Taylor shook his head, numb. He knew he'd have to answer these questions again, when Joe grilled him in earnest. "I didn't know what else to do," he said.

Mitch studied him with concern, hearing the flat discomfort in his voice. He'd seen this look before, the shell-shocked appearance of someone who knew he was fortunate to be alive. He noticed Taylor's shaking hands and reached over, patting him on the back. "I'm just glad you're all right."

Taylor nodded, too tired to speak.

Chapter 17

Later that evening, once the situation on the bridge was fully under control, Taylor got in his car to head home. As he'd suspected, Joe had asked every question Mitch had and more, walking him through every decision and the reasons for it, covering everything two or three times. Though he was still as angry as Taylor had ever seen him, Taylor did his best to convince him that he hadn't acted recklessly. "Look," he said, "I didn't want to jump. But if I hadn't, neither of us would have made it."

To that, Joe had no reply.

His hands had stopped shaking, and his nervous system had gradually returned to normal, though he still felt drained. He was still shivering as he made his way down the quiet rural roads.

A few minutes later Taylor walked up the cracked cement steps to the small place he called home. He'd left the lights on in his haste to leave, and the house was almost welcoming when he entered. The paperwork from his business was still spread on the table, the calculator had been left on. The ice in his water glass had melted.

In the living room he could hear the television playing in the background; a ball game he'd been listening to had given way to the local news.

He set his keys on the counter and pulled off his shirt as he walked through the kitchen to the small room where he kept the washer and dryer. Holding open the lid, he dropped the shirt in the washer. He slipped off his shoes, then kicked them against the wall. Pants, socks, and underwear went in with the shirt, followed by detergent. After starting the washer, he grabbed a folded towel from the top of the dryer, made his way to the bathroom, and took a quick hot shower, rinsing the brackish water from his body.

Afterward he ran a quick brush through his hair, then walked through the house, turning everything off before slipping into bed.

He turned out the lights almost reluctantly. He wanted to sleep, he needed to sleep, but despite his exhaustion he suddenly knew that sleep wouldn't come. Instead, immediately upon closing his eyes, the images of the past several hours began to replay in his mind. Almost like a movie, some moved in fast-forward, others in reverse, but in each case they were different from what had actually happened. His were not the images of success-his were more like nightmares.

In one sequence after another, he watched helplessly as everything went wrong.

He saw himself reaching for the victim, he heard the crack and felt a sickening shudder as the ladder snapped in two, sending both of them to their death--

Or . . .

He watched in horror as the victim reached for his outstretched hand, his face contorting in terror, just as the car tipped over the bridge, Taylor unable to do anything to stop itOr . . .

He felt his sweaty hand suddenly slipping from the cable as he plunged downward, toward the bridge supports, toward his death--

Or . . .

While hooking the harness, he heard a strange ticking immediately before the truck engine exploded, his skin tearing and burning, the sound of his own screams as his life was taken from him--

Or . . .

The nightmare he'd been living with since childhood--

His eyes snapped open. His hands were trembling again, his throat dry. Breathing rapidly, he could feel another adrenaline surge, though this time the surges made his body ache.

Turning his head, he checked the clock. The red glowing digital lights showed that it was nearly eleven-thirty.

Knowing he wouldn't sleep, he turned on the lamp by his bedside and began to dress.

He didn't understand his decision, not really. All he knew was that he needed to talk.

Not to Mitch, not to Melissa. Not even to his mother.

He needed to talk to Denise.

The parking lot at Eights was mostly empty when he arrived. One car was parked off to the side. Taylor pulled his truck into the space nearest the door and checked his watch. The diner would be closing in ten minutes.

He pushed open the wooden door and heard a small bell jingle, signaling his entrance. The place was the same as always. A counter ran along the far wall; it was here that most truckers sat during the early morning hours. There were a dozen square tables in the center of the room beneath a circulating ceiling fan. On either side of the door beneath the windows were three booths, the seats covered in red vinyl, small tears in every one of them. The air smelled of bacon despite the lateness of the hour.

Beyond the far counter, he saw Ray cleaning up in the back. Ray turned at the sound of the door and recognized Taylor as he stepped in. He waved, a greasy dishtowel in his hand.

"Hey, Taylor," he said. "Long time no see. You comin' in to eat?"

"Oh, hey, Ray." He looked from side to side. "Not really."

Ray shook his head, chuckling to himself. "Somehow, I didn't think so," he said almost mischievously. "Denise'll be out in a minute. She's putting some stuff in the walk-in. You here to ask if you can drive her home?"

When Taylor didn't answer right away, Ray's eyes gleamed. "Did you think you were the first one to come in here, that lost puppy-dog look on your face? There's one or two a week comin' in here, looking just like you do now, hoping for the same thing. Truckers, bikers, even married guys." He grinned. "She's somethin', that's for sure, ain't she? Pretty as a flower. But don't worry, she ain't said yes to one of 'em yet."

"I wasn't . . ." Taylor stammered, suddenly at a loss for words.

"Of course you were." He winked, letting it sink in, then lowered his tone. "But like I said, don't worry. I've got a funny feeling she just might say yes to you. I'll tell her you're here."

All Taylor could do was stare as Ray vanished from sight. Almost immediately Denise came out from the kitchen area, pushing through a swinging door.

"Taylor?" she said, clearly surprised.

"Hi," he said sheepishly.

"What are you doing here?" She started toward him, smiling curiously.

"I wanted to see you," he said quietly, not knowing what else to say.

As she walked toward him he took in her image. She wore a white, work-stained apron over her marigold yellow dress. The dress, short-sleeved and V-necked, was buttoned as high as it would go; the skirt reached just past her knees. She wore white sneakers, something her feet would be comfortable in, even after standing for hours. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her face was shiny from her own perspiration and the grease in the air.

She was beautiful.

She was aware of his appraisal, but as she neared, she saw something else in his eyes, something she'd never seen before.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I don't know," he muttered, almost to himself.

She stared up at him, concerned, then looked over her shoulder.

"Hey, Ray? Can I take a quick break here for a second?"

Ray acted as if he hadn't even noticed that Taylor had come in. He continued to clean the grill as he spoke.

"Take your time, sweetheart. I'm just about done here, anyway."

She faced Taylor again. "Do you want to sit down?"

It was exactly the reason he'd come, but Ray's comments had thrown him off. All he could think about were the men who came to the diner looking for her.

"Maybe I shouldn't have come," he said.

But Denise, as if knowing exactly what to do, smiled sympathetically.

"I'm glad you did," she said softly. "What happened?"

He stood silently before her, everything rushing at him at once. The faint smell of her shampoo, his desire to put his arms around her and tell her everything about the evening, the waking nightmares, how he longed for her to listen . . .

The men who came to the diner looking for her . . .

Despite everything, that thought erased those of the night's drama. Not that he had any reason to be jealous. Ray had said she'd always turned the others down, and he hadn't established a serious relationship with her. Yet the feeling gripped him anyway. What men? Who wanted to take her home? He wanted to ask her but knew it wasn't his place.

"I should go," he said, shaking his head. "I shouldn't be here. You're still working."

"No," she said, seriously this time, sensing that something was troubling him. "Something happened tonight. What was it?"

"I wanted to talk to you," he said simply.

"About what?"

Her eyes searched his, never turning away. Those wonderful eyes. God, she was lovely. Taylor swallowed, his mind whirling. "There was an accident on the bridge tonight," he said abruptly.

Denise nodded, still uncertain of where this was going. "I know. It was quiet here all night. Hardly anyone came in because the bridge was closed. Were you there?"

Taylor nodded.

"I heard it was terrible. Was it?"

Taylor nodded again.

She reached out, her fingers gently taking hold of his arm. "Hold on, okay? Let me see what still needs to be done before we close up."

She turned from him, her touch slipping from his skin, and went back to the kitchen. Taylor stood in the diner, alone with his thoughts for a minute, until Denise came back out.

Surprisingly, she walked past him toward the front door, where she reversed the "Open" sign. Eights was closed.

"Everything in the kitchen's shut down," she explained. "I've got a few things to do and then I'll be ready to go. Why don't you wait for me, okay? We can talk at my house."

Taylor carried Kyle to the truck, his head on Taylor's shoulder. Once inside, he immediately curled around Denise, never awaking in the process.

Once they were home, the procedure was reversed, and after sliding Kyle from Denise's lap, Taylor carried him into the house to his bedroom. He put Kyle in his bed, and Denise immediately pulled the sheet over him. On the way out the door, she pushed the button on his plastic glowing teddy bear, hearing the music come on. She left the door halfway open as they both crept out of his room.

In the living room, Denise turned on one of the lamps as Taylor sat on the couch. After a slight hesitation, Denise sat in a separate chair, catercorner to the couch.

Neither one of them had said anything on the way home for fear of waking Kyle, but once they were seated Denise went straight to the point.

"What happened?" she asked. "On the bridge tonight."

Taylor told her everything: about the rescue, what Mitch and Joe had said, the images he'd been tormented by afterward. Denise sat quietly as he talked, her eyes never leaving his face. When he was finished, she leaned forward in her seat.

"You saved him?"

"I didn't. We all did," Taylor said, automatically making the distinction.

"But how many of you went out on the ladder? How many of you had to let go because the ladder wouldn't hold?"

Taylor didn't answer, and Denise rose from her seat to sit next to him on the couch.

"You're a hero," she said, a small grin on her face. "Just like you were when Kyle was lost."

"No, I'm not," he said, images of the past surfacing against his will.

"Yes, you are." She reached for his hand. For the next twenty minutes they talked about inconsequential things, their conversation wandering here and there. At last Taylor asked about the men who wanted to drive her home; she laughed and rolled her eyes, explaining it away as part of the job. "The nicer I am, the more tips I get. But some men, I suppose, take it the wrong way."

The simple drift of the conversation was soothing; Denise did her best to keep Taylor's thoughts away from the accident. As a child, when she'd had nightmares, her mother used to do the same thing. By talking about something else, anything else, she would finally be able to relax.

It seemed to be working for Taylor as well. He gradually began to speak less, his answers coming more slowly. His eyes closed and opened, closed again. His breaths settled into a deeper rhythm as the demands of the day began to take their toll.

Denise held his hand, watching until he nodded off. Then she rose from the couch and retrieved an extra blanket from her bedroom. When she gave him a nudge, Taylor lay down and she was able to drape the blanket over him.

Half-asleep, he mumbled something about having to go; Denise whispered that he was fine where he was. "Go to sleep," she murmured as she turned off the lamp.

She went to her own room and slipped out of her workclothes, then into her pajamas. She untied her ponytail, brushed her teeth, and scrubbed the grease from her face. Then, after crawling into bed, she closed her eyes.

The fact that Taylor McAden was sleeping in the other room was the last thing she remembered before she, too, nodded off.

"Hewwo, Tayer," Kyle said happily.

Taylor opened his eyes, squinting against the early morning sunlight streaming in the living room window. Wiping the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand, he saw Kyle standing over him, his face very close. Kyle's hair, clumped and matted, pointed off in various directions.

It took a second for Taylor to register where he was. When Kyle pulled back, smiling, Taylor sat up. He ran both hands through his hair. Checking his watch, he saw that it was a little after six in the morning. The rest of the house was quiet.

"Good morning, Kyle. How are you?"

"He's sleeping." (Eez sweepeen)

"Where's your mom?"

"He's on the couch." (Eez on-ah coush)

Taylor straightened up, feeling the stiffness in his joints. His shoulder ached as it always did when he woke.

"I sure was."

Taylor stretched his arms out to the side and yawned.

"Good morning," he heard behind him. Over his shoulder he saw Denise coming out of her room, wearing long pink pajamas and socks. He stood up from the couch.

"Good morning," he said, turning around. "I reckon I must have dozed off last night."

"You were tired."

"Sorry about that."

"It's okay," she said. Kyle had wandered to the corner of the living room and sat down to play with his toys. Denise walked over to him and bent, kissing him on the top of the head. "Good morning, sweetie."

"Morning," he said. (Mawneen)

"Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Do you want some yogurt?"

"No."

"Do you want to play with your toys?"

Kyle nodded, and Denise returned her attention to Taylor. "How about you? Are you hungry?"

"I don't want you to have to cook up something special."

"I was going to offer you some Cheerios," she said, eliciting a smile from Taylor. She adjusted her pajama top. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Like a rock," he said. "Thanks for last night. You were more than patient with me."

She shrugged, her eyes catching the morning light. Her hair, long and tangled, grazed her shoulders. "What are friends for?"

