"That was our plan until your father and I spent a long holiday in Costa Rica," Maya said. Her eyes shone and her cheeks pinkened. "That's where we renewed our wedding vows. On our flight home, Brandt got amorous. Private jet, too much champagne, high altitude . . ."

Sophie's eyes went wide. "I was conceived at thirty thousand feet?"

Her mother actually smiled. "We almost named you Skye."

Sophie was so stunned she couldn't speak.

"You were a beautiful baby with a sweet disposition," Maya said with warmth in her voice that Sophie had never heard before. "I tried to be a good mother, but as you grew older, I saw myself in you. There you were, tripping over your own feet and with a nervous stomach, just like me when I was a kid. I was always afraid you'd vomit in public. I'd take you shopping and you'd hide in the dressing room away from people. I was so embarrassed for you. When you began seeking solace in books, I left you to your reading. I was happy you'd found a place where you felt comfortable, but I admit, Sophie, it also gave me an excuse to avoid my responsibility as a parent. That I regret more than you'll ever know, but I've always loved you."

Sophie nodded, taking it all in. "I'm no longer that awkward little girl with her nose in a book, Mother. I've grown up. This was my summer of adventure," she said with conviction. "I've outgrown my shyness and I don't have so many fears. I think I've found my niche here in the museum. This could be the start of a promising career."

"Ah, yes, the museum," Maya said, a different light coming into her eyes. She was holding something back, but what? "That was the original purpose of my visit." She unfastened the clasp on her evening bag and fingered through the contents before drawing out two tattered leather journals.

"I gather those are not your diaries," Sophie said, smiling, trying to put her mother at ease.

"These are a lot more interesting and I assure you, they're authentic." She handed them to Sophie. "Evan Saunders was a cutthroat capitalist, but there was a side to the man few people ever knew. Read his final account of what happened between William and him. Your opinion of Evan may change."

Sophie stared at the journals, afraid to breathe. The leather looked ancient and she had no reason to doubt her mother's word. It must have taken a lot of courage for her to come to the shop and admit her mistakes. And to give her daughter the daybooks.

Sophie turned to the first page; the paper was creased and crackly and yellowed with age. The ink had smeared over several words, but the majority of sentences were legible. Her heart gave a squeeze when she saw Evan Saunders's name scrawled at the top of the first page. She was holding a man's private thoughts in the palms of her hands.

What would she find? Secrets? Memories? She'd read the earlier chronicles of Evan's life written through nineteen forty-five. From what she could see at first glance, these pages spanned his later years.

"Why are you giving me the journals now?" She wondered at her mother's motive.

"Despite appearances, I never minded the feud," Maya admitted. "The Cateses always seemed beneath us. There was no reason for them to cross Center Street. Then Trace married Shaye and you became interested in the beach boy. Times changed, so here I am."

Beach boy. Sophie let that pass. For now. She looked at her mother, not knowing what to say. "Thank you," she managed, holding the journals tight to her chest. "I'll take good care of them."

"I know you will, Sophie. I trust you," Maya said. She walked to the door, then turned around before she left. She had something else on her mind. "Trace mentioned that Dune Cates was out of town. I thought we could have breakfast together this week."

"I'd like that," Sophie said. "I have a new cookbook. I'll make you French toast."

Maya made an attempt to dissuade her daughter from cooking. "We could eat at the Sandcastle," Maya offered as an alternative. "The hotel serves a sumptuous brunch."

Sophie was firm. "I'd rather cook."

Maya had one hand on the door handle when she glanced back at Sophie. A corner of her mouth lifted. "Yes, you do have my stubbornness." She seemed pleased by that fact as she slipped out the door.

By the time the limo driver came for Sophie, she had everything locked up. With the journals tucked safely in her purse, she headed home. Roger dropped her off at her front door.

Once inside, she checked on her hamsters. She took Glinda and Scarlett out of their cage and put them in their plastic ball, then gave them the run of her house.

She changed into her favorite silk lounging pajamas. A bowl of popcorn and glass of chai iced tea accompanied her to the library. There she curled up on the couch and opened the journals.

She read the entries slowly. Evan had documented his business dealings, commented on his family, and written scathing passages on the Florida heat. He was not a warm-weather person.

Sophie felt little affinity toward Evan until the final pages of the second journal. The ink was faint, smudged, and difficult to read. His posts were sporadic, yet his words touched her heart . . .

August 15, 1950 William Cates called me a swindler. He swears I stole a parcel of land out from under him. The acre sits south of Barefoot William. He's wrong, but he won't admit it. He's got more pride than I do. There are no county records of ownership. I bought it fair and square.

