He’d had the dream a million times. He knew it by heart, every plot twist, every bizarre turn. Sometimes he even knew it was a dream while he was dreaming.
It should have been reassuring. Like an old TV rerun.
But every single time it was utterly, completely terrifying.
He walked softly to the window and peered through the blinds. No hint of dawn. No reprieve.
He wondered what time it was. Sometimes he actually wished he wore a watch, like normal people. But then, nothing about the life of Diver Smith was normal.
Diver. Jonathan. Paul. Sometimes he wondered what his name really was.
He’d picked up the nickname Diver when he was living on the streets, sleeping on the beach at night and diving under piers to hide from the beach patrol. Before that he’d been Paul, the name his parents—or the people who’d kidnapped him and pretended to be his parents—had called him.
And before then, until the age of two, he’d been Jonathan. That was the name he’d been born with. The name on his birth certificate.
By the time Summer had been born, Jonathan was already just a name in the newspaper, a black-and-white photo on the side of a milk carton. It was the name she’d grown up afraid to say out loud for fear of what it might do to her fragile, desperate parents.
Diver went back to his chair. He was tired, so tired, but if he closed his eyes, he’d go back to that place he couldn’t bear to see, not even in his dreams.
It always started the same way. The playground. The tiny yellow sneakers on his feet. The red ball.
He let his lids fall. He listened to Marquez’s steady breathing. In, out, in, out…if he concentrated on that soothing sound, maybe he could sleep peacefully, dreamlessly, for once….
But there it was. Cracked, chewed-up red rubber, as if it had been a dog’s ball at some point.
Diver knew he would throw the ball. And the part of him watching the dream knew that by throwing the ball he would change his life forever.
It flew. Pretty far, it seemed. It bounced dully on the faded grass. It rolled over to the fence and lay there against the chain link.
A man was standing by the fence. His face was hidden. A woman was in a car nearby, the door open. She was crying, but her face too was hidden.
He ran to get the red ball. He picked it up.
The man reached over the fence to grab him.
He floated, helpless.
In his chair, Diver moaned softly. This was the part of the dream he dreaded. There would be detours down black highways, lonely houses with echoing corridors, years that blended into years in the space of a dream second.
There would be the funeral, his seven-year-old self in a stiff, too-big suit, the sickly sweet smell of lilies in the air. He would see his mother, his mother who really wasn’t his mother, in her peach dress, her face thick with powder. His father would lift him up to the casket, and he would scream.
More detours, more highways, more houses. And then, always and forever, came the fire.
It never hurt in the dream. He walked calmly, feet cool and bare, over sizzling embers. He breathed in the poisonous fumes as though they were crisp mountain air. He could see through the sooty veil of smoke, parting it like a curtain.
And what he saw, every time, was his father, his father who was not his father, lying under a burning support beam. His clothes were ablaze. His hair, even his skin.
He could see his father. He could walk effortlessly through the burning house and touch him. But whenever his father’s mouth opened to scream, he could not hear him.
He could not hear him because by that time Diver was always the one who was screaming.
“Diver, hon, wake up! Diver!”
His eyes flew open.
No smoke. No fire. Marquez was sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes.
“The dream again?”
Diver nodded. His throat burned. His eyes stung. Sometimes he woke from the dream absolutely certain he was in the middle of a raging inferno.
But of course that fire was over. It had been extinguished long ago.
And so had all record of the boy named Paul.
“Come here,” Marquez whispered. She patted the mattress. “Come sleep with me.”
Diver stood shakily. He climbed onto the bed and crawled under the sheets. Marquez’s body was warm. She felt small against him, breakable.
He should have known she was getting too thin. This was his fault. He didn’t know how to take care of people. He couldn’t be trusted.
He was crying. He hadn’t cried like this in a long time, perhaps years. Maybe not even since the fire.
Marquez took his hand. “It’s okay. You’re with me now. It was just a dream, Diver. It wasn’t real.”