Embarrassed for some reason, he reached for the blanket and began folding it, glad for something to do. He felt out of place here, at her house, so early in the morning.

Denise came and stood next to him. "You sure you don't want to stay for breakfast? I've got half a box."

Taylor debated. "And milk?" he finally asked.

"No, we use water in our cereal here," she said seriously.

He looked at her as if wondering whether or not to believe her, when Denise suddenly laughed, the sound melodic.

"Of course we have milk, you goob."

"Goob?"

"It's a term of endearment. It means that I like you," she said with a wink.

The words were strangely uplifting. "In that case, I'd be glad to stay."

"So what's on your agenda today?" Taylor asked.

They'd finished breakfast, and Denise was walking him to the door. He still had to make it home to change before heading off to meet his crew.

"Same as always. I'll work with Kyle for a few hours, and then I'm not sure. It sort of depends on what he wants to do-play in the yard, ride bikes, whatever. Then it's off to work tonight."

"Back to serving those lecherous men?"

"A gal's gotta pay the bills," she said archly, "and besides, they're not all so bad. The one who came in last night was pretty nice. I let him stay over at my place."

"A real charmer, huh?"

"Not really. But he was so pathetic, I didn't have the heart to turn him down."

"Ouch."

As they reached the door, she leaned against him, nudging him playfully.

"You know I'm kidding."

"I hope so." The sky was cloudless, and the sun was beginning to peek over the trees in the east as they stepped out onto the porch. "Hey, listen, about last night . . . thanks for everything."

"You already thanked me earlier, remember?"

"I know," Taylor said earnestly, "but I wanted to do it again."

They stood together without speaking until Denise finally took a small step forward. Glancing down, then up at Taylor again, she tilted her head slightly, her face drawing nearer to his. She could see the surprise in his eyes when she kissed him softly on the lips.

It wasn't more than a peck, really, but all he could do was stare at her afterward, thinking how wonderful it was.

"I'm glad I was the one you came to," she said.

Still dressed in pajamas, her hair a tangled mess, she looked absolutely perfect.

Chapter 18

Later that day, at Taylor's request, Denise showed him Kyle's journal.

Sitting in the kitchen beside him, she flipped through the pages, commenting every now and then. Each page was filled with Denise's goals, as well as specific words and phrases, pronunciations, and her final observations.

"See, it's just a record of what we do. That's all."

Taylor flipped to the very first page. Across the top was written a single word: Apple. Beneath that, toward the middle of the page and continuing onto the back side, was Denise's description of the very first day she'd worked with him.

"May I?" he asked, motioning to the page. Denise nodded and Taylor read slowly, taking in every word. When he finished he looked up.

"Four hours?"

"Yes."

"Just to say the word apple?"

"Actually, he didn't say it exactly right, even in the end. But it was close enough to understand what he was trying to say."

"How did you finally get him to do it?"

"I just kept working with him until he did."

"But how did you know what would work?"

"I didn't, really. Not in the beginning. I'd studied a lot of different things about how to work with kids like Kyle; I'd read up on different programs that universities were trying, I learned about speech therapy and the things they do. But none of them really seemed to be describing Kyle-I mean, they'd get parts of it right, but mostly they were describing other kids. But there were two books, Late-Talking Children by Thomas Sowell and Let Me Hear Your Voice by Catherine Maurice, that seemed to come the closest. Sowell's book was the first one that let me know that I wasn't alone in all this; that a lot of children have trouble speaking, even though nothing else seems to be wrong with them. Maurice's book gave me an idea of how to actually teach Kyle, even though her book primarily dealt with autism."

"So what do you do?"

"I use a type of behavioral modification program, one that was originally designed out at UCLA. They've had a lot of success with autistic children over the years by rewarding good behavior and punishing negative behavior. I modified the program for speech, since that was really Kyle's only problem. Basically, when Kyle says what he's supposed to, he gets a tiny piece of candy. When he doesn't say it, no candy. If he doesn't even try or he's being stubborn, I scold him. When I taught him how to say 'apple,' I pointed to a picture of an apple and kept repeating the word. I'd give him candy whenever he made a sound; after that, I gave him candy only when he made the right sound-even if it was just part of the word. Eventually, he was rewarded only when he said the whole word."

"And that took four hours?"

Denise nodded. "Four incredibly long hours. He cried and fussed, he kept trying to get out of the chair, he screamed like I was stabbing him with pins. If someone had heard us that day, he probably would have thought I was torturing him. I must have said the word, I don't know, five or six hundred times. I kept repeating it over and over, until we were both absolutely sick of it. It was terrible, truly awful for both of us, and I never thought it would end, but you know . . ."

She leaned a little closer.

"When he finally said it, all the terrible parts suddenly went away-all the frustration and anger and fear that both of us were experiencing. I remember how excited I was-you can't even begin to imagine it. I started crying, and I had him repeat the word at least a dozen times before I really believed he'd done it. That was the first time that I ever knew for certain that Kyle had the ability to learn. I'd done it, on my own, and I can't even describe how much that meant, after all the things the doctors had said about him."

She shook her head wistfully, remembering that day.

"Well, after that, we just kept trying new words, one at a time, until he got those, too. He got to the point where he could name every tree and flower there was, every type of car, every kind of airplane . . . his vocabulary was huge, but he still didn't have the ability to understand that language was actually used for something. So then we started with two-word combinations, like 'blue truck' or 'big tree,' and I think that helped him grasp what I was trying to teach him-that words are the way people communicate. After a few months, he could mimic almost everything I said, so I started trying to teach him what questions were."

"Was that hard?"

"It's still hard. Harder than teaching him words, because now he has to try to interpret inflections in tone, then understand what the question is, then answer it appropriately. All three parts of that are difficult for him, and that's what we've been working on for the last few months. At first, questions presented a whole new set of challenges, because Kyle wanted to simply mimic what I was saying. I'd point to a picture of an apple and say, 'What is this?' Kyle would respond, 'What is this?' I'd say, 'No, say, "It's an apple," ' and Kyle would answer, 'No, say, "It's an apple." ' Eventually, I started whispering the question, then saying the answer loudly, hoping he could understand what I wanted. But for a long time, he'd whisper the question like I did, then answer loudly, repeating my words and tones exactly. It took weeks before he would say only the answer. I'd reward him, of course, whenever he did."

Taylor nodded, beginning to grasp just how difficult all this must have been. "You must have the patience of a saint," he said.

"Not always."

"But to do it every day . . ."

"I have to. Besides, look at how far he's come."

Taylor flipped through the notebook, toward the end. From a nearly blank page with only a single word on it, Denise's notes about the hours spent with Kyle now covered three and four pages at a time.

"He's come a long way."

"Yes, he has. He's got a long way to go, though. He's good with some questions, like 'what' and 'who,' but he still doesn't understand 'why' and 'how' questions. He doesn't really converse yet, either-he usually just makes a single statement. He's also got trouble with the phrasing of questions. He knows what I mean when I say, 'Where's your toy?' But if I ask him, 'Where did you put your toy?' all I get is a blank stare. Things like that are the reason I'm glad I've kept that journal. Whenever Kyle has a bad day-and he does, quite often-I'll open this up and remind myself of all the challenges he's made it through so far. One day, once he's better, I'm going to give this to him. I want him to read it, so that he knows how much I love him."

"He already knows that."

"I know. But someday, I also want to hear him say that he loves me, too."

"Doesn't he do that now? When you tuck him in at night?"

"No," she answered. "Kyle's never said that to me."

"Haven't you tried to teach him that?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I want to be surprised on the day that he finally does it on his own."

During the next week and a half Taylor spent more and more time at Denise's house, always dropping by in the afternoons once he knew she'd finished working with Kyle. Sometimes he stayed for an hour, other times a little longer. On two afternoons he played catch with Kyle while Denise watched from the porch; on the third afternoon he taught Kyle to hit the ball with a small bat and tee that Taylor had used when he was young. Swing after swing, Taylor retrieved the ball and set it back on the tee, only to encourage Kyle to try again. By the time Kyle was ready to stop, Taylor's shirt was soaked through. Denise kissed him for the second time after handing him a glass of water.

On Sunday, the week after the carnival, Taylor drove them to Kitty Hawk, where they spent the day at the beach. Taylor pointed out the spot where Orville and Wilbur Wright made their historic flight in 1903, and they read the details on a monument that had been erected to honor them. They shared a picnic lunch, then waded in and out of the surf on a long walk down the beach as terns fluttered overhead. Toward the end of the afternoon Denise and Taylor built sand castles that Kyle delighted in ruining. Roaring like Godzilla, he stomped through the mounds almost as quickly as they were molded.

On the way home, they stopped at a farmer's road stand, where they picked up some fresh corn. While Kyle ate macaroni and cheese, Taylor had his first dinner at Denise's house. The sun and wind at the beach had worn Kyle out, and he fell asleep immediately afterward. Taylor and Denise talked in the kitchen until almost midnight. On the doorstep they kissed again, Taylor's arms wrapped around her.

A few days later Taylor let Denise borrow his truck to head into town to run some errands. By the time she got back, he'd rehung the sagging cabinet doors in her kitchen. "I hope you don't mind," he said, wondering if he'd overstepped some invisible line.

"Not at all," she cried, clapping her hands together, "but can you do anything about the leaky sink?" Thirty minutes later that was fixed as well.

In their moments alone, Taylor found himself mesmerized by her simple beauty and grace. But there were also times when he could see written in her features the sacrifices she'd made for her son. It was an almost weary expression, like that of a warrior after a long battle on the plains, and it inspired an admiration in him that he found difficult to put into words. She seemed to be one of a slowly vanishing breed; a stark contrast to those who were always chasing, running, on the go, searching for personal fulfillment and self-esteem. So many people these days, it seemed, believed that these things could come only from work, not from parenting, and many people believed that having children had nothing to do with raising them. When he said as much, Denise had simply looked away, out the window. "I used to believe that, too."

On Wednesday of the following week, Taylor invited both Denise and Kyle to his home. Similar to Denise's in many ways, it was an older house that sat on a large parcel of land. His, however, had been remodeled over the years, both before and after he'd bought the place. Kyle loved the toolshed out back, and after pointing out the "tractor" (actually a lawn mower), Taylor took him for a ride around the yard without engaging the blade. As he'd done when he'd driven Taylor's truck, Kyle beamed as he zigzagged across the yard.

Watching them together, Denise realized that her initial impression of Taylor being shy wasn't completely accurate. But he did hold things back about himself, she reflected. Though they'd talked about his job and his time with the fire department, he remained strangely silent about his father, never volunteering more than he had that first night. Nor had he said anything about the women he'd known in the past, not even in a casual way. It didn't really matter, of course, but the omission perplexed her.

Still, she had to admit she was drawn to him. He'd stumbled into her life when she'd least expected it, in the most unlikely of ways. He was already more than a friend. But at night, lying under the sheet with the oscillating fan rattling in the background, she found herself hoping and praying that the whole thing was real.

"How much longer?" Denise asked.

Taylor had surprised her by bringing over an old-fashioned ice-cream maker, complete with all the ingredients needed. He was cranking the handle, sweat running off his face, as the cream churned, thickening slowly.

"Five minutes, maybe ten. Why, are you hungry?"

"I've never had homemade ice cream before."

"Would you like to claim some ownership? You can take over for a while. . . ."

She held up her hands. "No, that's okay. It's more fun watching you do it."

Taylor nodded as if disappointed, then played the martyr as he pretended to struggle with the handle. She giggled. When she stopped, Taylor wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Are you doing anything Sunday night?"

She knew he was going to ask. "Not really."

"Do you want to go out for dinner?"

Denise shrugged. "Sure. But you know how Kyle is. He won't eat anything at most places."

Taylor swallowed, his arm never stopping. His eyes met hers.

"I meant, could I take just you? Without Kyle this time? My mom said she'd be happy to come over and watch him."

Denise hesitated. "I don't know how he'd do with her. He doesn't know her too well."

"How about if I pick you up after he's already asleep? You can put him in bed, tuck him in, and we won't leave until you're sure it's okay."

She relented then, unable to disguise her pleasure. "You've really thought this through, haven't you?"

"I didn't want you to have the opportunity to say no."

She grinned, leaning in to within inches of his face. "In that case, I'd love to go."

