He chortled. “We’ve lived together for nearly ten years. Tell me one thing about you that I don’t know. Come on. I dare you.”

She bit her lip. “The thing is … I got pregnant when I was eighteen. It was an ectopic pregnancy, Book. I only have one good fallopian tube. I don’t know if I can have children.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m sorry. I should have told you years ago.”

He traced the tear with the tip of his thumb. “And you think this is some kind of deal breaker for me? Julia, love. Is this the thing that’s been eating at you all this time?”

She nodded sadly, the tears flowing nonstop now. “People think I’m this perfect model thing. But I’m not! It’s all plastic! I’ve had my nose fixed, and my boobs done, and for all I know, I’m infertile, too.”

“Stop that,” Booker said sternly. “And listen to me. The only person who thinks you’re plastic is you. You are the warmest, realest woman I have ever met. I don’t give a damn about your nose or your fallopian tube, or your hammertoes or whatever. I fell in love with you, Julia Capelli. The whole package. And as far as I’m concerned, you are perfect. Hell, look at me. I’m pushing fifty. Maybe I’m infertile too. Yeah, I want kids. But only if you do too. So maybe we do this the modern way. Test tubes, petri dishes, adoption, I don’t care. I just want you. Have you got that?”

Julia sniffed and nodded, slowly. She rested her cheek on Booker’s shoulder, and surreptitiously rubbed her runny nose on his shirt. He rubbed her back reassuringly.

“Madison said I should just quit worrying about other people’s lives, and get on with ours.”

“I think I like that girl,” Booker said, slowly working his thumbs under the edge of Julia’s bra.

“And she reminded me that life is short, and nothing is guaranteed. Carpe diem, baby, you know?”

“Latin?” Booker said, with an exaggerated groan. “You know how turned on I get when you talk foreign.”

“Grow up,” Julia said. But she’d slipped her hands into the waistband of his shorts and was fully aware of how turned on Booker had gotten.

“I think,” Booker said solemnly, “we had better turn back to Ebbtide so you can take advantage of me. I mean, how will we ever know if we can make babies unless we actually try?”

“Mmm,” Julia said. “You’re probably right. The house would be much more civilized than the beach. Wouldn’t want to scare the seagulls.”

They made it all the way back to the stairway at Ebbtide and sat on the bottom step to brush the sand off their feet.

“I hate to break this golden moment,” Booker said finally. “But I can’t help wonder how you’re going to be with me in DC, and at the same time work in Atlanta.”

Julia kissed his nose. “With the money we’ll make from selling the London flat, I can rent something tiny and convenient in Atlanta. A pied-à-terre, if you will. I’ll live full time in this amazing house you’ve found us in Alexandria, and travel to shoots wherever I’m needed. Of course, this is all predicated on a couple of things. First off, I’ll have to persuade Annette to give me a shot at learning the business.”

“Not a problem. You’re a very persuasive girl, in my experience.”

“And then,” Julia said, dusting the sand off her shorts and climbing onto Booker’s lap, “I’ll have to figure out how to plan a wedding before Dorie gets as big as an elephant and Ellis takes a new job God knows where. And since you’ve just started a new job, when will you be able to take some vacation time?”

“A wedding?” Booker mused. “Is somebody having a wedding?”

“We are, if you’ll have me,” Julia whispered. “Just name the date.”

“Oh, I’ll have you, my love,” Booker said. “You’ll just have to let me consult my calendar. It’s upstairs. In your room.”

42

Saturday morning, Ellis raced over to the garage apartment, bursting with the news about Booker’s friend Simon, the movie location scout. But the Bronco was already gone.

She considered calling his cell, but decided against it. He could be anyplace, and she wanted to tell him the news in person. She fished the key Ty had given her out of the pocket of her shorts, and climbed the stairs to the apartment.

He’d obviously come in late the night before. A Styrofoam takeout tray sat on the table Ty used as a desk, along with an empty Corona bottle and a crumpled newspaper. A cereal bowl with a film of milk sat in the sink, along with a spoon and an empty juice glass. The counter was cluttered with a cereal box, empty orange juice carton, and a sugar bowl with a spoon stuck in it. A single fly buzzed lazily around, batting against the wire window screen.

Ellis walked into the bedroom. The quilt and bedcovers lay in a rumpled heap at the foot of the bed, and Ty’s T-shirt and shorts were thrown on the floor, along with a still-damp towel.

She sighed happily and started to put the tiny apartment to rights. She washed and rinsed the dishes, putting them away in the Hoosier cupboard, and wiped off the gummy kitchen counter. She opened the door to the deck and swept what seemed like a pound of sand out the door and through the cracks in the deck boards, just as she remembered her mother sweeping out the houses they rented at the beach at Tybee during her childhood summers.

Ellis smiled contentedly as she stripped Ty’s bed, gathering the sheets and discarded clothing into a bundle. She would wash them in the laundry room at Ebbtide, she decided, and surprise Ty when he got back from his errands.

As she was stepping out of the apartment onto the deck, a car came bumping down the Ebbtide driveway. It was a sleek dark gray Mercedes convertible, with a man at the wheel and a woman with long blond hair sitting beside him, her eyes shaded by a pale blue sun visor. The driver pulled the car directly up to the garage, as though he knew exactly where he was going.

Were these prospective renters for Ebbtide? Ellis wondered. Ty hadn’t said anything about showing the house while she and the others were still in residence, but she assumed he’d want to rent the house out again as soon as they vacated the place next Saturday.

There was that stabbing feeling in her chest again. Vacate. Saturday was only a week away.

The woman got out of the convertible and looked up at Ellis in curiosity.

The blonde was Kendra. Ty’s ex-wife. And the driver was Ryan, or as Ty referred to him, Fuckface.

“Hey there,” the blonde called, waving. “Is Ty around?”

“Nope,” Ellis said. “Haven’t seen him this morning.” She turned and went back inside the apartment. What should she do? Call Ty?

Before she had a chance to decide, she heard footsteps pounding up the wooden staircase, and a brisk knock at the door.

She opened it, and Kendra gave her a breezy smile. “Oh! It’s you.” She knit her brow, searching for the name. “Hi there, Ellen, right?”

“It’s Ellis.”

“Oh, right. So, I’m Kendra, and I guess you remember we met at Fish Food the other night. Kinda awkward, right, bumping into the ex like that?”

Ellis shrugged. “Ty’s not here,” she repeated. “I’m not sure when he’ll be back.”

Kendra’s full red lips pouted. “I’ve been calling and calling, leaving messages. He never returns any of them. That’s why we finally decided to run over here this morning, to see if we can talk to him about Ebbtide. You know, before next month.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Ellis said. “He stays pretty busy. But I can let him know you dropped by.” She gathered up the bundle of laundry and stepped outside onto the deck, locking the door behind her.

Ellis hurried down the stairs. Ryan had gotten out of the Mercedes and was walking around the outside of the garage, leaning down, poking at the boards, walking around inside the garage itself, staring up at the old rafters with the assortment of junk hanging from the beams: rusted lawn chairs, rotting hanks of rope, what looked like an old sail.