But it was real. He couldn’t tell Marquez that. He couldn’t tell anyone, ever.
Because if they found him, it would be the end.
He ran his fingers over the scar on his hip, the flesh hard and rubbery where the burn had healed badly.
When Marquez had asked about it, he’d told her he’d tipped over a pot of boiling water on the stove as a little kid. She’d laughed and said, “I bet you were a handful. I bet you were a beautiful kid. Don’t you have any pictures?”
“No pictures,” he’d told her. “My parents weren’t exactly the sentimental type.”
After a long while he stopped crying. Marquez was asleep again, breathing in, out, in, out, slowly and steadily. He lay beside her and watched her breathe until the first pale hints of dawn appeared.
6
Summer Is Definitely Not a Morning Person.
The midmorning sun poured through Summer’s bedroom window, painting the walls a brilliant gold. She squinted, then burrowed beneath her blanket.
She’d had a lousy night’s sleep, filled with unsettling dreams. She didn’t remember them, not exactly. But she knew Seth and Austin had been featured stars. It was probably just as well that she couldn’t recall the details.
Summer forced her eyes open. Even with the flowered sheet over the window, the light was blinding. Maybe she should think about getting real curtains.
Florida light. Nothing like the milky Minnesota sunlight she’d grown up with. This was go-to-the-beach-and-bake sun. It made you want to grab your sexiest bathing suit, your darkest shades, and the trashiest novel you wouldn’t mind being seen with in public and head for the ocean….
Reality check.
None of that was on the agenda that day. Her first priority was getting Marquez home from the hospital and giving her a nice lecture on the Five Basic Food Groups and Why We Must Eat Them.
Following that, if there was time, Summer needed to hit the streets and do some more job-hunting. She was getting increasingly desperate. Most of the good waitress jobs were taken, and waiting tables was her only marketable skill—unless you counted the fact that she typed about eleven words per minute, only slightly faster than an untrained chimp.
She climbed out of bed, shielding her eyes from the glare. A glance in her mirror made her shudder. She had major morning hair.
Should she call the hospital, she wondered, or would Marquez call her? The doctor might even have released her already.
Summer turned on the radio. Coldplay. Excellent bed-making music. The least she could do was have the apartment nice and neat for Marquez’s return. Marquez had been on a real cleaning jag lately. Very un-Marquez-like, and a little disturbing, actually, since she’d always been so messy that she made Summer feel organized.
Diana’s side of the room was already clean. Her bed was crisply made, her side of the closet neat. Her still-unpacked boxes were piled in tall stacks against the wall. One box was out of place—old letters, it looked like. Summer shoved it into the closet. She glanced at a postcard of Paris from Diana’s mother. It surprised Summer a little that her cousin saved things like that. On the surface, at least, she wasn’t exactly the most sentimental person. But even Diana probably had a softer side.
Diana would re
turn the next day, and with her, Seth. He’d sounded so strange on the phone the night before, so distant. Summer knew she should have been thrilled he was coming back for a visit, even a short one. But she couldn’t help feeling uneasy.
One way or another, Seth was going to find out that Austin was living on Coconut Key. With Austin working downstairs at Jitters, it was just a matter of time. That would lead to a lot of pointed questions, along the lines of “Why the hell didn’t you tell me this?”
Add to that the fact that she’d reapplied to Carlson College, right there on Coconut Key. If she was accepted again, it would call into question all the plans Seth and she had made: going to the University of Wisconsin together, spending all four years there together, then getting married….
Her hand flew to her mouth. She’d almost forgotten.
She touched the bare spot where her engagement ring should have been. She could feel its absence, a phantom sensation, the way they said you could still feel a missing limb long after it was gone.
What would she tell Seth about the ring? “It could have happened to anyone, Seth. I was just painting the apartment, and I took it off and put it on the windowsill so I wouldn’t get paint on it, and then it just sort of vanished….”