Judy arrived at seven-thirty, a few minutes after Denise had put Kyle in bed. She'd kept him busy outside all day in the hope that he'd sleep while she was out. They'd ridden their bikes into town and stopped at the playground; they'd played in the dirt out back. It was hot and steamy, the kind of day that saps the energy, and Kyle started yawning right before dinner. After giving him a bath and putting on his pajamas, Denise read three books in his room while Kyle drank his milk, his eyes half-open. After pulling the shades closed-it was still light outside-she closed the door; Kyle was already sound asleep.

She took a shower and shaved her legs, then stood with a towel wrapped around her, trying to decide what to wear. Taylor had said they were going to Fontana, a wonderfully quiet restaurant in the heart of downtown. When she'd asked him what she should wear, he'd said not to worry about it, which didn't help at all.

She finally decided on a simple black cocktail dress that seemed appropriate for almost any occasion. It had been in the back of her closet for years, still draped in a plastic sheath from a dry cleaner in Atlanta. She couldn't remember the last time she'd worn it, but after slipping it on, she was pleased to see that it still fit well. A pair of black pumps came next; she considered wearing black stockings, too, but that idea was dropped as quickly as she'd thought of it. It was too warm a night, and besides, who ever wore black stockings in Edenton, except for a funeral?

After drying and styling her hair, she put on a little makeup, then pulled out the perfume that sat in her bedstand drawer. A little on her neck and hair, then a dab on her wrists, which she rubbed together. In her top drawer she kept a small jewelry box from which she withdrew a pair of hoop earrings.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, she evaluated herself, pleased with how she looked. Not too much, not too little. Just right, in fact. It was then that she heard Judy knocking. Taylor arrived two minutes later.

Fontana's Restaurant had been in business for a dozen years. It was owned by a middle-aged couple originally from Berne, Switzerland, who had moved to Edenton from New Orleans, hoping for a simpler life. In the process, however, they'd also brought a touch of elegance to the town. Dimly lit, with first-rate service, it was popular with couples celebrating anniversaries and engagements; its reputation had been established when an article on the place had appeared in Southern Living.

Taylor and Denise were seated at a small table in the corner, Taylor nursing a Scotch and soda, Denise sipping Chardonnay.

"Have you eaten here before?" Denise asked, scanning the menu.

"A few times, but I haven't been here in a while."

She flipped through the pages, unused to so many choices after years of one-pot dinners. "What do you recommend?"

"Everything, really. The rack of lamb is the house specialty, but they're also known for their steaks and seafood."

"That doesn't really narrow it down."

"It's true, though. You won't be disappointed with anything."

Studying the appetizer listings, she twirled a strand of her hair between her fingers. Taylor watched with a mixture of fascination and amusement.

"Have I told you how nice you look tonight?" he asked.

"Only twice," she said, playing it cool, "but don't feel you have to stop. I don't mind."

"Really?"

"Not when it comes from a man dressed as spiffy as you."

"Spiffy?"

She winked. "It means the same thing as goob."

The dinner that followed was wonderful in every detail, the food delicious and the setting undeniably intimate. Over dessert, Taylor reached for her hand across the table. He didn't let go for the next hour.

As the evening wore on, they immersed themselves in each other's lives. Taylor told Denise about his past with the fire department and some of the more dangerous blazes he'd helped to battle; he also talked about Mitch and Melissa, the two friends who'd been with him through it all. Denise shared stories of her college years and went on to describe the first two years she'd spent teaching and how utterly unprepared she'd felt the first time she'd stepped into a classroom. To both of them, this night seemed to mark the beginning of their life as a couple. It was also the first time they'd ever had a conversation in which Kyle's name never came up.

After dinner, as they stepped out onto the deserted street, Denise noted how different the old town seemed at night, like a place lost in time. Aside from the restaurant they'd been in and a bar on the corner, everything was closed. Meandering along brick sidewalks that had cracked over time, they passed an antique shop and an art gallery.

It was perfectly silent on the street, neither of them feeling the urge to speak. Within a couple of minutes they'd reached the harbor, and Denise could make out the boats settled into their slips. Large and small, new and old, they ran the gamut from wooden sailboats to weekend trawlers. A few were illuminated from within, but the only sound came from the water lapping against the seawall.

Leaning against a railing that had been set up near the docks, Taylor cleared his throat and took Denise's hand.

"Edenton was one of the earliest settled ports in the South, and even though the town was nothing more than an outpost, trading ships used to stop here, either to sell their wares or to replenish their supplies. Can you see those railings on top of the houses over there?"

He motioned to some of the historic homes along the harbor, and Denise nodded.

"In colonial days, shipping was dangerous, and wives would stand on those balconies, waiting for their husbands' ships to enter the harbor. So many husbands died, however, that they became known as widows' walks. But here in Edenton, the ships would never come directly into port. Instead, they used to stop out there in the middle of the harbor, no matter how long the voyage had been, and women standing on the widows' walks would strain their eyes, searching for their husbands as the ship came to a stop."

"Why did they stop out there?"

"There used to be a tree, a giant cypress tree, standing all by itself. That's one of the ways that ships knew they'd reached Edenton, especially if they'd never been here before. It was the only tree like it anywhere along the East Coast. Usually cypress trees grow close to the banks-within a few feet or so-but this one was at least two hundred yards from shore. It was like a monument because it seemed so out of place. Well, somehow it became a custom for ships to stop at the tree whenever they entered the harbor. They'd get in a small boat, row over to the tree, and put a bottle of rum in the trunk of the tree, thankful that they'd made it back to port safely. And whenever a ship left the harbor, the crew would stop at the tree and members of the crew would drink a dram of the rum in the hopes of a safe and prosperous voyage. That's why they call it the dram tree."

"Really?"

"Sure. The town is ripe with legends of ships that neglected to stop for their 'dram' of rum that were subsequently lost at sea. It was considered bad luck, and only the foolish ignored the custom. Sailors disregarded it at their own peril."

"What if there wasn't any rum there when a ship was on its way out? Would they turn the ship around?"

"As legend has it, it never happened." He looked over the water, his tone changing slightly. "I remember my dad telling me that story when I was a kid. He took me out there, too, to the very spot where the tree had been and told me all about it."

Denise smiled. "Do you have any other stories about Edenton?"

"A few."

"Any ghost stories?"

"Of course. Every old town in North Carolina has ghost stories. On Halloween, my father would sit me and my friends down after we'd gone trick-or-treating and tell us the story of Brownrigg Mill. It's about a witch, and it's got everything needed to terrify children. Superstitious townsfolk, evil spells, mysterious deaths, even a three-legged cat. By the time my dad was done, we'd be too scared to sleep. He could spin a yarn with the best of them."

She thought about life in a small town, the ancient stories, and how different it all was from her own experiences in Atlanta.

"That must have been neat."

"It was. If you'd like, I could do the same for Kyle."

"I doubt if he'd understand what you're saying."

"Maybe I'll tell him the one about the haunted monster truck of Chowan County."

"There's no such thing."

"I know. But I could always make one up."

Denise squeezed his hand again. "How come you never had kids?" she asked.

"I'm not the right sex."

"You know what I mean," she said, nudging him. "You'd be a good father."

"I don't know. I just haven't."

"Did you ever want to?"

"Sometimes."

"Well, you should."

"You sound like my mother now."

"You know what they say. Brilliant minds think alike."

"If you do say so yourself."

"Exactly."

As they left the harbor and started toward downtown again, Denise was struck by how much her world had changed recently; and all of it, she realized, could be traced to the man beside her. Yet never once, despite all he'd done for her, had he pressured her for anything in return, something she might not be ready for. She was the one who'd kissed him first, and it was she who'd kissed him the second time. Even when he'd stayed late at her house after their day at the beach, he'd left when he sensed that it was time to go.

Most men wouldn't have done that, she knew. Most men seized the initiative as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Lord knew that was what had happened with Kyle's father. But Taylor was different. He was content to get to know her first, she mused, to listen to her problems, to hang crooked cabinet doors and make homemade ice cream on the porch. In every way he had presented himself as a gentleman.

But because he'd never pushed her, she found herself wanting him with an intensity that surprised her. She wondered what it would feel like when he finally took her in his arms or what it would be like to have him touch her body, his fingers tracing over her skin. Thinking about it made something tighten inside, and she squeezed his hand reflexively.

As they neared the truck, they passed a storefront whose glass door had been propped open. Stenciled on it was "Trina's Bar." Aside from Fontana, it was the only place open downtown; when she peeked in, Denise saw three couples talking quietly over small circular tables. In the corner was a jukebox playing a country song, the nasal baritone of the singer quieting as the final lyrics wound down. There was a short silence until the next song rotated through: "Unchained Melody." Denise stopped in her tracks when she recognized it, pulling on Taylor's hand.

"I love this song," she said.

"Would you like to go inside?"

She debated as the melody swirled around her.

"We could dance if you'd like," he added.

"No. I'd feel funny with all those people watching," she said after a beat. "And there's not really enough room, anyway."

The street was devoid of traffic, the sidewalks deserted. A single light, set high on a pole, flickered slightly, illuminating the corner. Beneath the strains of the music from the bar drifted the sound of intimate conversations. Denise took a tentative step, away from the open door. The music was still evident behind them, playing softly, when Taylor suddenly stopped. She looked up at him curiously.

Without a word, he slipped one arm around her back, pulling her closer to him. With an endearing smile, he raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it, then lowered it into position. Suddenly realizing what was happening, but still not believing it, Denise took an awkward step before beginning to follow his lead.

For a moment, both were slightly embarrassed. But the music played steadily in the background, dispelling the awkwardness, and after a couple of turns Denise closed her eyes and leaned into him. Taylor's arm drifted up her back, and she could hear his breathing as they rotated in slow circles, swaying gently with the music. Suddenly it didn't matter whether anyone was watching. Except for his touch and the feel of his warm body against hers, nothing mattered at all, and they danced and danced, holding each other close beneath a flickering streetlight in the tiny town of Edenton.

Chapter 19

Judy was reading a novel in the living room when the two of them returned. Kyle, she said, hadn't even stirred while they'd been away.

"Did you two have a good time?" she asked, eyeing Denise's flushed cheeks.

"Yes, we did," Denise answered. "Thanks for watching Kyle."

"My pleasure," she said sincerely, slinging her purse over her shoulder and getting ready to leave.

Denise went back to check on Kyle as Taylor walked Judy to the car. He didn't say much as they walked, and Judy hoped that it meant Taylor was as taken with Denise as she seemed to be with him.

Taylor was in the living room, squatting by a small cooler he'd removed from the back of the truck, when Denise emerged from Kyle's room. He didn't hear her close her son's door, lost in what he was doing. Silently Denise watched as he slid open the top of the cooler and removed two crystal flutes. They clinked together as he shook the water off them, then he set them on the small table in front of the couch. He reached in again, this time pulling out a bottle of Champagne.

After peeling the foil off the top, he untwisted the wire that held the cork and popped the cork free in one easy movement. The bottle went onto the table, next to the flutes he'd brought. Once again he reached into the cooler, then fished out a plate of strawberries neatly wrapped in cellophane. Once the strawberries were unwrapped, he straightened everything on the table and pushed the cooler off to the side. After leaning back to get a better perspective, he seemed satisfied. He rubbed his hands on his pants, wiping the moisture from them, and glanced toward the hallway. At the sight of Denise standing there, he froze, an embarrassed expression on his face. Then, smiling bashfully, he stood.

"I thought this would be a nice surprise," he said.

She looked toward the table and back at Taylor again, realizing she'd been holding her breath.

"It is," she said.

"I didn't know whether you liked wine or Champagne, so I just took a chance."

Taylor's eyes were fixed on her.

"I'm sure it's wonderful," she murmured. "I haven't had Champagne in years."

He reached for the bottle. "Can I pour you a glass?"

"Please."

Taylor poured two glasses as Denise approached the table, suddenly a little unsteady. He handed one to her wordlessly, and all she could do was stare at him, wondering how long it had taken him to plan this.

"Wait, okay?" Denise said quickly, knowing exactly what was missing. Taylor watched as she set down her glass and ran to the kitchen. He listened as she rifled through a drawer, then saw her emerge again with two small candles and a book of matches. She set them on the table beside the Champagne and strawberries, then lit them. As soon as she turned out the lamp, the room was transformed, shadows dancing against the wall as she picked up her glass. In the glowing light she was more beautiful than ever.

"To you," he said as they tapped their glasses together. She took a sip. The bubbles made her nose twitch, but it tasted wonderful.

He motioned to the couch, and they sat close to each other, her knee pulled up and resting against his thigh. Outside the window, the moon had risen and its light spilled through the clouds, turning them silver white. Taylor took another sip of Champagne, watching Denise.

