Chasing Sunsets Part 18

"Ooooh," she said, sounding like a little girl. "I like detective work. Who are we investigating?"

"I've hired someone to take care of the house when no one is there. I thought he was perfect, but Dad wants a background check done." I shrugged a little. "I have to admit, he's right to have me do this . . . and I want to do this right. If there's one thing I don't need right now, it's to disappoint my father."

Patsy stood clutching the side of the table as she always did when rising. "Well, come on. Let's get started."

I pulled up a chair next to Patsy's at the desk, then watched as she booted up the computer. "Okay," she said. "Which background service do you want to use?"

I blinked. "There's more than one?"

"Oh, honey, there's tons of them." She typed "background check" into the search engine. Within seconds, dozens of choices were lined up before us. "I hope you have your credit card," she said.

"In my pocket," I said as I reached for the paper with Dad's credit card info.

"Okay, then. Pick one."

I went with the second one on the list. And $79.95 later, I had all the information on Luis Munoz my father could ever hope to have. And not a line of it was bad. He didn't have so much as a traffic ticket.

I gave Patsy a hug before I left, told her to watch her cough-which had raised its head a few times during my visit-and promised her I'd return the next day so she could help me set up my Facebook account.

"And tell me all about your date," she said.

I nodded. "We're just friends," I said. "And that's all it will be."

"I was just friends with my husband," she stated matter-of-factly. "And then love took over."

I kissed her powdered cheek before closing the door on my way out.

I called Dad as soon as I got home and gave him the details of the background check. "Good job, huh?"

"I'm impressed."

I felt myself beam. "Thanks, Dad. So, you think it will be okay to have him start on Monday?"

"I don't see why not. Are you still planning to come home on Tuesday, then?"

"Sure, unless you have something else for me to do while I'm here?"

"I'll think on that," he said. Then he paused. "Have you spoken to Heather lately?"

Heather. All I needed right now was for Heather to hear that I was going somewhere with Steven Granger later on. I'd purposefully not called her since Wednesday. It had been only a couple of days, but sometimes Heather and I couldn't go two hours without talking.

"Not since Wednesday. Why?"

"You should give her a call," he said.

"That's it? You're not going to fill me in?"

"No, Boo, I'm not going to fill you in. Say good-bye, now."

"I love you, Dad," I said. When he told me he loved me too and the line went dead, I looked at my watch. The time was closing in for me to leave if I was going to meet Steven at 6:00. With a shake of my head, I dismissed Dad's request to call my sister. Within minutes I had Max fed, said, "Good-bye and be a good boy," and then made my way down the steps and to the car. Earlier I'd applied plenty of body lotion and regretted it now. I sighed an "oh, well." If I didn't look good to anyone else, the mosquitoes already loved me.

I parked near the marina, checked my lip gloss before shutting down the car, and then stepped out onto the scorching hot asphalt, ready to make my entrance. I was a little early, and it appeared that while a boat bobbed in the water at the dock, no one was in sight save the few tourists walking along the sidewalk and a couple of fishermen daring the heat. I looked across the street to the little shop I'd seen days before-Dilly Dally Gally-and decided to pa.s.s the time inside rather than out. The afternoon temperature still hung in the nineties.

I left the store having seen Maddie (who was buying a new hat) and also having made fast friends with the salesgirl-who said she knew and absolutely adored Anise-and with a silver paua sh.e.l.l and pearl double-strand bracelet. As soon as I walked down the dark lavender painted steps leading to the shop, I spotted Steven waiting at the edge of the dock near the sidewalk. He looked from my car to his watch. He then glanced around, finally spotting me as I walked toward him. He waved and I did likewise.

"What do you have there?" he asked, glancing toward the store's telltale bag. He pulled his polarized sungla.s.ses from his face; they hung around his neck by a neon blue floating cord.

"I bought a bracelet," I answered.

"Really? Let me see." He was already reaching for the bag; I willingly handed it over.

He took the bracelet out of the white gift box, held it up in the sunlight, and said, "Why, Miss Boo, this is just gorgeous."

I smiled at the sentiment. "I thought so."

He looked back at me. "Swarovski crystals?"

"How'd you know?"

"I managed a mall. Remember?" He admired my purchase again. "And I have a daughter."

I nodded. "Swarovski. Yes." I took a breath, exhaled, and pointed. "And paua sh.e.l.ls and pearls."