Seth would never understand. He would never understand because if he’d been wearing the ring, he would never in a million years have taken it off.
Of course, she thought with sudden bitterness, guys didn’t even wear engagement rings. Only girls. What was that all about? How come girls were the ones stuck with the awesome responsibility?
It was too much…Austin, college, the ring. Seth would never forgive her for her many and assorted sins.
Well, that was one more chore to add to the day’s list. By the end of the day, she had to find a perfect replica of her engagement ring. Preferably one under ten bucks.
After a cup of hot tea, Summer called the hospital. Marquez had already been discharged. Summer hoped she was coming straight home to rest up. But knowing Marquez, she would probably head directly to Jitters to work a double shift, then throw in a triathlon for good measure.
Diver had been right about that, at least. They were going to have to keep a close eye on Marquez. Very close.
Someone knocked softly on the door. Summer ran to get it, thinking it was Diver and Marquez. She’d swung the door wide open before she realized it wasn’t Marquez at all.
“Austin.”
He was carrying a bouquet of yellow daisies. His eyes were bloodshot. His hair was tangled. He needed a shave.
Obviously he hadn’t slept well either.
“Thought you were rid of me, I know. May I?” He stepped inside before she could answer.
“They’re very pretty,” Summer said with a nod at the flowers, “but I can’t take them, Austin.”
“Good thing. They’re not for you.” Austin tossed the bouquet on the kitchen counter. “They’re for Marquez. Blythe told me what happened when I got in for the morning shift today. I went out and bought them on my break.”
“That was very thoughtful. I’ll be sure to see she gets them.” Summer started to fill a glass of water for the flowers, then rolled her eyes. “God, I just realized I look like crap.”
“Day-old crap,” Austin amended. “But so do I.” He shrugged. “Breaking up is hard to do.”
Summer ran to her bedroom to put on a robe. When she returned to the living room, Austin was on the back balcony, gazing down at the sparkling pool. Or at Caroline, who was stretched out on a lounge chair, glistening with suntan oil.
“Heartbroken, you say?” Summer asked wryly.
He turned to her. Gently he combed her tangled hair with his fingers. “Completely,” he whispered.
Deep inside her something stirred. She closed her eyes and took a step back.
“Austin, I think you should go. It’s too hard…I can’t keep seeing you this way. We need to make a clean break.” She tightened the belt of her robe. “The thing is, Seth is flying back here tomorrow for a visit, and, well…”
Instead of getting angry, Austin just shook his head. He almost looked amused. “You’d like me to keep a low profile, is that it? Maybe just disappear from the scene entirely? I hear Canada’s nice this time of year.”
“I only meant—”
“I know what you meant, Summer. You want me to make it easy on you—”
He was interrupted by a knock at the door. “That’s probably Marquez,” Summer said, running for the door. “She doesn’t have her keys.”
Marquez practically flew into the room, followed by Diver. “Home, sweet home!” she cried. “Man, I have got to take another shower. I still reek of hospital.”
Summer gave her a long hug. “You look good. How do you feel?”
“Scarred for life.” Marquez pushed back her hair to reveal a small Band-Aid on her forehead. “My brilliant modeling career is over before it started. Whoa, flowers?” She grabbed the bouquet and inhaled deeply. “You shouldn’t have.”
“I didn’t. I mean, I was going to, but I sort of overslept. They’re from Austin. He’s out on the porch.”
“What a sweetheart.”
“Not really.” Austin came in and gave Marquez a kiss on the cheek. “I have ulterior motives. I’m hoping to pick up some of your shifts.”
“No way.” Marquez laughed. “I am back on active duty as of tonight.”
“Marquez,” Diver said sternly, “the doctor said to take it easy.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay. You can have my dinner shift tonight, Austin. But that’s it. I’m broke. When I get that hospital bill, I will be beyond broke.”