March 3, 1951 The fish were running tonight and I caught two snook off the shoreline. The water was rough. William baited a hook right before twilight and we both waited. We stood fifty feet apart. Someone on the beach took our photograph with a Kodak Brownie.

September 9, 1951 Hurricane Abigail destroyed both the Barefoot William and Saunders piers. William and I came together to discuss building a central pier, one that would benefit us both. An argument ensued. William wanted the pier for fishing and amusement. My vision was for a yacht harbor. Nothing was finalized. A second discussion is scheduled for next week.

November 21, 1951 William and I continue to argue over the pier. We have agreed on a central courthouse for both cities. That will give us access to land documentation and recorded deeds. No more finagling over who owns what.

We've decided not to approach our families with the joint venture until after the first of the year. We don't want the holidays disrupted. We plan to start construction on the public facility as early as next March.

December 15, 1951 I've been told William has fallen ill. I have not yet heard his diagnosis. I hope it is not serious.

January 5, 1952 One of my business associates informed me that William's health is failing. I went to his home, but was told he couldn't have visitors. I left him a fishing lure. He will understand my message.

January 26, 1952 William's family buried him today. His heart failed him. I stood within the shelter of a pine tree and watched as his casket was lowered into the ground. His widow was inconsolable. Death seems so final. I've lost an adversary, yet also a formidable friend. We had come to an understanding by the end of his life. We'd planned several projects together that would have ended the feud between our families. With William's death, I fear those ventures will no longer be realized. William's legacy will be one of beloved father and fine fisherman.

I will miss him.

Evan's last words touched Sophie deeply. Tears escaped her. She ran her fingertips over the final post at the back of the journal. The script was in a different handwriting.

It said: Evan Saunders. Deceased. May 31, 1954.

He'd passed away within two years of William Cates.

Sophie closed the journals and cried. She went through a box of Kleenex. Life was unpredictable. It held promises and secrets and was far too short.

She thought about William and Evan. The two men were from different backgrounds. They were business rivals. They bickered and fought their entire lives, yet in the silence of twilight, with fishing poles in hand, they shared moments of peace. And of friendship.

An olive branch had been extended late in their lives.

In truth, the peace offering was still there, stretching through time, waiting to be recognized.

Sophie would find a way to acknowledge their alliance.

It had been kept a secret for too long.

She needed to speak to Frank Cates.

Sixteen.

Sophie arrived at the museum at eight a.m. sharp. Mac James dropped off Frank Cates at five minutes after eight. Frank entered the shop in a huff.

"The boy made me late." Frank pointed a finger at Mac. "I was ready to leave when he decided to change clothes. Again. He was as fussy as a girl this morning."

Heat reddened Mac's neck.

Sophie noticed he'd cleaned up his act. No T-shirt or board shorts today. Instead, he wore a white polo shirt, khaki Dockers, and loafers without socks. His hair was still damp from his morning shower. He'd taken the time to shave. He looked good.

"What's the occasion?" Sophie asked him, curious.

Mac shifted his weight. He seemed unable to stand still. "Jenna agreed to have breakfast with me before I leave," he said. "My flight's scheduled for eleven. This will be my last chance to see her until after the tournament."

His expression was torn. She knew he had to leave town, but sensed that a big part of him wanted to stay. Volleyball would win out in the end. The sand was where he made his living. He owed it to Dune.

She wondered if he'd heard from his partner. She bit down on her bottom lip, unable to hide her feelings.

Mac read her expression and said, "Not a word from him, Sophie. I'm certain he'll contact you once he knows the status of the procedure."

"I'm hoping for good news."

"Healed or not, I know Dune. He'll play this weekend," Mac said. "He won't forfeit."

"Jen and I plan to watch the match at my house," Sophie said. She turned to Frank. "You're welcome to join us, too. I have a large plasma television."

"By large, she means one hundred and fifty-two inches." Mac encouraged him to watch the match with the girls. "You'd feel like you were sitting in the stands."

Frank scratched his jaw. "I'll have my driver's license by Saturday. I just may join you."

"You'll have the best seat in the house," Sophie promised him.

Mac left then, to meet up with Jenna.

With his departure, Sophie found herself alone with Frank. What she'd read in Evan's journal weighed heavily on her mind. It was as if she had the key to unlock the door to a new future for Barefoot William.

She motioned him toward the lone chair in the shop. "Take a seat, Frank. I have something to show you."