"What are you thinking?" she asked. Taylor glanced away briefly before facing her again.

"I was thinking about what would have happened had you never been in the accident that night."

"I would have had my car," she declared, and Taylor laughed before growing serious again.

"But do you think I'd be here now, if it hadn't happened?"

Denise considered it. "I don't know," she said at last. "I'd like to think so, though. My mom used to believe that people were destined for one another. That's a romantic idea that young girls have, and I guess part of me still believes it."

Taylor nodded. "My mom used to say that, too. I think that's one of the reasons why she never remarried. She knew there could never be anyone to replace my father. I don't think my mom's even considered dating anyone since the day he died."

"Really?"

"That's how it always seemed to me, anyway."

"I'm sure you're wrong about that, Taylor. Your mom's only human, and we all need companionship."

As soon as she'd said it, she realized she was talking about herself as much as she was about Judy. Taylor, however, didn't seem to notice.

Instead he smiled. "You don't know her as well as I do."

"Maybe, but remember, my mother went through the same things your mom did. She mourned my father always, but I know she still felt the desire to be loved by someone."

"Did she date?"

Denise nodded, taking a sip of her Champagne. Shadows flickered across his features.

"After a couple of years, she did. She saw a few men seriously, and there were times I thought I'd have a new stepfather soon, but none of them ever worked out."

"Did that make you angry? Her dating, I mean?"

"No, not at all. I wanted my mom to be happy."

Taylor raised an eyebrow before draining the last of his Champagne. "I don't know if I would have been as mature about it as you were."

"Maybe not. But your mom's still young. There may still come a time when it happens."

Taylor brought the glass to his lap, realizing he'd never even imagined the possibility.

"What about you? Did you think you'd be married by now?" he asked.

"Of course," she said wryly. "I had it all worked out. Graduate at twenty-two, married by twenty-five, my first child at thirty. It was a great plan, except that absolutely none of it worked out the way I thought it would."

"You sound disappointed."

"I was," she admitted, "for a long time. I mean, my mom always had this idea of what my life would be like and never missed the opportunity to remind me. And she meant well, I know she did. She wanted me to learn from her mistakes, and I was willing to do that. But when she died . . . I don't know. I guess for a while there I forgot everything she'd taught me."

She stopped, a pensive look on her face.

"Because you got pregnant?" he asked gently.

Denise shook her head. "No, not because I got pregnant, though that was part of it. It was more that after she died, I felt like she wouldn't be looking over my shoulder all the time, evaluating everything in my life. And of course, she wasn't, and I took advantage of that. It wasn't until later that I realized the things my mom said weren't meant to hold me back, they were for my own benefit so that all my own dreams could come true."

"We all make mistakes, Denise-"

She held up a hand, cutting him off. "I'm not saying it because I feel sorry for myself now. Like I said, I'm not disappointed anymore. These days, when I think about my mom, I know she'd be proud of the decisions I've made over the last five years."

She hesitated before taking a deep breath. "I think she'd also like you."

"Because I'm nice to Kyle?"

"No," she answered. "My mom would like you because you've made me happier in the last two weeks than I have been in the last five years."

Taylor could only stare at her, humbled by the emotion behind her words. She was so honest, so vulnerable, so incredibly beautifu . . .

In the glowing candlelight, sitting close, she looked at him squarely, her eyes lit with mystery and compassion, and it was at that moment that Taylor McAden fell in love with Denise Holton.

All the years of wondering exactly what that meant, all the years of loneliness, had led to this place, this here and now. He reached out and took her hand, feeling the softness of her skin as a well of tenderness rose within him.

As he touched her cheek, Denise closed her eyes, willing this memory to last forever. She knew intuitively the meaning of Taylor's touch, the words he'd left unspoken. Not because she'd come to know him so well. She knew because she'd fallen in love with him at exactly the same time.

In the late evening, moonlight spilled through the bedroom. The air was silver as Taylor lay on the bed, Denise resting her head on his chest. She had turned on the radio, and the faint strains of jazz muted the sounds of their whispers.

Denise lifted her head from his chest, marveling at the naked beauty of his form, seeing at once the man she loved and the blueprint of the young boy she never knew. With guilty pleasure, she recalled the sight of their bodies intertwined in passion, her own soft whimpers as they'd become one, and how she'd buried her face in his neck to stifle her screams. And she'd done so knowing that it was what she both needed and wanted; she'd closed her eyes, giving herself to him without reserve.

When Taylor saw her staring, he reached over and traced her cheek with his fingers, a melancholy smile playing on his lips, his eyes unreadable in the soft gray light. She moved her cheek closer to his fingers as he opened his hand.

In silence they lay together as the digital numbers on the clock radio blinked forward steadily. Later Taylor rose. He threw on his pants and walked to the kitchen to get two glasses of water. When he came back, he saw Denise's figure intertwined with the sheet, covering part of her. As she lay on her back, Taylor took a drink of water, then set both glasses on the bedstand. When he kissed her between her breasts, she could feel the cool temperature of his tongue against her. "You're perfect," he whispered.

She put one arm around his neck, then ran her hand down his back, feeling all of it: the fullness of the evening, the silent weight of their passion.

"I'm not, but thank you. For everything." He sat on the bed then, his back against the headrest. Denise moved up and he draped one arm around her, pulling her close to him.

It was in that position that the two of them finally fell asleep.

Chapter 20

When she woke the following morning, Denise was alone. The bedcovers on Taylor's side had been pulled up, his clothes nowhere to be seen. Checking the clock, she saw that it was a little before seven. Puzzled, she got out of bed, put on a short silk bathrobe, and checked the house quickly before glancing out the window.

Taylor's truck was gone.

Frowning, Denise returned to the bedroom to check the bedstand: no note. Not in the kitchen, either.

Kyle, who'd heard her puttering around the house, staggered sleepily out of his bedroom as she was pondering the situation, plopping down on the living room couch.

"Hewwo, Money," he mumbled, his eyes half-closed. Just as she answered, she heard Taylor's truck coming up the drive. A minute later Taylor was slowly opening the front door, a grocery bag in his arms, as if wary of waking a sleeping household.

"Oh, hey," he said, whispering as soon as he saw them, "I didn't think you two would be up yet."

"Hewwo, Tayer," Kyle cried, suddenly alert.

Denise pulled her robe a little tighter. "Where did you go?"

"I ran to the store."

"At this hour?"

Taylor closed the door behind him and walked across the living room. "It opens at six."

"Why're you whispering?"

"I don't know." He laughed, and his tone returned to normal. "Sorry about leaving this morning, but my stomach was growling."

She looked at him questioningly.

"So anyway, since I was already up, I decided that I would make you two a real breakfast. Eggs, bacon, pancakes, the works."

Denise smiled. "You don't like my Cheerios?"

"I love your Cheerios. But today is special."

"Why is today so special?"

He glanced toward Kyle, who was now focused on the toys piled in the corner. Judy had organized them neatly the night before, and he was doing his best to rectify that. Certain his attention was occupied, Taylor simply raised his eyebrows.

"Do you have anything on under that robe, Miss Holton?" he murmured, obvious desire in his tone.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she teased.

Taylor set the bag of groceries on the end table and put his arms around her, his hands running down her back, then inching lower. She looked momentarily embarrassed, her eyes flashing toward Kyle.

"I think I just found out," he said conspiratorially.

"Stop," she said, meaning it, but not really wanting him to. "Kyle's in the room."

Taylor nodded and pulled away with a wink. Kyle hadn't turned his attention from his toys.

"Well, today is special for the obvious reason," he said conversationally as he picked up the bag again. "But even more, after I make your gourmet breakfast, I'd like to take you and Kyle to the beach today."

"But I have to work with Kyle and then head into the diner tonight."

As he walked past her toward the kitchen, he stopped, leaning toward her ear as if sharing a secret.

"I know. I'm supposed to go over to Mitch's this morning to help fix his roof. But I'm willing to play hooky once if you are."

"But I took the morning off at the store," Mitch protested gamely. "You can't back out on me now. I've already pulled everything out of the garage."

Dressed in jeans and an old shirt, he had been waiting for Taylor to pull up when he heard the phone ring.

"Well, put it all back in," Taylor said good-naturedly. "Like I said, I'm not going to be able to make it."

As Taylor talked, he moved the bacon around with a fork in the sizzling pan. The aroma filled the house. Denise was standing close by, still in her short robe, scooping coffee grounds into the filter. The sight of her made Taylor wish that Kyle would disappear for the next hour or so. His mind was barely on the conversation.

"But what if it rains?"

"You already told me it's not leaking yet. That's why you let me put it off this long."

"Four cups or six?" Denise asked.

Lifting his chin away from the receiver, Taylor answered. "Make it eight. I love coffee."

"Who's that?" Mitch asked, everything suddenly coming clear now "Hey . . . are you with Denise?"

Taylor looked toward her admiringly. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes."

"So you were with her all night?"

"What kind of question is that?"

Denise smiled, knowing exactly what Mitch was saying on the other end.

"You sly dog . . ."

"So about your roof," Taylor said loudly, trying to get the subject back on track.

"Oh, don't worry about it," Mitch said, suddenly affable. "You just have yourself a nice time with her. It's about time you finally found someone-"

"Good-bye, Mitch," Taylor said, cutting him off. Shaking his head, he hung up the phone while Mitch was still talking.

Denise pulled the eggs from the grocery bag. "Scrambled?" she asked.

He grinned. "With you looking so good, how could I not feel scrambled?"

She rolled her eyes. "You really are a goob."

Two hours later they were sitting on a blanket at the beach near Nags Head, Taylor applying sunscreen to Denise's back. Kyle was using a plastic shovel nearby, scooping sand from one spot on the beach and moving it to another. Neither Taylor nor Denise had any idea what he was thinking as he did it, but he seemed to be enjoying it.

For Denise, the memories of the previous evening were revived as she felt the lotion being caressed into her skin.

"Can I ask you a question?" she said.

"Sure."

"Last night . . . after we'd . . . well . . ." She paused.

"After we'd done the horizontal tango?" Taylor offered.

She elbowed him in the ribs. "Don't make it sound so romantic," she protested, and Taylor laughed. She shook her head but was unable to repress a grin.

"Anyway," she went on, regaining her composure. "Afterward, you got sort of quiet, like you were . . . sad or something."

Taylor nodded, looking out to the horizon. Denise waited for him to say something, but he didn't.

Watching the waves as they rolled up the shore, Denise gathered her courage.

"Was it because you regretted what happened?"

"No," he said quietly, his hands on her skin again. "It wasn't that at all."

"Then what was it?"

Without answering directly, Taylor followed her eyes, tracking the waves. "Do you remember back when you were a kid? Around Christmas? And how the anticipation was sometimes even more exciting than opening the presents?"

"Yes."

"That's what it reminds me of. I'd been dreaming about what it would finally be like . . ."

He stopped, considering how best to communicate what he meant.

"So the anticipation was actually more exciting than last night?" she asked.

"No," he said quickly. "You've got it all wrong. It was just the opposite. Last night was wonderful-you were wonderful. The whole thing was so perfect . . . I guess it makes me sad to think that there's never going be a first time with you again."

At that, he grew quiet once more. Denise, musing on his words and the sudden stillness in his gaze, decided to let the subject go. Instead she leaned back against him, comforted by the reassuring warmth of his encircling arms. They sat that way for a long time, each lost in thought.

Later, as the sun began its midafternoon march across the sky, they packed up their things, ready to head home. Taylor carried the blanket, towels, and picnic basket they'd brought with them. Kyle was walking ahead of them, his body covered in sand, carrying his pail and shovel as he weaved through the last of the sand dunes. All along the footpath, a sea of orange and yellow blossoms bloomed, their colors spectacular. Denise bent and plucked a blossom, bringing it to her nose.

"Around here, we call it the Jobellflower," Taylor said, watching her. She handed it to him, and Taylor wagged a finger at her in mock reproach.

"You know it's against the law to pick flowers on the dunes. They help protect us from the hurricanes."

"Are you going to turn me in?"

Taylor shook his head. "No, but I'm going to make you listen to the legend of how they got their name."

She pushed away the hair that had blown into her eyes. "Is this another story like the dram tree?"

"Sort of. It's a little more romantic, though."

Denise took a step closer to him. "So tell me about the flower."

He twirled it between his fingers, and the petals seemed to blend together.