Diver wrapped his arm around her protectively. “I told you I’ll help with that. I’m a wealthy man now.”
“You’re a less destitute man,” Marquez corrected.
“I got that job at the new wildlife rehab center,” Diver explained. “Called them this morning, and they were ready to put me to work yesterday.”
Summer frowned. With Diver working close by, she was going to be forced to see even more of him. “Congratulations,” she said neutrally.
“I need to find a place in town as soon as I can.”
Marquez nudged him. “I told him we wouldn’t mind a male roommate for a while, right, Summer?”
Summer shrugged. “Sure. I guess. You should check with Diana first, though. She’ll be home tomorrow. With Seth.”
“I believe that’s my exit cue,” Austin said. He winked at Marquez. “Glad you’re okay, kid.” He opened the door, then hesitated. “Hey, Diver, a brilliant thought just occurred to me. If you’re stuck, you could always double up with me at my place. It’s the size of a postage stamp, but the roaches are the size of poodles. So it sort of evens out.”
“That’d be great, Austin,” Diver said. He cast a sidelong glance at Summer. “Easier than staying here.”
“Yeah, at my place you can belch to your heart’s content and scratch yourself with impunity.” Austin grinned. “Chicks don’t approve of that kind of thing.”
“Chicks don’t approve of saying ‘chicks,’ either,” Marquez said, giving him a playful sock in the arm.
“Stop by anytime, Diver,” Austin said.
“How about tomorrow afternoon?” Diver asked. “That’ll give me time to get my stuff together.”
“Great. It’s over on Palm Avenue.” Austin gave Summer a wistful smile. “Ask Summer. She knows just where it is.”
7
Look Who’s Not Talking
“I told you we should have come to Woolworth’s first!” Marquez held her discovery high. “Voilà! I give you the Hope Diamond!”
Summer examined the ring in its little black velvet box. “More like hopeless.”
“The price is right. Seven ninety-five.”
“This is never going to work, is it?”
“Summer, we have been to every jewelry store and drugstore and antique store on the key. Where else can we go?”
“Crappy Fake Diamo
nds R Us?” Summer examined the ring carefully. “You know, it does look an awful lot like the one Seth gave me.”
“You don’t suppose…?” Marquez grinned. “He always was kind of cheap with a buck. Buy it, Summer. Seth’s coming tomorrow. This is as good as it’s gonna get.”
“I’m sorry. Am I wearing you out? Diver was right. You should have stayed home and rested this afternoon.”
“I am not an invalid, Summer,” Marquez nearly shouted. If Summer said one more sweet, solicitous thing to her, she was going to scream. “Although you’ll be one soon if you don’t shut up.”
“The doctor said—”
“I fainted. I overdid it a little. Okay? Since when is it a federal crime to try to lose a little weight?”
Summer snapped her mouth shut, but Marquez could practically see the words fighting to escape from her tightly pressed lips.
“Diver has already given me the lecture, Summer. You’re off the hook.”
Summer examined another ring, pouting.
“I know the drill, okay? Eat my veggies. Exercise in moderation. Stop counting calories. I’m beautiful, I’m perfect, I’m already too skinny, I’m the Cuban-American Kate Moss.”
Summer just looked at her, worry written all over her face. Marquez’s own mother had never looked at her with that much concern.
“Oh, all right, go ahead, get it over with,” Marquez groaned. “I can see you’re going to explode otherwise.”
“It’s just that you really had us scared, Marquez. I mean, it’s easy for you to crack jokes.” Summer’s lower lip trembled. “I’m the one who found you lying there. I’m the one who thought you were…you know…” Summer sniffled. “And all I could think of was that if anything happened to you—”
“You’d get to have my bedroom?”
Summer sniffled louder.
“What, then? My stereo? My car?”
“It’s not funny, Marquez.”
“You’re as bad as Diver. He was all weepy too. Jeez, one little teeny fainting spell. Is your whole family this emotional?”
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