Frank cast her a wary glance, but did her bidding. He narrowed his eyes. "Are you delivering bad news?" he asked.

"Bad or good, I'm not certain how you'll feel," she said with a sigh.

Sophie reached inside her purse and produced the leather journals. She'd wrapped them in a soft cloth for safekeeping. She removed them now and handed them to Frank. "Here are Evan Saunders's daybooks."

Frank was taken aback. "Where'd you get these?"

"My mother gave them to me yesterday. They chronicle his last years with William. Read his entries carefully and without prejudice. I assure you, they will alter the history of Barefoot William as you know it."

Frank held the journals on his lap for several minutes, as if he was hesitant to read them. He was stalling, Sophie thought, but she gave him the space he needed.

"I'm going to Brews Brothers for coffee," she decided. A walk down the boardwalk and back would give him plenty of time to process the entries. "Would you like a cup?"

Frank nodded, but didn't look up. "Make mine white."

Sophie understood. He wanted cream added.

"A cinnamon bun would be nice, too," he said.

Frank had a sweet tooth, Sophie noted. There was an easy recipe for scones in her new cookbook. She could make them for him sometime. How difficult could that be?

Stepping outside the shop, she walked slowly along the sidewalk toward the boardwalk, a half-block away. She glanced in the window at Molly Malone's and saw Jen and Mac seated together in a booth. Mac held Jenna's hand and she allowed it. They had publicly become a couple.

Sophie couldn't help but smile. Should they continue as they were, she would collect on her final bet with Dune. There was an engagement in their future. She could feel it in her bones. The wild man of volleyball was about to settle down. His female fans would weep.

After a quick stop at the coffee shop, Sophie headed back to the museum. A seagull circled overhead, sweeping low, then diving for bread crumbs left on the boardwalk from someone's breakfast sandwich. Sophie managed to juggle the coffee and cinnamon buns without mishap. Her coordination had improved and so had her confidence.

On her return, she found Frank standing before the front window. His shoulders slumped. His eyes were red-rimmed. He caught her staring at him and stuffed a crumpled handkerchief into his pants pocket. He looked sad.

She crossed the room and set down their coffee cups and cinnamon buns on the chair, then stood beside him.

Frank clutched the journals to his chest. "So much hate over so many years. A man gets old fast with that much hatred inside him," he said, his voice hoarse. "Grudges and bad blood lasted a century. Maya sure took her time in delivering the truth."

"My mother saw no reason to smooth the waters," said Sophie. "Not until I was appointed curator of the museum. She thought I'd portray Evan Saunders in a bad light and tell his story only as the Cateses saw him. She felt the journals would give me a new perspective on their relationship."

"Have they helped you?" he asked.

Sophie nodded. She felt strong and secure in her heritage. "Had William lived, their joint projects might have unified the two towns."

"We'll never know," said Frank.

He grew quiet, looking out the window toward the Gulf. The sun glinted off the water. Vendors pushed their carts along the boardwalk, selling cotton candy and churros to tourists.

What was he thinking? Sophie wondered. That it was too late to undue years of feuding? Or that the two families could come together after all these years?

Frank took a deep breath, pulled his hand down his chin, and turned back to her. "William and Evan were both stubborn, opinionated men. They needed two lifetimes, maybe even three, to settle all their differences."

He passed the journals back to her. "What do you plan to do with them?" he asked.

"I'm going to photocopy the final entries that Evan wrote about his friendship with William," she told him. "With your permission, I'd like to read the entries at the dedication ceremony. Once the museum opens, I want to put them on permanent display."

Frank sat down and thought about the journals for a good long time. His head was bowed as he took the lid off the coffee cup marked with a "C" for cream. He took a sip, then ate two bites of his cinnamon bun before saying, "What happened between our families couldn't be changed then, but it can be now. Shaye is important to me. It's time I accept Trace."

He looked up at Sophie over the rim of his cup. "Whatever their reasons, my family has already accepted you. You snuck in when I wasn't looking."

"I love your grandson," she said before she could stop herself. She blushed.

"He has feelings for you, too, girl," said Frank, "but first things first with Dune. He faces a big weekend ahead. His career is on the line."

Sophie swallowed hard, hoping for the best.

"Man, Sophie, your TV is bigger than the one at the Blue Coconut," Kai Cates said when he and Nicole stopped by on Saturday afternoon. "Hope you don't mind if we watch the tournament with you."

"You two are always welcome." She was glad to see them both. And everyone else who just happened to be in the neighborhood.