"The Jobellflower was named for Joe Bell, who lived on this island a long time ago. Supposedly, Joe had been in love with a woman, but she ended up marrying someone else. Heartbroken, he moved to the Outer Banks, where he intended to live the life of a recluse. On his first morning in his new home, however, he saw a woman walking along the beach in front of his house, looking terribly sad and alone. Every day, at the same time, he would see her, and eventually he went out to meet her, but when she saw him, she turned and ran away. He thought he'd frightened her off for good, but the next morning she was walking along the beach again. This time, when he went to see her, she didn't run, and Joe was immediately struck by how beautiful she was. They talked all day, then the next, and soon they were in love. Surprisingly, at the same time he was falling in love, a small batch of flowers began to grow right behind his house, flowers never seen before in this area. As his love grew, the flowers continued to spread, and by the end of the summer, they'd become a beautiful ocean of color. It was there that Joe knelt and asked her to marry him. When she agreed, Joe picked a dozen blossoms and handed them to her, but strangely, she recoiled, refusing to take them. Later, on their wedding day, she explained her reason. 'This flower is the living symbol of our love,' she said. 'If the flowers die, then our love will die as well.' This terrified Joe-for some reason, he knew in his heart that truer words had never been spoken. So he began to plant or seed Jobellflowers all along the stretch of beach where they'd first met, then eventually throughout the Outer Banks, as a testimony to how much he loved his wife. And every year, as the flowers were spread, they fell deeper and deeper in love."

When he was finished, Taylor bent and picked a few more of the blossoms, then handed the bunch to Denise.

"I like that story," she said.

"I do, too."

"But didn't you just break the law, too?"

"Of course. But I figure that this way, we'll each have something to keep the other in line."

"Like trust?"

"That too," he said as he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

Taylor drove her into work that night, though Kyle didn't stay with her. Instead Taylor offered to watch him at Denise's house.

"We'll have fun. We'll play a little ball, watch a movie, eat some popcorn."

After hemming and hawing, Denise finally agreed, and Taylor dropped her off right before seven. As their truck pulled away, Taylor winked at Kyle.

"Okay, little man. First stop is my house. If we're going to watch a movie, we're going to need a VCR."

"He's driving," Kyle responded vigorously, and Taylor laughed, well used to Kyle's form of communication by now.

"We've also got one more stop to make, okay?"

Kyle simply nodded again, seemingly relieved that he didn't have to go into the diner. Taylor picked up his cellular phone and made a call, hoping the guy on the other end wouldn't mind doing him a favor.

At midnight Taylor loaded Kyle into the car, then went to pick up Denise. Kyle woke only briefly when Denise got in, then curled up onto her lap as he usually did. Fifteen minutes later everyone was in bed; Kyle in his room, Denise and Taylor in hers.

"I've been thinking about what you said earlier," Denise said, slipping off the marigold work dress.

Taylor found it difficult to concentrate as it fell to the floor. "What did I say?"

"About you being sad that there will never be a first time again."

"And?"

In her bra and panties, she moved closer, nuzzling up to him. "Well, I was just thinking that if we make this time even better than last night, your anticipation might come back."

Taylor felt her body sidle up against his. "How so?"

"If every time is better than the last, you'll always be looking forward to the next time."

Taylor put his arms around her back, becoming aroused. "Do you think that'll work?"

"I have no idea," she said, beginning to unbutton his shirt, "but I'd sure like to find out."

Taylor slipped out of her room just before dawn, as he'd done the day before, though this time he stopped at the couch. Not wanting Kyle to see them sleeping together, he dozed on and off for another couple of hours until Denise and Kyle came wandering out of their bedrooms. It was nearly eight o'clock-Kyle hadn't slept that late in a long time.

Denise scanned the room and immediately understood the reason. From the looks of things, it was obvious that he'd been up late. The TV was at an odd angle, the VCR was on the floor beside it, cables snaking out everywhere. Two half-empty cups sat on the end table with three cans of Sprite alongside them. Pieces of popcorn were scattered on the floor and on the couch; a Skittles wrapper had wedged itself between the pillows on the chair. On top of the television were two movies, The Rescuers and The Lion King, the cases open, videos on top.

Denise put her hands on her hips, taking in the mess.

"I didn't notice the mess you two made last night when I came in. It looks like you two had yourselves a good old time."

Taylor sat up from the couch and wiped his eyes. "We had fun."

"I'll bet," she groaned.

"But did you see what else we did?"

"You mean aside from spraying popcorn all over my furniture?"

He laughed. "C'mon. Let me show you. I'll get this stuff cleaned up in a minute."

He got up from the couch and stretched his arms over his head. "You too, Kyle. Let's show your mom what we did last night."

To Denise's surprise, Kyle seemed to understand what Taylor had said and obediently followed Taylor to the back door. Taylor led them across the porch to the rear steps, motioning to the garden on either side of the door.

When Denise saw what awaited her, she was speechless.

All along the back of the house were freshly planted Jobellflowers.

"You did this?" she asked.

"Kyle did, too," he said, a touch of pride in his voice, seeing that she was pleased.

"That feels wonderful," Denise said softly.

It was past midnight, long after Denise had once again finished with her shift at Eights. During the past week, Denise and Taylor had seen each other virtually every day. On the Fourth of July Taylor had taken them out on his rebuilt ancient motorboat; later they had set off their own fireworks, to Kyle's delight. They picnicked on the banks of the Chowan River and dug clams at the beach. For Denise, it was the kind of interlude she could never have allowed herself to imagine, sweeter than any dreams.

Tonight, like so many recent nights, she lay on the bed, naked, Taylor beside her. His hands were slick with oil, and the sensation of his hands sliding over her slippery body was unbearably tantalizing.

"You feel like heaven," Taylor whispered.

"We can't keep doing this," she groaned.

He kneaded the muscles in her lower back, applying gentle pressure, then relaxing his hands. "Doing what?"

"Staying up this late every night. It's killing me."

"For a dying woman, you still look good."

"I haven't had more than four hours of sleep since last weekend."

"That's because you can't keep your hands off me."

With her eyes almost closed, she felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Taylor bent over and kissed her on the spine between her shoulder blades.

"Would you like me to leave so you can get your rest?" he asked, his hands moving up to her shoulders again.

"Not just yet," she purred. "I'll let you finish first."

"Just using me now?"

"If that's okay."

"It is."

"So what's happening with Denise?" Mitch asked. "Melissa ordered me not to let you leave until you filled me in on all the details."

They were at Mitch's house on Monday, finally repairing the roof that Taylor had so successfully put off last week. The sun was blisteringly hot, and both had their shirts off as they worked their crowbars, prying off the torn shingles one by one. Taylor reached for his bandanna and wiped the sweat from his face.

"Not much."

Mitch waited for more, but Taylor said nothing else.

"That's it?" he snorted. " 'Not much'?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"The works. Just start rambling and I'll stop you if I need something explained."

Taylor glanced from side to side as if making sure no one else was around. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Of course."

Taylor leaned a little closer. "So can I," he said with a wink, and Mitch burst out laughing.

"So you're going to keep all of this to yourself?"

"I didn't know I had to fill you in on everything," he retorted with mock indignation. "I guess I just assumed it was my own business."

Mitch shook his head. "You know, you can use that line on other people. The way I figure it-you're going to tell me sooner or later, so it may as well be sooner."

Taylor looked over at his friend, a smirk on his face. "You think so, huh?"

Mitch began prying a nail from the roof. "I don't think so. I know so. And besides, like I said, Melissa won't let you out of here until you do. Trust me, that gal can throw a frying pan with deadly accuracy."

Taylor laughed. "Well, you can tell Melissa that we're doing fine."

Mitch grabbed a damaged shingle with his gloved hands and began to tug at it, feeling as it ripped in half. He tossed it to the ground and started working the other half.

"And?"

"And what?"

"Does she make you happy?"

It took a moment for Taylor to answer. "Yeah," he said finally, "she really does." He searched for the right words as he continued to work the crowbar. "I've never met anyone like her before."

Mitch reached for his jug of ice water and took a sip, waiting for Taylor to continue.

"I mean, she's got everything. She's pretty, she's intelligent, she's charming, she makes me laugh . . . And you should see the way she is with her son. He's a great kid, but he's got some problems with talking, and the way she works with him-she's so patient, so dedicated, so loving . . . It's really something, that's for sure."

Taylor pried another nail loose, then tossed it over the side.

"She sounds great," Mitch said, impressed.

"She is."

Suddenly Mitch reached over, grabbing Taylor on the shoulder and giving him a good shake.

"Then what's she doing with a slacker like you?" he joked. Instead of laughing, however, Taylor simply shrugged.

"I have no idea."

Mitch set the jug of water aside. "Can I give you some advice?"

"Could I stop you?"

"No, not really. I'm like Ann Landers when it comes to things like this."

Taylor adjusted his position on the roof, making his way toward another shingle. "Then go ahead."

Mitch tensed slightly, anticipating Taylor's reaction. "Well, if she's everything you say she is and she makes you happy, don't screw it up this time."

Taylor stopped in midmotion. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know how you are in things like this. Remember Valerie? Remember Lori? If you don't, I do. You go out with 'em, you pour on the charm, you spend all your time with them, you get them to fall in love with you . . . and then wham-you end it."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

Mitch watched as Taylor's mouth tightened into a grim line. "No? Then go ahead and tell me where I'm mistaken."

Reluctantly Taylor considered what Mitch had said.

"They were different from Denise," he said slowly. "I was different. I've changed since then."

Mitch held up his hands to stop him from continuing. "It's not me you have to convince, Taylor. Like they say, don't shoot the messenger-I'm only telling you because I don't want to see you kicking yourself later."

Taylor shook his head. For a few minutes they worked in silence. Finally: "You're a pain in the ass, do you know that?"

Mitch brushed at a couple of nails. "Yeah, I know. Melissa tells me that, too, so don't take it personally. It's just the way I am."

"So did you two finish the roof?"

Taylor nodded. He was holding a beer in his lap, nursing it slowly, a couple of hours before Denise began her shift. They were sitting on the front steps as Kyle played with his trucks in the yard. Despite his best efforts to the contrary, his thoughts kept returning to the things Mitch had said. There was some truth in his friend's words, he knew, but he couldn't help wishing he hadn't brought the matter up. It nagged at him like a bad memory.

"Yeah," he said, "it's done."

"Was it harder than you thought it would be?" Denise asked.

"No, not really. Why?"

"You just seem distracted."

"I'm sorry. Just a little tired, I guess."

Denise scrutinized him. "Are you sure that's all?"

Taylor brought the beer to his lips and took a drink. "I guess so."

"You guess?"

He set the can on the steps. "Well, Mitch said some things to me today . . ."

"Like what?"

"Just stuff," Taylor said, not wanting to elaborate. Denise read the concern in his eyes.

"Like what?"

Taylor drew a deep breath, wondering whether or not to answer but deciding to anyway. "He told me that if I'm serious about you, I shouldn't mess things up this time."

Denise felt her breath catch in her throat at the bluntness of his comment. Why would Mitch need to warn him this way?

"What did you say?"

Taylor shook his head. "I told him he didn't know what he was talking about."

"Well . . ." She hesitated. "Does he?"

"No, of course not."

"Then why is it bothering you?"

"Because," he said, "it just pisses me off that he'd think I might. He doesn't know anything about you, or us. And he doesn't know how I feel, that's for damn sure."

She squinted up at him, caught in the dying rays of the sun. "How do you feel?"

He reached for her hand.

"Don't you know?" he said. "Haven't I made it obvious yet?"

Chapter 21

Summer rose in full fury in mid-July, the temperature creeping past the century mark, then finally it began to cool. Toward the end of the month Hurricane Belle threatened the coast of North Carolina near Cape Hatteras before turning out to sea; in early August Hurricane Delilah did the same. Mid-August brought drought conditions; by late August crops were withering in the heat.

September opened with an unseasonal cold front, something that hadn't happened in twenty years. Jeans were pulled from the bottoms of drawers, light jackets were donned in the early evening hours. A week later another heat wave arrived and the jeans were put away, hopefully for the next couple of months.

Throughout the summer, however, the relationship between Taylor and Denise remained constant. Settled into a routine, they spent most afternoons together-to escape the heat, Taylor's crew started early in the morning and would finish by two o'clock-and Taylor continued to shuttle Denise to and from her job at the diner, whenever he could. Occasionally they ate dinner at Judy's house; sometimes Judy came by to baby-sit Kyle again, so they could have some time alone.

