He smiled at her. "You're welcome." Thank you for staying and having lunch and fulfilling one of my fantasies. A tame fantasy, but a fantasy just the same. "What do you say about tomorrow night? It won't take long, maybe just an hour."

"God, Brandon's photogenic," she said.

Brandon. Way to kill the fantasy. "Yeah, I know."

She didn't look up from the photographs. "Maybe tomorrow night we could go out for a burger afterward. I mean, you know, just to even up the score."

"Sure," David said. "Right. Just to even up the score."

"Kelly said to scold you if you didn't call for a ride from the train station."

Tom stopped short on his way up the stairs to the Ashtons' deck. The kitchen door was locked, but he'd spotted this open slider. Now he saw that Joe and Charles were sitting out here in the shade.

Charles was asleep in a lounge chair, a blanket tenderly tucked around his bony frame. Joe was awake and looking at Tom, frowning slightly.

"It's not that long a walk," Tom told his uncle quietly so as not to disturb Charles. "I took it nice and easy. I actually feel pretty good today."

Joe glanced at Charles, then pushed himself up out of the chair, moving toward the sliding door, away from his sleeping friend. "Kelly told me about the CAT scan, that you're okay."

"Yeah." Tom looked out at the sparkling blue ocean. "That's one way of looking at it." He met Joe's eyes. "I would have preferred more conclusive results."

"I would have preferred finding out you were in the hospital when you were in the hospital."

"I'm sorry."

Joe laughed. "No, you're not. You know, I can remember being young. It feels like it was yesterday." He glanced at Charles, shaking his head. "We spent a few hours at the hotel again today. I'm not sure what to tell you-either no one's suspicious looking or everyone's suspicious looking. I've been trying to pay attention to who's here with their family, who's not, but it's a big hotel, it's not an easy job."

"My XO's coming tomorrow afternoon," Tom told him. "We'll figure out the best way to watch the place. I mean, even if all it comes down to is checking cars in the parking lot on the day of the opening ceremony." He met Joe's gaze. "There's probably no threat. I'm probably wasting everyone's time."

"Probably," Joe agreed. "But maybe not." He smiled sadly. "Anyway, I've got some extra time to waste these days." He cleared his throat. "So. You and Kelly."

Tom shook his head. "Joe, I really don't want to discuss-"

"I apologize for walking in on you last night."

"Okay. Apology accepted. Great." Tom turned to go into the house.

"You're having dinner with her tonight."

Tom turned back. "Yeah. But, funny, I don't remember sending out that information in a press release."

Joe crossed his arms. "Is there a reason you don't want me to know you're spending the night with her?"

"Evening," Tom corrected him. "Dinner. Give me a break."

"She'll be home in a few hours. She called to ask if I wanted her to pick up something from the Lotus Blossom. That's the Chinese restaurant here in town."

Tom nodded. "Yeah, I remember."

"Good food. No MSG."

"That's good."

"Nice people own the place. New people."

Tom waited.

"Chinese people," Joe said. "Don't speak much English, but they sure can cook a mean moo goo gai pan. They actually know a little French, so I don't have any trouble communicating."

For a man who was taciturn, Joe was talking up a storm. But Tom knew that Chinese food wasn't the subject he really wanted to discuss.

"Okay," Tom said. "Me and Kelly. Let me have it. Your uncensored opinion. You don't think I should have dinner with her. At least not alone. You don't think-"

"No," Joe said. "I think it's great. In fact, I think you should get decked out in your dress whites tonight and use the opportunity to ask her to marry you."

Tom nearly choked. "What?"

"You heard me," Joe said. "That's what a man does when he's in love with a woman. And since you've been in love with Kelly nearly half your life, it's probably time to marry the girl."

Tom scratched his head as he chose his words carefully. "I'm not sure love's quite the right word for it. Yes, I've always been attracted to her, but-"

Joe smiled. "You call it whatever you want, whatever label you're comfortable with, Tommy. But if you have even half a brain, you'll marry her while you've got the chance."

"Um . . ."

"I know you've got some history," Joe continued, "you and Kelly. I know something happened, something that scared you to death and chased you out of town that summer you left for basic training a whole month early."