The bracelet slipped over his upturned fingers. "May I help you put it on?"

I shrugged. "Sure. I guess."

I should have known better. As soon as the warmth of his fingers touched the tender skin of my wrist, I felt myself go dizzy once again. And I wondered if he felt the same or if I was alone in my emotions.

"There you go," he said when he was done. "It's perfect with your dress."

I took a single step away from him. "I wasn't sure where we were going."

Sweat beaded along his brow, and his eyes drank me in. "Can I tell you something?" he asked, not answering my question.

"Sure."

"Promise you won't get mad?"

I narrowed my eyes. "I'll try not to."

He laughed then. "You look fantastic."

I smiled. "You can say that any day of the week, Steven Granger. So, where are you taking me?"

"This way," he said, motioning toward the water. It was then I noticed that two boats-one the company boat and one a white and green motor-driven skiff-were hitched to where only one had been before.

"Where's your teenaged worker bee?" I asked, walking the unpainted planks beside him.

"He'll be back in a few. We've got another tour going out in a little while. A sunset tour." We stopped at the end of the dock by the boats where three steps led to the water. "Do you want to get in first?"

"Um . . . maybe I'm not dressed . . ."

His hands slipped along the tops of my arms. "You're dressed just fine. Want me to get in first?"

"No," I said, slipping away from his touch. "I'll go first."

Steven waited until I had stepped into the skiff before joining me. The boat bobbed from side to side, and so I sat facing forward. "Good thinking," he said. He stepped to the back of the boat, picked up a paddle, then used it to push from the dock. He guided the boat out a few yards, past the barrier rope lined with birds, then started the engine. I turned fully to face him, watching him through the dark tint of my sungla.s.ses as he worked with ease, doing what he'd done a million times or more. Instinctively, he slipped his sungla.s.ses back to the bridge of his nose. I gathered the long folds of my dress and secured them between my ankles. He caught the movement and smiled, then turned his gaze outward to the western sky while I remained content with the view of where we'd been versus where we were going.

I wrapped my fingers along the edges of the wide fibergla.s.s seat and tilted my head back, allowing the sun to drench me and the wind to cool me. I breathed in, intoxicated by the marshy smells of salt and fish, heat and the lingering scent of my body lotion.

I a.s.sumed we were heading to Atsena Otie. When enough time had pa.s.sed and we'd yet to hit sh.o.r.e, I opened my eyes. Steven sat directly before me, watching me. I felt my blood turn to liquid sunshine. I blinked at him. He didn't bother to turn away, and I realized then he might have just as easily been looking past me, toward wherever it was we were heading.

But then he smiled. I returned his smile, then looked over my shoulder. I watched in delight as the sunlight skipped across the rippling water. Herons and gulls flew along the horizon like a giant brushstroke from G.o.d. Soon we neared a sandbar where hundreds of gulls, egrets, and a few dowitchers watched us. When we came close enough, they spread their wings in unison and lifted themselves upward. The sound, even over the motor, reminded me of linens flapping in a spring breeze.

Steven pointed just then, and I followed his direction until I spied dolphins dipping and curling over the water, their gray bodies sleek. I threw back my head and laughed out loud then waited for them to reappear. I was in love with the moment; if it never ended, it would be too soon.

I realized then where we were going. Sh.e.l.l Mound was up ahead; the long dock stretched its arm in welcome. Steven shut the motor down, and we glided toward the sh.o.r.e's pristine sand. When we slipped beside the dock, Steven grabbed hold of a line of blue synthetic rope, tied the boat to it, then climbed the old, unpainted makeshift ladder. I sat watching until he turned, extended his hand, and said, "Grab that cooler and backpack, will you?"

For the first time I noticed the small insulated cooler behind me, lying beside a couple of lifejackets I was glad not to be wearing. Propped next to the cooler was a small waterproof backpack. I picked both up and handed them to Steven, who promptly placed them on the dock at his feet. "Now you," he said, reaching.

I felt the heat rising inside me again, willed it to go away. He took my hand into his, guiding me as I took each rung of the ladder, one at a time. I felt his hand cup my elbow, his strength becoming my own. As soon as my feet were secure on the dock, I pulled my hand from his. He, in turn, squatted next to the backpack.

"Better put some of this on," he said, raising a can of insect repellant. "Otherwise they'll be diagnosing you with malaria by Sunday."