During those three months, Denise came to enjoy Edenton more and more. Taylor, of course, kept her busy as her guide, exploring the sights around town, going out in the boat, and heading to the beach. In time Denise came to see Edenton for what it was, a place that operated on its own slow schedule, a culture tied to raising kids and spending Sundays in church, to working the waters and tilling the fertile soil; a place where home still meant something. Denise caught herself gazing as he stood in her kitchen, holding his coffee cup, wondering idly whether he would look the same way to her in the distant future, when his hair had turned to gray.

She looked forward to everything they did; on a warm night toward the end of July, he took her up to Elizabeth City and they went dancing, another first in too many years. He moved her around the floor with surprising grace, waltzing and two-stepping to the drumming bass of a local country band. Women, she couldn't help but notice, were naturally drawn to him, and occasionally one would smile at him from across the floor and Denise would feel a quick hot pang of jealousy, even though Taylor never seemed to notice. Instead his arm never left her lower back, and he looked at her that night as if she were the only person in the world. Later, while eating cheese sandwiches in bed, Taylor pulled her close as a thunderstorm raged outside the bedroom window. "This," he confided, "is as good as it gets."

Kyle, too, blossomed under his attention. Gaining confidence in his speech, he began to talk more frequently, though much of it didn't make sense. He'd also stopped whispering when running more than a few words together. By late summer he'd learned to hit the ball off the tee consistently, and his ability to throw the ball had improved dramatically. Taylor set up makeshift bases in the front yard, and though he did his best to teach Kyle the rules of the game, it wasn't something Kyle was interested in at all. He just wanted to have fun.

But as idyllic as everything seemed, there were moments in which Denise sensed an undercurrent of restlessness in Taylor she couldn't exactly pin down. As he had during their first night together, Taylor would sometimes get that unreadable, almost distant look after they made love. He would hold her and caress her as usual, but she could sense something in him that made her vaguely uncomfortable, something dark and unknowable that made him seem older and more tired than Denise had ever felt. It scared her sometimes, although when daylight came she often berated herself for letting her imagination run away with her.

Toward the end of August Taylor left town to help fight a major fire in the Croatan forest for three days, a dangerous situation made more deadly by the searing August heat. Denise found it difficult to sleep while he was gone. Worrying about him, she called Judy and they spent an hour talking on the phone. Denise followed the coverage of the fire in the newspaper and on television, searching in vain for any glimpse of Taylor. When Taylor finally returned to Edenton, he drove straight to her house. With Ray's permission, she took the evening off, but Taylor was exhausted and fell asleep on the couch soon after the sun had gone down. She covered him with a blanket, thinking he'd sleep until the morning, but in the middle of the night he crept into her room. Again, he had the shakes, but this time they didn't stop for hours. Taylor refused to talk about what had happened, and Denise held him in her arms, concerned, until he was finally able to nod off again. Even in his sleep his demons gave him no relief. Twisting and turning, he called out in his sleep, his words incomprehensible, except for the fear she heard in them.

The next morning, sheepish, he apologized. But he offered nothing by way of explanation. He didn't have to. Somehow she knew it wasn't simply memories of the fire that were eating him up; it was something else, naked and dark, bubbling to the surface.

Her mother had once told her that there were men who kept secrets bottled up inside and that it spelled trouble for the women who loved them. Denise instinctively knew the truth of her mother's statement, yet it was hard to reconcile her words with the love she felt for Taylor McAden. She loved the way he smelled; she loved the rough texture of his hands upon her and the wrinkles around his eyes whenever he laughed. She loved the way he stared at her as she got off work, leaning against the truck in the parking lot, one leg crossed over the other. She loved everything about him.

Sometimes she also found herself dreaming of someday walking down the aisle with him. She could deny it, she could ignore it, she could tell herself that neither of them was ready yet. And maybe the last part of that was true. They hadn't been together very long, and if he asked her tomorrow, she liked to think that she would have the wisdom to say exactly that. Yet . . . she wouldn't say those words, she admitted to herself in her most brutally candid moments. She would say Yes . . . yes . . . yes.

In her daydreams, she could only hope that Taylor felt the same.

"You seem nervous," Taylor commented, studying Denise's reflection in the mirror. He was standing behind her in the bathroom as she put the finishing touches on her makeup.

"I am nervous."

"But it's only Mitch and Melissa. There's nothing to be nervous about."

Holding up two different earrings, one to each ear, she debated between the gold hoop and the simple stud.

"For you, maybe. You already know them. I only met them one time, three months ago, and we didn't talk all that long. What if I make a bad impression?"

"Don't worry." Taylor gave her arm a squeeze. "You won't."

"But what if I do?"

"They won't care. You'll see."

She put the hoops aside, choosing the studs. She slipped one into each ear.

"Well, it wouldn't be so nerve-racking if you'd taken me to meet them sooner, you know. You've waited an awful long time to start bringing me to meet your friends."

Taylor held up his hands. "Hey, don't blame me. You're the one who works six nights a week, and I'm sorry if I want you all to myself on the one night you have off."

"Yeah, but . . ."

"But what?"

"Well, I was beginning to wonder whether you were embarrassed to be seen with me."

"Don't be ridiculous. I assure you that my intentions were purely selfish. I'm greedy when it comes to spending time with you."

Looking over her shoulder, she asked, "Is this something I'm going to have to worry about in the future?"

Taylor shrugged, a sly grin on his face. "It depends if you keep working six nights a week."

She sighed, finishing with the earrings. "Well, it should be coming to an end fairly soon. I've almost saved enough for a car, and then, believe me, I'll be begging Ray to scale back my shifts."

Taylor slipped both arms around her, still staring at her in the mirror. "Hey, have I told you how wonderful you look?"

"You're changing the subject."

"I know. But damn, look at you. You're beautiful."

After eyeing their reflection in the mirror, she turned to face him.

"Good enough for a barbecue with your friends?"

"You look fantastic," he said sincerely, "but even if you didn't, they'd still love you."

Thirty minutes later Taylor, Denise, and Kyle were walking toward the door when Mitch appeared from around the back of the house, beer in hand.

"Hey, y'all," he said. "Glad you could make it. The gang's out back."

Taylor and Denise followed him through the gate, past the swing set and azalea bushes, before reaching the deck.

Melissa was sitting at the outdoor table, watching her four boys jump in and out of the swimming pool, their noisy cries blending into one jumbled roar punctuated by sharp outbursts. The pool had been installed the summer before, after one too many water moccasins had been spotted near the dock on the river. Nothing like a venomous snake to sour a person on nature's beauty, Mitch liked to say.

"Hey there," Melissa called out, getting to her feet. "Thanks for coming."

Taylor drew Melissa into a bear hug and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

"You two have met, right?" he said.

"At the festival," Melissa said easily. "But that was a long time ago, and besides, you met a lot of people that day. How are you doing, Denise?"

"Good, thanks," she said, still feeling a little nervous.

Mitch motioned to the cooler. "You two want a beer?"

"That sounds great," Taylor answered. "Would you like one, Denise?"

"Please."

As Taylor went to fetch the beers, Mitch settled himself at the outdoor table, adjusting the umbrella to keep the sun off them. Melissa made herself comfortable again, followed by Denise. Kyle, wearing a bathing suit and T-shirt, stood shyly by his mother's side, a towel draped over his shoulders. Melissa leaned toward him.

"Hi, Kyle, how are you?"

Kyle didn't answer.

"Kyle, say, 'I'm fine, thanks,' " Denise said.

"I'm fine, thanks." (I'n fine, kenks)

Melissa smiled. "Well, good. Would you like to go get in the pool with the other boys? They've been waiting all day for you to show up."

Kyle looked from Melissa to his mother.

"Do you want to swim?" Denise asked, rephrasing the question.

Kyle nodded excitedly. "Yes."

"Okay, go ahead. Be careful."

Denise took his towel as Kyle ambled toward the water.

"Does he need a float?" Melissa asked.

"No, he can swim. I have to keep my eye on him, of course."

Kyle reached the pool and stepped down, the water up to his knees. He bent over and splashed, as if testing the temperature, before breaking into a wide grin. Denise and Melissa watched him as he waded in.

"How old is he now?"

"He'll be five in a few months."

"Oh, so will Jud." Melissa pointed toward the far end of the pool. "That's him over there, holding on to the side, by the diving board."

Denise saw him. Same size as Kyle, buzz haircut. Melissa's four boys were jumping, splashing, screaming-in short, having themselves a great time.

"All four kids are yours?" Denise asked, amazed.

"Today they are. You let me know if you want to take one home, though. I'll give you the pick of the litter."

Denise felt herself relaxing a little. "Are they a handful?"

"They're boys. They've got energy coming out their ears."

"How old are they?"

"Ten, eight, six, and four."

"My wife had a plan," Mitch said, cutting into the conversation while peeling the label from his bottle. "Every other year, on our anniversary, she'd let me sleep with her, whether she wanted me to or not."

Melissa rolled her eyes. "Don't listen to him. His conversation skills aren't meant for civilized people."

Taylor returned with the beers, opening Denise's bottle before setting it in front of her. His was already open. "What are y'all talking about?"

"Our sex life," Mitch said seriously, and this time Melissa punched him in the arm.

"Watch it, buster. We've got a guest here. You don't want to make a bad impression, do you?"

Mitch leaned toward Denise. "I'm not making a bad impression. Am I?"

Denise smiled, deciding that she liked these two immediately. "No."

"See, I told you, honey," Mitch said victoriously.

"She's just saying that because you put her on the spot. Now leave the poor lady alone. We were talking here, having a perfectly nice conversation, until you butted in."

"Well-"

It was all Mitch could say before Melissa cut him off. "Don't push it."

"But-"

"Do you want to sleep on the couch tonight?"

Mitch's eyebrows went up and down. "Is that a promise?"

She gave him the once-over. "It is now."

Everyone at the table laughed, and Mitch leaned toward his wife, resting his head on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, honey," he said, looking at her like a puppy who'd messed on the rug.

"Not good enough," she said, feigning haughtiness.

"What if I do the dishes later?"

"We're eating off paper plates tonight."

"I know. That's why I offered."

"Why don't you two leave us alone so we can talk? Go clean the grill or something."

"I just got here," Taylor complained. "Why do I have to go?"

"Because the grill is really dirty."

"It is?" Mitch asked.

"Go on," Melissa said as if shooing a fly from her plate. "Leave us alone so we can do some girl-talk."

Mitch turned toward his friend. "I don't think we're wanted, Taylor."

"I think you're right, Mitch."

Melissa whispered conspiratorially, "These two should have been rocket scientists. Nothing gets by them."

Mitch's mouth was playfully agape. "I think she just insulted us, Taylor," he said.

"I think you're right."

"See what I mean?" Melissa said, nodding as if her point had been proven. "Rocket scientists."

"C'mon, Taylor," Mitch said, pretending to be offended. "We don't need to put up with this. We're better than that."

"Good. Go be better while you clean the grill."

Mitch and Taylor rose from the table, leaving Denise and Melissa alone. Denise was still laughing as they headed toward the grill.

"Now how long have you two been married?"

"Twelve years. It only seems like twenty."

Melissa winked, and all Denise could do was wonder why it suddenly seemed as if she'd known her forever.

"So how did you two meet?" Denise asked.

"At a party in college. The first time I ever saw him, Mitch was balancing a bottle of beer on his forehead while trying to cross the room. If he could do it without spilling it, he'd win fifty bucks."

"Did he make it?"

"No, he ended up soaked from head to toe. But it was obvious he didn't take himself too seriously. And after some of the other guys I dated, I guess that's what I was looking for. We started dating, and a couple of years later, we got married."

She looked toward her husband, obvious affection in her eyes.

"He's a good guy. I think I'll keep him."

"So how was it down in the Croatan?"

When Joe had asked for volunteers to fight the forest fire a few weeks earlier, only Taylor had raised his hand. Mitch had simply shaken his head when Taylor had asked him to come along.

What Taylor didn't know was that Mitch had learned exactly what had happened. Joe had called Mitch in confidence, telling him that Taylor had nearly been killed when the fire suddenly closed in around him. Had it not been for a slight shift in the wind, which cleared enough smoke for Taylor to find his way out, he would have been dead. His latest brush with death hadn't surprised Mitch at all.

Taylor took a drink of his beer, his eyes clouding with the memory.

"Pretty hairy at times-you know how those fires are. But luckily no one got hurt."

Yes, lucky. Again.

"Nothing else?"

"Not really," he said, downplaying any hint of danger. "But you should have come along. We could have used more men out there."