Tom tried to hide his surprise and the older man smiled. "You don't really think I didn't know, do you? That night you brought her home so late." He laughed softly. "You had a wild look to you, Tommy, and I was proud of you for going-for knowing she was too young. And I was disappointed when she wasn't here for you to come home to when she was finally old enough."

Joe met his gaze steadily. "She didn't understand when you left," he continued, "and it nearly broke her heart. Tonight you can explain and make it right. And ask her to marry you."

"What, so I can break her heart again?" God, how'd he get into this conversation anyway? Tom edged toward the door. He didn't want to talk about this, didn't want to think about the emotion he'd seen in Kelly's eyes sixteen years ago as he shook her hand and said good-bye. He'd actually shaken her hand. Jesus. "You know damn well that a man in my profession can't afford to have any serious relationships. Marriage isn't easy in the SEAL units. It's-"

"A man in your profession can't afford not to have a serious relationship. I was in your profession, you know. Not exactly, but close enough. Life is so short, and so precious. You and I both know that-more than most men. How can you hold happiness in your hands and not do everything in your means to keep it forever?"

Tom didn't know what to say to that.

"Besides, there's no such thing as an easy marriage," Joe continued. "I've seen a lot of 'em in my life, and the marriages that seem to run smoothly, the ones that last the longest, they're the ones that are worked on diligently, kind of like an old car. A Model T will last forever if it's properly maintained. But as soon as you start to neglect it . . ."

Tom leaned back against the railing. "And yet you never got married."

"No," Joe agreed. "I didn't. But it wasn't because I didn't ask."

"Cybele," Tom said.

Joe glanced over at Charles, who was still sleeping soundly. When he looked back at Tom, he just shook his head.

"I wish you would tell me about France," Tom said. "And about this Cybele, and about Mr. Ashton and the Fifty-fifth, too. I honestly didn't know until a few days ago that you were OSS, and I'm-" He stopped, shook his head. "I understand why you didn't tell me about what you did in the War. There's an awful lot that I've done that I can't talk about, and even more that I won't talk about. I'm not going to ask you about it, but if you ever do want to talk . . ."

"Thank you," Joe said. "But I have to tell the whole story to that writer after the ceremony on Tuesday. I don't think I can stand to do it twice."

"You don't have to do it at all," Tom countered.

"You know," Joe said, "you could go into town to the jewelers and buy Kelly a ring. Give it to her before you spend the night with her."

Oh, God. "Dinner," Tom said. "We're starting with dinner."

Joe nodded. "I won't wait up."

"I've got work to do on the computer," Tom told him, beating a hasty retreat into the house.

You don't have to do it at all, Tom had said about Joe's plan to talk to that author, Kurt Kaufman.

But Joe did have to do it. Because the story needed to be told before Charles died.

There was a statue in front of the Baldwin's Bridge Hotel with Joe's face on it. And it was about time this town knew that that face should have been Charles Ashton's.

Charles Ashton-one of the richest of the rich in a wealthy town. He could buy and sell almost anyone, coming into money that his grandfather's grandfather had earned, and doubling it with his fearless investments and his cutthroat financial wizardry. He came off as cold-blooded and standoffish, and few recognized the truth-that risking money meant nothing to him. Not after having lived through the War, after having watched so many risk their very lives, after seeing so many sacrifice so much.

As Charles had gotten older, he'd tried to buy acceptance in the town by donating generously to the hospital fund. But all that had bought him were vague mutterings that he'd probably bought himself a safe position far from the front lines during the War, as well.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

Charles was the real hero of Baldwin's Bridge. And Joe was finally going to tell the story.

But not the whole story. There were parts he'd never tell anyone. Like the night Cybele had come to his room.

Joe sat on the deck near Charles, who was sleeping more peacefully than he had in a long time. He checked to make sure the blanket was still tucked around his friend's feet.

This morning, when he'd seen Charles cleaning the guns he'd brought home from the war, he'd been thrown back into the past. It was strange, seeing Cybele's Walther PPK again after all these years. One look at the thing, and it was as if he'd seen Cybele just yesterday. The clarity of his memories astounded him. He could practically smell her kitchen.