I doused my arms and rubbed the repellant into my skin from my fingertips to my shoulders. I then sprayed my hands and rubbed them along my bare chest and up my throat, aware-all the while-that Steven was watching. When I was done, I handed him the can. "Your turn."

"Better put a little around your face too," he said. "The mosquitoes are thick as thieves."

I complied, then watched as he sprayed his legs and arms, then patted his face. "And to think I used my best aftershave this afternoon in hopes of impressing you," he said.

My laughter was light. Thinking ahead, I pulled the scrunchie from around my wrist and swiped my hair into a ponytail, asking, "So, what's in the cooler?"

"Just some water," he said. Then he took me by the hand and said, "Come on, Boo. Let's walk."

19.

"What do you get," Steven spoke softly, "when you add a thousand years of Eastern Woodland Indian cultures and discarded oyster and clam sh.e.l.ls?"

I looked across my right shoulder and smiled knowingly. "Sh.e.l.l Mound?"

"Ah," he mocked me. "You've been here before, I presume."

I looked straight ahead. The white sand road-lined with thick, p.r.i.c.kly flora and canopied by the thick branches of the live oaks, their mossy veils dripping toward the earth-curved before us. We walked where the tourists and locals walked each year, and yet, remarkably, the land remained virginal. "About a million years ago."

"Before the Native Americans . . ."

I b.u.mped his shoulder with my own. "Don't toy with me." I breathed in deeply. "I remember my mother telling me once that Sh.e.l.l Mound was, to her, a place where her soul could breathe."

"A lot of people feel that way." Steven swiped at a pesky insect that couldn't decide whether to light on him or escape the repellant he'd bathed in earlier. We'd walked now for ten minutes; only two of those included me wondering what we were doing here. At some point I'd let it go . . . and relaxed in the cool of the early evening shade.

"There's a place right here," Steven continued. "I can't wait to show you."

We veered right in the road then cut through an area where the vines tangled overhead and moss grew thick on the old oaks. Insects hummed in tune as the smell of the marsh wafted toward me. To keep from tripping on a low vine, I kept watch on my feet. Then, when the foliage cleared, I looked up.

"There you have it," Steven said.

I sucked my breath in. The water of the Gulf, remarkably blue, lay flat and serene. I could see the dock and Steven's boat rocking ever so slightly beyond. It reminded me of the way I used to rock my sons when they were babies and I thought them to finally be asleep. Beyond the dock and the boat a strip of land housed a few trees; one held an osprey's nest-complete with osprey-on top of it. The sky had begun its nightly show of colors.

I was only barely aware that Steven had set the backpack and cooler on the sandy ground. When I stopped staring at the scenery and returned my attention to him, it was to find that he had pulled a blue and white throw out of the backpack and was unrolling it onto the ground. "Here, let me help," I said. I bent down and grabbed two corners.

"Sit," Steven said when we were done.

I complied. I kept my knees bent and in front of me, my ankles together, and the skirt of my long dress over them all. I took in a breath and held it as I waited for him to sit behind me, close enough, and yet, not touching. "I've got something for you," he said. I felt his warm breath on my ear and forced myself not to quiver.

I wasn't sure if I could get the words past my dry throat, but I tried. "What's that?"

"Close your eyes and hold out your hand."

I cast my eyes over my right shoulder. "Steven . . ."

I heard him chuckle. "Just do it, Kimberly."

I closed my eyes and held out my hand. I listened as he unzipped a pocket of the backpack, removed something, then zipped the pocket closed. Something heavy and metal then rested in the palm of my upturned hand. "Can I open now?" I asked.

"Go ahead."

I looked. I was holding a mid-sized Olympus point-and-shoot camera. I wanted to drop it, but even I-who hadn't touched a camera in years-recognized its monetary worth. "Steven . . ."

"Just try it, Boo."

I shook my head. "You don't understand."

"I do . . . I know how much you used to love taking pictures with your mom . . . how much you loved your mother."

I felt tears burning the back of my eyes. "I can't . . ."

"Can't what? Take a picture? Or can't face the fact that your mother died?"

I raised my chin and looked straight ahead. Both hands now gripped the camera. "I faced that fact a long time ago. I faced it when Dad married Anise."

"So what keeps you from the camera?" As he spoke, his fingertips made trails up and down my arms, so light that at first I'd not even noticed it. But then my spine began to melt like b.u.t.ter in a hot pan and . . .