Mitch shook his head as he reached for the grate on the grill. He began to work the scraper back and forth.

"No, that's for you young guys. I'm getting too old for things like that."

"I'm older than you are, Mitch."

"Sure, if you think of it just in terms of numbers. But I'm like an old man compared to you. I have progeny."

"Progeny?"

"Crossword puzzle word. It means I have children."

"I know what it means."

"Well, then you also know that I can't just up and leave anymore. Now that the boys are getting bigger, it's not fair to Melissa if I head out of town for things like that. I mean, if there's a problem here, that's one thing. But I'm not going to search them out. Life's too short for that."

Taylor reached for a rag and handed it to Mitch to wipe the scraper.

"You're still going to give it up?"

"Yep. A few more months and then that's it."

"No regrets?"

"None." Mitch paused before going on. "You know, you might want to consider giving it up, too," he added conversationally.

"I'm not gonna quit, Mitch," Taylor said, dismissing the idea immediately. "I'm not like you. I'm not afraid of what might happen."

"You should be."

"That's how you see it."

"Maybe so," Mitch said, speaking calmly. "But it's true. If you really care about Denise and Kyle, you gotta start putting them first, like I put my family first. What we do is dangerous, no matter how careful we are, and it's a risk that we don't have to take. We've been lucky more than a few times." He was silent as he set the scraper aside. Then his eyes met Taylor's.

"You know what it's like to grow up without a father. Would you want to do that to Kyle?"

Taylor stiffened. "Christ, Mitch . . ."

Mitch raised his hands to stop Taylor from continuing. "Before you start calling me names, it's something I had to say. Ever since that night on the bridge . . . and then again in the Croatan. Yeah, I know about that, too, and it doesn't give me warm fuzzies. A dead hero is still dead, Taylor." He cleared his throat. "I don't know. It's like over the years you've been testing fate more and more often, like you're chasing something. It scares me sometimes."

"You don't have to worry about me."

Mitch stood and put his hand on Taylor's shoulder.

"I always worry about you, Taylor. You're like my brother."

"What do you think they're talking about?" Denise asked, watching Taylor from the table. She saw the change in his demeanor, the sudden stiffness, as if someone had turned on a switch.

Melissa had seen it as well.

"Mitch and Taylor? Probably the fire department. Mitch is giving it up at the end of the year. He probably told Taylor to do the same thing."

"But doesn't Taylor enjoy being a fireman?"

"I don't know if he enjoys it. He does it because he has to."

"Why?"

Melissa looked at Denise, a perplexed expression on her face. "Well . . . because of his father," she said.

"His father?" Denise repeated.

"Didn't he tell you?" Melissa asked carefully.

"No." Denise shook her head, suddenly afraid of what Melissa was getting at. "He just told me that his father had died when he was a child."

Melissa nodded, her lips together.

"What is it?" Denise asked, her anxiety plain.

Melissa sighed, debating whether to continue.

"Please," Denise said, and Melissa glanced away. Finally she spoke.

"Taylor's father died in a fire."

At her words, a cold hand seemed to settle on Denise's spine.

Taylor had taken the grate to rinse it under the hose and returned to see Mitch opening the cooler for another two beers. As Mitch opened his, Taylor walked by without a word.

"She sure is pretty, Taylor."

Taylor put the grate back on the grill, over the charcoal. "I know."

"Her kid's cute, too. Nice little guy."

"I know."

"He looks like you."

"Huh?"

"Just seeing if you're paying attention," Mitch said, grinning. "You looked a little lost when you came back." He stepped closer. "Hey, listen, I'm sorry I said those things earlier. I didn't mean to upset you."

"It didn't upset me," Taylor lied.

Mitch handed Taylor the beer. "Sure it did. But someone's got to keep you on the straight and narrow."

"And you're the one to do it?"

"Of course. I'm the only one who can."

"No, Mitch, really, don't be so modest," Taylor said sarcastically.

Mitch raised his eyebrows. "You think I'm kidding? How long have I known you now? Thirty years? I think that entitles me to speak my mind once in a while without worrying what you think about it. And I was serious about what I said. Not so much about you quitting-I know you're not going to do that. You should try to be a little more cautious in the future, though. See this?"

Mitch pointed to his balding head. "I used to have a full head of hair. And I'd still have it if you weren't such a damn daredevil. Every time you do something crazy, I can feel my little hairs committing suicide by jumping right out of my head and plunging all the way to my shoulders. If you listen carefully, you can sometimes hear them screaming all the way down. You know what it's like going bald? Having to put sunscreen on top of your head when you go outside? Getting liver spots where you used to part your hair? It doesn't do much for the old ego, if you know what I mean. So you owe me."

Taylor laughed despite himself. "Gee, and here I thought it was hereditary."

"Oh no. It's you, buddy."

"I'm touched."

"You should be. It's not like I'd be willing to go bald for just anybody."

"All right." He sighed. "I'll try to be more cautious in the future."

"Good. Because in a while, I won't be there to bail you out."

"How's the charcoal coming?" Melissa called out.

Mitch and Taylor were standing by the grill, the kids already eating. Mitch had cooked the hot dogs first, and the five of them were at the table. Denise, who'd brought Kyle's dinner with him (macaroni and cheese, Ritz crackers, grapes), set his plate in front of him. After swimming for a couple of hours, he was famished.

"Another ten minutes," Mitch shouted over his shoulder.

"I want macaroni and cheese, too," Melissa's youngest whined when he saw that Kyle was eating something different from what the rest of them had.

"Eat your hot dog," Melissa answered.

"But Mom-"

"Eat your hot dog," she said again. "If you're still hungry after that, I'll make some, okay?"

She knew he wouldn't still be hungry, but it seemed to placate the child.

Once everything was under control, Denise and Melissa moved away from the table and sat down closer to the pool. Ever since Denise had learned about Taylor's father, she had been trying to piece the rest of it together in her mind. Melissa seemed to divine the direction of her thoughts.

"Taylor?" she said, and Denise smiled sheepishly, embarrassed that it was so obvious.

"Yeah."

"How are you two getting along?"

"I thought it was going pretty well. But now, I'm not so sure."

"Because he didn't tell you about his father? Well, I'll let you in on a secret: Taylor doesn't talk about it to anyone, ever. Not to me, not to anyone he works with, not to his friends. He's never even talked about it with Mitch."

Denise considered this, unsure how to respond.

"That makes me feel better." She paused, furrowing her brow. "I think."

Melissa put her iced tea aside. Like Denise, she'd stopped drinking beer after finishing her second.

"He's a charmer when he wants to be, isn't he? Cute, too."

Denise leaned back in her seat. "Yes, he is."

"How is he with Kyle?"

"Kyle adores him-lately, he likes Taylor more than me. Taylor's like a little boy when they're together."

"Taylor's always been good with kids. My kids feel the same way about him. They'll call him to see if he can come over to play."

"Does he come?"

"Sometimes. Not lately, though. You've been taking up all of his time."

"Sorry about that."

Melissa waved off the apology. "Don't be. I'm happy for him. You too. I was beginning to wonder if he'd ever meet somebody. You're the first person in years he's actually brought over."

"So there've been others?"

Melissa smiled wryly. "He hasn't talked to you about them, either?"

"Nope."

"Well, girl, it's a good thing you came over," she said conspiratorially, and Denise laughed.

"So what did you want to know?"

"What were they like?"

"Not like you, that's for sure."

"No?"

"No. You're a lot prettier than they were. And you've got a son."

"Whatever happened to them?"

"Now, unfortunately, that I can't tell you. Taylor doesn't talk about that, either. All I know is that one day they seemed to be doing fine and the next thing you knew, it was over. I never did understand why."

"That's a comforting thought."

"Oh, I'm not saying it's going to happen with you. He likes you more than he liked them, a lot more. I can see it in the way he looks at you."

Denise hoped that Melissa was telling the truth.

"Sometimes . . . ," Denise began, then trailed off, not knowing exactly how to say it.

"Sometimes you're scared about what he's thinking?"

She looked at Melissa, startled by the acuity of her observation. Melissa went on.

"Even though Mitch and I have been together for a long time, I still don't understand everything that makes him tick. He's sort of like Taylor sometimes, in that regard. But in the end, it's worked out because we both want it to. As long as you two have that, you'll be able to make it through anything."

A beach ball came flying from the table where the kids were sitting, bonking Melissa on the head. A series of loud giggles broke out.

Melissa rolled her eyes but otherwise paid no attention as the beach ball rolled away. "You might even be able to put up with having four boys, like we do."

"I don't know if I could do that."

"Sure you could. It's easy. All you have to do is wake up early, get the paper, and read it leisurely while drinking tequila shooters."

Denise giggled.

"Seriously, do you ever think about having more kids?" Melissa asked.

"Not too often."

"Because of Kyle?" They'd talked a little about his problem earlier.

"No, not just that. But it's not something I can do alone, is it?"

"But if you were married?"

After a moment Denise smiled. "Probably."

Melissa nodded. "Do you think Taylor would be a good dad?"

"I know he would."

"So do I," Melissa agreed. "Have you two ever talked about it?"

"Marriage? No. He hasn't brought it up at all."

"Mmm," Melissa said. "I'll try to find out what he's thinking, all right?"

"You don't have to do that," Denise protested, flushing.

"Oh, I want to. I'm as curious as you are. But don't worry, I'll be subtle. He won't even know what I'm getting at."

"So, Taylor, are you gonna marry this wonderful girl or what?"

Denise almost dropped her fork onto her plate. Taylor was in the middle of taking a drink and he inhaled a bit of it, causing him to cough three times as he expelled it from the wrong pipe. He brought his napkin to his face, his eyes watering.

"Excuse me?"

The four of them were eating their meal-steaks, green salad, Cheddar cheese potatoes, and garlic bread. They'd been laughing and joking, having a good time, and were halfway done when Melissa dropped her bombshell. Denise felt the blood rush to her cheeks as Melissa went on matter-of-factly.

"I mean, she's a babe, Taylor. Smart, too. Girls like her don't come along every day."

Though obviously said in jest, Taylor stiffened slightly.

"I haven't really thought about it," he said almost defensively, and Melissa leaned forward, patting his arm as she laughed out loud.

"I don't expect an answer, Taylor-I was kidding. I just wanted to see your expression. Your eyes got big as saucers."

"That's because I was choking," Taylor answered.

She leaned toward him. "I'm sorry. But I just couldn't resist. You're easy to pick on. Just like Bozo over here."

"Are you talking about me, darling?" Mitch broke in, trying to offset Taylor's obvious discomfort.

"Who else calls you Bozo?"

"With the exception of you-and my three other wives, of course-no one really."

"Mmm," she said, "that's good. Otherwise I might get jealous."

Melissa leaned over and gave her husband a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Are they always like this?" Denise whispered to Taylor, praying he wouldn't think she'd put Melissa up to the question.

"Ever since I've known them," Taylor said, but it was obvious his mind was elsewhere.

"Hey, no talking behind our backs," Melissa said. Turning toward Denise, she moved the conversation back to safer ground. "So tell me about Atlanta. I've never been there. . . ."

Denise took a deep breath as Melissa looked right at her, an almost imperceptible smirk on her face. Her wink was so inconspicuous that neither Mitch nor Taylor caught it.

And though Melissa and Denise chatted for the next hour, Mitch joining in whenever appropriate, Taylor, Denise noticed, didn't say much at all.

"I'm gonna get you!" Mitch shouted as he ran through the yard, chasing Jud, who was screaming as well, the high-pitched shrieks alternating between delight and fear.

"You're almost on base! Run!" Taylor yelled. Jud lowered his head, charging, as Mitch slowed down behind him, the cause lost. Jud reached base, joining the others.

It was an hour after dinner-the sun had finally set, and Mitch and Taylor were playing tag with the boys in the yard out front. Mitch, his hands on his hips, looked around the yard at the five kids, his chest heaving. They were all within a few feet of each other.

"You can't get me, Daddy!" Cameron taunted, his thumbs by his ears, fingers wagging.

"Try to get me, Daddy!" Will added, his voice joining his brother's.

"Then you've got to get off base," Mitch said, bending over and putting his hands on his knees. Cameron and Will, sensing weakness, suddenly darted in opposite directions.

"C'mon, Daddy!" Will shouted gleefully.

"Okay, now you asked for it!" Mitch said, doing his best to rise to the challenge. Mitch began trudging toward Will, heading past Taylor and Kyle, who remained safely on base.

