and I meant no pun in the thought. Finally, I said, "No, I didn't know that. I wouldn't . . ."

"I remember one time when we'd gone there, to Cedar Key. Ami was a baby-Joan had managed not to drink the whole time she was pregnant, not with any of you kids. But as soon as the umbilical cord was cut, she was asking me to sneak something into the hospital for her."

"And did you?"

"Never."

My back ached. "I'm glad to hear that."

"Not that I wouldn't have done anything to get her to stop begging. But my colleague, Dr. Terrance Mills-her OB/GYN-and I had a talk. He knew, of course. He told me in no uncertain terms that if I brought any alcohol to her in the hospital, he'd report me. That I'd lose my license to practice."

I could hear the pain in my father's voice, but I couldn't figure if he had been more afraid of losing his job or his wife. "Well, you couldn't have that . . ."

"Don't be insolent with me, Kimberly. If I had lost my job, how would I have taken care of my family? And your mother . . . she would have been exposed as an alcoholic. What do you think that would have done to her? Especially in those days?"

"Maybe she wouldn't have kept drinking, Dad!"

He laughed, but not like I'd said something funny. More that I'd said something foolish. "Kim, I gave that woman every reason not to drink. Every reason. But . . ."

"But, she wouldn't stop."

"No." He took a breath, exhaled. "It wasn't as bad after . . . there was this one summer. You were just a baby. She drank nonstop that summer. Kept calling herself a failure as a mother."

"Mom?"

"If it hadn't been for Eliana . . ." He continued as though I'd not said a word. "Eliana took care of you. Took care of all three of us, actually. She picked up after Joan and watched her constantly. I finally moved her and her husband into the house for the summer months because I . . . I couldn't trust what Joan would or wouldn't do when I wasn't there. Eliana became your mother that summer. I even talked her into leaving her family-her husband and her parents-long enough to come back to Orlando. Eliana talked Joan into going to a hospital to detox and-wonder of wonders-she went."

"How long was she gone?"

"About two months. Eliana stayed with us, took you to see her as often as she was allowed to have family visits, which wasn't often."

I had no memory of this, of course. I tried to picture it all. Mom in the hospital. Dad going to work during the day. Eliana taking care of me as a mother would. "I'm surprised Rosa's father allowed her to leave her baby and him."

"Rosa hadn't been born yet, of course."

"Oh, that's right. But, still. Mr. Rivera . . . I can't imagine he was too happy about that arrangement."

"Hector Rivera was a man driven by money, Boo. You wouldn't remember much about him . . ."

"Not really. I mean, he was gone before I turned six, I think."

"He was a burly man who loved to gamble and chase women. Eliana never said for certain, but I think he may have been physically abusive to her. I know he was verbally abusive. I had to call him down more than once."

"Dad. It's so hard for me to imagine all of this."

Dad chuckled. "It is hard, isn't it, Boo? To think that your parents had lives apart from you. To imagine your old man standing up to a brute like Hector Rivera."

My father wasn't exactly a squirt, so I didn't necessarily have any problem believing he wouldn't put up with a man-any man-being hurtful to a woman. "Maybe a little."

"All I had to do was wave money under that man's nose and Eliana was ours until your mother got home. I paid him-I paid them both-plenty well, let me tell you."

"Wow," I finally said. "I didn't know any of this."

"Of course you didn't."

"Was Mr. Rivera . . . do you think he was ever abusive to Rosa?"

"Hector Rivera wasn't anything to Rosa. Eliana used to say he hardly spoke to her much less touched her. Or hugged her. Or listened to her when she had something to say. Even as a little child."

I thought back to the days of our childhood . . . how Dad had always given Rosa hugs just as he had the rest of us. Kissed her. Laughed at her silly knock-knock jokes. Warned her about the dangers of boys and such at the same time as he lectured me. "Is that why? Is that why you were always so loving toward her? Toward Rosa?"

"I treated Rosa as I would treat any child. Children deserve to be loved whether they're your own or not. You're a teacher. You know that."

I smiled. "I do." My back ached enough that I had to lie back against the pillows. "So, when did Mom start to drink again?"

The conversation went still. "Somewhere between detox and getting pregnant with Jayme-Leigh," he finally said. This voice was laden with regret. "Like I said, she didn't drink during her pregnancies. She had started back about a month or so when she learned that Jayme was coming."

"So, Dad, what about Heather? What about now? You sent Mom to the hospital. Don't you think Andre should do the same for his wife?"

"Your mom volunteered to go . . . Heather is kicking and screaming. I am not completely sure this will work for her if she doesn't want to go."

"But you admit, Dad, that she needs to go."

Dad nodded. "My wife and I had a long talk . . . that woman makes a lot of sense sometimes." He paused. "And sometimes we just have to say the truth out loud, Boo."

I placed my arm over my forehead and tried to think. After several seconds I said, "Maybe I can get Andre to wait just a day. I promised myself I wasn't going to try to control this issue . . . and I told Steven I'd stay, but that doesn't mean I can't come back to Cedar Key later on, right?"

"Kimberly, what are you talking about? What do you mean, you told Steven you'd stay?"

I smiled. "Steven Granger asked me to stay the summer, and I told him I would." I spoke the words so quickly, they hardly sounded like English.

"I see. So it's serious then."

I wanted to tell my father that I loved Steven, but I knew it was too soon. Even for a man who married again so soon after my mother's death, I knew he wouldn't understand. After all, he was one thing; his daughter another. "I know this is going to sound corny, Dad, but it feels like . . ." I searched my heart for the right words. "Like the first time, again."

I heard Dad's light chuckle. "I guess maybe it would. Not too many folks get to find their first love and make all those feelings come back to life."