Fiske held out a towel he had pulled from the small cabin, averting his eyes as he did so. She quickly toweled down and then slipped her dress on. When she handed him back the towel, their arms brushed. That made him look at her. She was still breathing deeply from her swim, the rise and fall of her eyelids hypnotic. He studied her face in silence for a moment, then looked past her at something in the sky. She turned her head to look too. Pink swirls were lapping against the dark edges of the sky as dawn began to break. Everywhere they looked, the soft glow of the coming light was apparent. The trees, the leaves, the water were cast as a shimmering facade, as the boat gently rocked them.

Its beautiful, she said in a hushed tone.

Yes, it is, he said. As she turned back to him, she reached up her hand, slowly at first, her eyes searching his for some reaction to what she was doing. Her fingers touched his chin, cupping it, his beard stubble rough against her skin. Her hand moved higher, tracing his cheeks, his eyes and then pressing against his hair, each touch gentle, unhurried. As she gripped the back of his neck and pulled his head toward her, she felt him flinch. Her lips trembled when she saw his glistening eyes. Sara removed her hand and stepped back. Fiske suddenly looked out over the water, as though still seeing two young boys swimming their hearts out. He turned back to her. My brothers dead, Sara, he said simply, his voice shaking slightly. Im just really messed up right now. He tried to say something else, but the words would not come. Sara slowly walked over and sat in one of the seats. She wiped at her eyes and then self-consciously gripped the hemline of her skirt, trying to smooth it, to wring out some of the wetness. The breeze had picked up and the river bounced them. She glanced up at Fiske.

I really did like your brother. And Im so damned sorry that hes gone. She looked down, as though searching at her feet for the right words. And Im sorry for what I just did.

He looked away. I could have said something to you before now. He glanced up at her, bewilderment on his features. Im not sure why I didnt.

She stood up, wrapped her arms around her shoulders. Im a little cold. We should go back now, shouldnt we?

Fiske hauled up the anchor while Sara cast off, and then he fired up the motor and they headed back to the dock, each unable to look at the other, for fear of what might happen, of what their bodies might do, despite the words they had just spoken. On the shore, the owner of the glowing cigarette had departed just as Sara had drawn close to Fiske. ["C32"]CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Fiske and Sara docked the boat, walked in silence to the golf cart and climbed in. The footsteps made Fiske look around. Pop? What are you doing here?

His father didnt answer but kept coming toward them. Fiske walked to him, his arms outstretched. Pop, you okay?

A puzzled Sara watched from the golf cart. The men were about a foot apart when the elder Fiske lunged forward and punched his son in the jaw.

You bastard, Ed shouted. Fiske fell back from the blow, as Ed pounced on his son and hammered away with both fists. Fiske pushed himself away from his father and staggered backward, blood coming from his mouth and nose. What the hell is wrong with you? he screamed. Sara was halfway out of the cart, but she froze when Ed pointed at her.

Get that slut and your ass out of here! Get the hell out of here, you hear me?

Pop, what are you talking about?

Enraged, Ed rushed his son again. This time Fiske sidestepped the charge, wrapping his arms around his father and holding tight as the older man spun wildly, trying with all his might to hit him again.

I saw you, damn you both. Half naked, kissing, while your brother lies dead on some slab. Your brother! He screamed the words so loudly his voice broke. Fiskes voice cracked as he realized what his father had seen. Or thought he had seen. Pop, nothing happened.

You bastard. He tried to pull his sons hair, clothing, anything to get at him again. You heartless sonofabitch, he kept screaming, his face brick red, his breathing becoming more and more labored, his movements sluggish.

Stop it, Pop, stop it. Youre gonna have a coronary.

The two men struggled fiercely as they slipped, pitched and swung around in the loose dirt and gravel.

My own son doing that. I dont have a son. Both my sons are dead. Both my sons are dead. Ed spat out these words in a crescendo of fury. Fiske let his father go, and the old man spun around and dropped to the ground in exhaustion. He tried to rise, but then slumped back down, his T-shirt stained with the sweat of his efforts, the merged smells of alcohol and tobacco enveloping him. Fiske stood over him, chest heaving, his blood mixed with salty tears. A horrified Sara stepped out of the cart, knelt down next to Ed and put a hand gently on his shoulder. She didnt know what to say. Ed swung his arms around blindly and struck Sara on the thigh. She gasped in pain.

Get the hell out of here. Both of you.Now! Ed screamed. Fiske gripped Saras arm and pulled her up. Lets go, Sara. He looked at his father. Dad, take the cart back. As they entered the forest, Fiske and Sara could still hear the screams of the old man. Her leg aching, her tears half blinding her, Sara said, Oh, my God, John, this is all my fault.

Fiske didnt answer. His insides were on fire. The pain had never been this bad, and he was scared. The dispassionate warnings of scores of doctors engulfed him. He kept walking faster and faster, until Sara had to half trot to keep up.

John, John, please say something.

She reached over to wipe some blood from his chin, but he quickly pushed her hand away. Then, without warning, he started to run.

John! Sara started to run too, but she had never seen anyone accelerate as Fiske had. John, she screamed, please come back. Stop! Please!

In the next moment, he had rounded a bend in the forest path and disappeared completely from her sight. She slowed down, her own chest burning now. Then she stepped on a loose clod of dirt and fell heavily to the ground amid the scattered pine needles. She sat there sobbing, her thigh already bruised and aching from where Ed had hit her. A minute later she started as a hand touched her shoulder. Terrified, she looked up, certain that Ed had come to beat her too, for blackening the memory of his dead son. Fiske was breathing hard, his T-shirt soaked in sweat, the blood already hardened on his face. Are you okay?

She nodded and stood up, gritting her teeth as the pain in her leg increased. If Eds blind swipe at her leg had caused so much hurt, she could hardly imagine what John was feeling, after taking a direct blow to the face. She balanced against him while he bent down, edged her skirt up and examined her thigh. Fiske shook his head. Its bruised pretty good. He didnt know what he was doing. Im sorry.

I deserved it.

With Fiskes help she was able to walk pretty normally.

Im sorry, John, she said. This . . . this is a nightmare.

As they neared the trailer, she heard him say something. At first she thought he was talking to her, but he wasnt. He said it again, in a low voice, his eyes straight ahead, his head slowly turning in disbelief. Im sorry.

The apology was not directed toward her, she instinctively knew. Perhaps to the screaming man back at the dock. And maybe to the dead brother? When they reached the trailer, Sara sat down on the steps while Fiske went inside. He came back out a minute later with some ice and a roll of paper towels. While she held the ice wrapped in a paper towel against her bruised thigh, she used one of the ice cubes and another paper towel to wipe the blood from his face and clean the cut on his lip. After she had finished, he stood, went down the steps and headed down the dirt road.