"Run, Daddy, run!" Will teased, knowing he was agile enough to stay well away from his father.

Mitch chased one son after the other, veering course as he needed to for the next few minutes. Kyle, who had taken a little while to pick up on the game, finally understood it well enough to run with the other kids, and soon his screams were joining with the others as Mitch made his way around the yard. After one too many near misses, Mitch surged toward Taylor.

"I need a little break here," Mitch said, the words almost lost in the wheeze of his gasps.

Taylor darted off to the side, safely out of reach. "Then you gotta catch me, pal."

Taylor let him suffer for another minute or so, until Mitch looked almost green. He finally ran toward the middle of the yard, slowed down, and allowed Mitch to tag off. Mitch bent over again, trying to catch his breath.

"They're faster than they look," Mitch said honestly, "and they change directions like jackrabbits."

"It just seems that way when you're old like you," Taylor replied. "But if you're right, I'll just tag you."

"If you think I'm leaving base, you're out of your mind. I'm just going to take a seat here for a while."

"C'mon!" Cameron shouted to Taylor, wanting the game to resume. "You can't catch me!"

Taylor rubbed his hands together. "All right, here I come!"

Taylor took a giant step toward the kids, and with a jubilant scream they scattered in different directions. But Kyle's voice, cutting loudly through the darkness, was unmistakable and suddenly made Taylor stop his charge.

"C'mon, Daddy!" (C'maw, Da-ee!) Kyle shouted. "C'mon, Daddy!"

Daddy.

Taylor, frozen for a moment, simply stared in Kyle's direction. Mitch, who'd seen Taylor's reaction, teased: "Is there something you haven't told me, Taylor?"

Taylor didn't respond.

"He just called you 'Daddy,' " Mitch added, as if Taylor had missed it.

But Taylor barely heard what Mitch had said. Lost in thought, the word repeated in Taylor's mind.

Daddy.

Though he knew it was simply Kyle mimicking the other children-as if calling out Daddy were part of the game-it nonetheless brought Melissa's statement to mind again.

So are you going to marry this girl or what?

"Earth to Taylor . . . come in, big daddy," Mitch said, unable to suppress a grin.

Taylor finally glanced toward him. "Shut up, Mitch."

"Sure enough . . . Daddy."

Taylor finally took a step toward the kids. "I'm not his daddy," he said, almost to himself.

Though Mitch whispered the next words to himself, Taylor heard them as clearly as he'd heard Kyle's a moment before.

"Not yet, anyway."

"Did you guys have fun?" Melissa asked as the children came pounding through the front door, finally tired enough to call it quits for the night.

"We had a blast. Dad's getting awful slow, though," Cameron offered.

"I am not," Mitch said defensively as he followed them inside. "I let you get to base."

"Right, Dad."

"I put some juice in the living room. Don't spill, okay?" Melissa said as the kids trudged past her. Mitch leaned in to kiss Melissa, but she pulled back. "Not until after you shower. You're filthy."

"This is what I get for entertaining the kids?"

"No, that's the response you get when you smell bad."

Mitch laughed and started toward the patio slider, heading toward the backyard in search of a beer.

Taylor brought up the rear, Kyle right in front of him. Kyle followed the other kids to the living room as Denise watched him go.

"How did he do?" Denise asked.

"Fine," Taylor said simply. "He had fun."

Denise looked at Taylor carefully. Something was obviously bothering him.

"Are you okay?"

Taylor glanced away. "Yeah," he said. "I'm okay."

Without saying anything else, he followed Mitch outside.

With the evening finally winding down, Denise volunteered to help Melissa in the kitchen after dinner, putting the leftovers away. The kids were watching a movie in the living room, sprawled all over the floor, while Mitch and Taylor straightened things up on the deck out back.

Denise was rinsing the silverware before putting it into the dishwasher. From where she was standing she could see the two men outside, and she watched them, her hands unmoving under the water.

"Penny for your thoughts," Melissa said, startling her.

Denise shook her head, returning to the task at hand. "I'm not sure a penny will cover it."

Melissa picked up some empty cups and brought them to the sink. "Listen, I'm sorry if I put you on the spot during dinner."

"No, I'm not mad about that. You were just having fun. We all were."

"But you're worried anyway?"

"I don't know . . . I guess . . ." She glanced at Melissa. "Maybe a little. He's been quiet all night."

"I wouldn't read too much into that. I know he really cares about you. He lights up whenever he looks your way-even after I teased him."

She watched as Taylor pushed in the chairs around the table.

Denise nodded. "I know."

Despite her answer, she couldn't help but wonder why that suddenly didn't seem to be enough. She sealed the Tupperware bowl with a lid.

"Did Mitch say anything to you about anything that happened while they were out front with the kids?"

Melissa looked at her curiously. "No. Why?"

Denise put the salad in the refrigerator. "Just curious."

Daddy.

So are you gonna marry this girl or what?

As he nursed his beer, the words continued to echo through Taylor's mind.

"Hey, why so glum?" Mitch asked, filling a plastic garbage bag with the remains from the table.

Taylor shrugged. "Just preoccupied. That's all."

"About what?"

"Just work stuff. I'm just trying to figure out everything I've got to do tomorrow," Taylor answered, telling only the partial truth. "Since I've been spending so much time with Denise, I've let my business slide a little. I've got to get back into it."

"Haven't you been heading in every day?"

"Yeah, but I don't always stay all day. You know how it is. You do that long enough and little problems start cropping up."

"Anything I can do? Check how your orders are coming, things like that?"

Taylor placed most of his orders through the hardware store.

"No, not really, but I've got to get it squared away. One thing I've learned is that when things go wrong, they go wrong in a hurry."

Mitch hesitated as he put a paper cup in the bag, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu.

The last time Taylor had used that expression, he'd been dating Lori.

Thirty minutes later Taylor and Denise were driving home, Kyle between them, a scene that had been repeated dozens of times. Yet now, for the first time, there was an air of tension in the truck without a reason that could be easily explained by either of them. But it was there, and it had kept them quiet enough that Kyle had already fallen asleep, lulled by the silence.

For Denise, the sensation was a strange one. She kept thinking about everything that Melissa had told her, her statements rattling through her brain like senseless, ricocheting pinballs. She didn't feel like talking, but then Taylor didn't, either. He'd been strangely distant, and that only intensified her feelings. What was supposed to have been a casual, friendly night out with friends, Denise knew with certainty had become something far more important than that.

Okay, so Taylor had almost choked when Melissa had asked if marriage was in the plans. That would have surprised anyone, especially the way Melissa had blurted it out, wouldn't it? In the truck she tried to convince herself of that, but the more she thought about it, the more unsure she felt. Three months isn't a long time when a person is young. But they weren't kids. She was pushing thirty, Taylor was six years older than that. They'd already had a chance to grow up, to figure out exactly who they were, to know what they wanted in their lives. If he wasn't as serious about their future together as he seemed to be, then why the full-court press these last couple of months?

All I know is that one day they seemed to be doing fine and the next thing you knew, it was over. I never did understand why.

That was also bothering her, wasn't it? If Melissa didn't understand what had happened with Taylor's other relationships, Mitch probably didn't, either. Did that mean that Taylor didn't understand it?

And if so, was the same thing going to happen to her?

Denise felt a knot form in her stomach, and she glanced at Taylor uncertainly. From the corner of his eye, Taylor caught her glance and turned to face her, seemingly oblivious of her thoughts. Outside the car window, the trees whistling past were black and clumped together, solidified into a single image.

"Did you have a good time tonight?"

"Yeah, I did," Denise answered quietly. "I like your friends."

"So how did you and Melissa get along?"

"We got along fine."

"One thing you've probably already learned is that she'll say the first thing that pops into her head, no matter how ridiculous it is. You just have to ignore her sometimes."

His comment did nothing for her nerves. Kyle mumbled incoherently as he adjusted himself a little lower in the seat. Denise wondered why the things Taylor hadn't said suddenly seemed more important than the things he had.

Who are you, Taylor McAden?

How well do I really know you?

And where, most important, are we going from here?

She knew he would answer none of those things. Instead she drew a deep breath, willing herself to keep her voice steady.

"Taylor . . . why didn't you tell me about your father?" she asked.

Taylor's eyes widened just a little. "My father?"

"Melissa told me that he died in a fire."

She saw his hands tighten on the wheel.

"How did that come up?" he asked, his tone changing slightly.

"I don't know. It just did."

"Was it her idea to bring it up or yours?"

"Why does that matter? I don't remember how it came up."

Taylor didn't respond; his eyes were locked on the road ahead. Denise waited before realizing he wasn't going to answer her original question.

"Did you become a fireman because of your father?"

Shaking his head, Taylor expelled a sharp breath. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Maybe I can help-"

"You can't," he said, cutting her off, "and besides, it doesn't concern you."

"It doesn't concern me?" she asked in disbelief. "What are you talking about? I care about you, Taylor, and it hurts me to think that you don't trust me enough to tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong," he said. "I just don't like to talk about my father."

She could have pressed it further but knew it wouldn't get her anywhere.

Once again silence descended in the truck. This time, however, the silence was tainted with fear. It lasted the rest of the way home.

After Taylor carried Kyle into his bedroom, he waited in the living room until Denise had changed him into his pajamas. When she came back out, she noticed that Taylor hadn't made himself comfortable. Instead he was standing near the door, as if waiting to say good-bye.

"You're not going to stay?" she asked, surprised.

He shook his head. "No, I really can't. I've got to get to work early tomorrow."

Though he said it without a trace of bitterness or anger, his words didn't dispel her unease. He began to jingle his keys, and Denise walked across the living room to be closer to him.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

She reached for his hand. "Is something bothering you?"

Taylor shook his head. "No, not at all."

She waited to see if he would add anything else, but he didn't go any further.

"All right. See you tomorrow?"

Taylor cleared his throat before answering. "I'll try, but I've got a pretty full schedule tomorrow. I don't know if I'll be able to swing by."

Denise studied him carefully, wondering.

"Even for lunch?"

"I'll do my best," he said, "but I can't make any promises."

Their eyes met only briefly before Taylor glanced away.

"Will you be able to take me into work tomorrow night?"

For a brief, flickering instant, it almost seemed to Denise as if he hadn't wanted her to ask.

Her imagination?

"Yeah, sure," he finally said. "I'll take you in."

He left after kissing her only briefly, then walked to his truck without turning around.

Chapter 22

Early the next morning, while Denise was drinking a cup of coffee, the phone rang. Kyle was sprawled on the living room floor, coloring as best he could but finding it impossible to stay in the lines. When she answered it, she recognized Taylor's voice instantly.

"Oh, hey, I'm glad you're up," he said.

"I'm always up this early," she said, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over her at the sound of his voice. "I missed you last night."

"I missed you, too," Taylor said. "I probably should have stayed. I didn't sleep too well."

"Neither did I," she admitted. "I kept waking up because I had all the covers for once."

"I don't hog the sheets. You must be thinking of someone else."

"Like who?"

"Maybe one of those men at the diner."

"I don't think so." She chuckled. "Hey, are you calling because you've changed your mind about lunch?"

"No, I can't. Not today. I'll be by after I finish up to bring you into work, though."

"How about an early supper?"

"No, I don't think I'll be able to make that, either, but thanks for the offer. I've got a load of drywall coming in late, and I don't think I'd be able to make it over in time."

She turned in place, the phone cord going taut against her.

They make deliveries after five?

She didn't say that, however. Instead she said brightly:

"Oh, all right. I'll see you this evening."

There was a longer pause than she thought there would be.

"Will do," he finally answered.

"Kyle kept asking about you this afternoon," Denise said casually.

Good to his word, Taylor was waiting in the kitchen as she collected the last of her things, though he hadn't come by with much time to spare before she had to head off. They'd kissed only briefly, and he seemed a little more distant than usual, though he'd apologized for it, attributing it to the hassles at the work site.

"Oh, yeah? Where is the little guy?"

"Out back. I don't think he heard you come up. Let me go get him."

After Denise opened the back door and called for him, Kyle came running for the house. A moment later he burst inside.

"Hewwo, Tayer," he said, a big grin on his face. Ignoring Denise, he surged toward Taylor and jumped. Taylor caught him easily.

"Hey, little man. How was your day?"

Denise couldn't help but notice the difference in Taylor's demeanor as he lifted Kyle up to eye level.

"He's here!" Kyle shouted gleefully.

"Sorry I was so busy today," Taylor said, clearly meaning it. "Did you miss me, little man?"