He could nearly feel the roughness of the sheets on his straw-filled mattress.

He could taste her kisses.

He sat back in his chair, gazing out at the water. Looking without seeing.

Remembering.

He'd been asleep, and he'd woken to Cybele's soft touch. She'd slipped into his arms, begging him to hold her. He would have been content to do just that, only that, but she'd kissed him, she'd finally kissed him, and, oh . . .

The night air coming in through the window had been cool, but it hadn't been long before their skin was slick with sweat. He'd been delirious, certain that he'd found heaven at last.

After, Cybele had cried. He hadn't understood. Not then. Not till later. He'd simply held her close to his heart, whispering that he loved her, asking her-again-to marry him, to love him not just that night, but forever. She'd begged him not to speak, asked him just to hold her, and she'd finally fallen asleep, there in the circle of his arms.

He'd slept, too, but when he awoke in the morning, Cybele was gone.

He'd washed and dressed quickly, and went down to breakfast, his heart and step both light. Sure, there was a war on. Sure, the Nazis were still living right down the street. But the Americans were pushing toward Ste.-Helene. And Cybele belonged to him. There was even a chance that his child-their child-was growing, right now, in her womb.

Henri and Luc Deux were at the table, eating stale bread softened with warm goat's milk. Cybele and Marie were preparing several baskets of vegetables from the garden. They would take them along when they returned the mending to the Germans, try to sell them, too, earn a few more coins.

As Joe sat at the table, he saw Charles sitting on a bench by the door. He was unshaven and haggard looking, as if he'd had a sleepless night. And he was staring almost sightlessly at Joe.

"Leg bothering you again?" Joe asked him.

Charles gazed at him with his red-rimmed eyes for several moments longer before he spoke. "Yeah. That's it."

"I'm sorry," Joe said, but he was in too good a mood to sound as if he truly meant it. He turned toward the two women, unable to keep from smiling, too filled with joy to try to hide it. He wanted to shout and dance, but instead he merely said, "Good morning, Cybele. You should have woken me to come help in the garden."

Cybele glanced up at him, then glanced almost furtively at Charles.

"You're always up at dawn," she replied, not looking up again as she put the freshly washed beans into the basket. "I thought I'd let you sleep."

Why wouldn't she look at him? "I slept quite well last night," he said, willing her to look at him, to meet his gaze and smile. "Exceptionally well, in fact."

Charles laughed as he stood up abruptly, turning away to look out the open door.

And Cybele rinsed more of the beans as if she were angry, her movements quick and fierce.

"I wouldn't have minded if you woke me," Joe continued, looking from Cybele to Charles.

They were both tense, both tightly wound, both careful not to look at the other. Too careful.

His joy was no longer quite as bright. It was accompanied by a slightly queasy feeling. What was going on here?

Perhaps Cybele had once again turned down Charles's request to be returned to the Allied side of the line. They'd argued over that in the past.

"What did I miss this morning," Joe lowered his voice to ask Henri, "by sleeping so late?"

Henri shook his head. "Dunno."

Charles turned away from the door, using his cane to shuffle toward the front of the house. "I'll be lying down."

Cybele threw down the beans and stormed after him, out of the room.

Joe pushed himself to his feet, not certain whose rescue he was going to-Cybele's or Charles's. But he stopped, just inside the kitchen door, at the sound of Cybele's voice.

"How dare you?"

"How dare I what? Close my eyes? Try to rest?" Charles's voice got louder with barely restrained anger. "Heal this goddamned leg so I can leave here for good?"

"How dare you act as if I've injured you in some way!" she cried. "You told me to-"

She broke off as Joe stepped into the hallway, wishing she hadn't stopped and at the same time certain he didn't want to hear what she had to say.

"I told you," Charles said as he stood by the closet he'd claimed as his bedroom. Although he spoke quietly, his voice shook. "But I didn't know it would make me feel like this."

And as Charles looked at Cybele, Cybele looked back at Charles in a way that Joe knew she had never, ever looked at him. Not even last night, when she was naked in his arms.