“For what?”

“Not inviting him to come along.” He cast me a sidelong glance.

POSSIBLE ANSWERS

1) “Yes. He seems awfully lonely.”

2) “No. Do we look like babysitters?”

3) “Nah, baby, three’s a crowd.”

Each was partially true. I placed a hand on my stomach, where the unease had evolved into butterflies. If anything, the fluttering scared me even more. Not having made a decision was one thing. Making it brought a whole new snarl of nerves.

“Do you think Mr. Gehry appreciates you befriending his son?” Poe asked, saving me an answer.

“I didn’t really think about it,” I admitted.

“I believe that.” But it was said without rancor. “I bet he’s thought about it.”

“Darren?”

“His father.”

“Well, that would explain a lot. Maybe if he’d spent less time thinking about a bunch of college students and more about the laws of the nation he worked for, he wouldn’t be in so much trouble.”

“That’s probably very true,” Poe said. “But do you believe he should think about it more than about the well-being of his family?” He met my eyes, and once again, I reflected on how hard it was to read this boy.

Was he talking about hiring illegal help at home or letting Darren talk to the likes of me? I shrugged and refocused on the path. “My opinions of Kurt Gehry don’t have anything to do with how I treat his son.”

“That’s a nice illusion.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that it’s pretty tough to disassociate a person from what they stand for.”

“Darren Gehry is a teenager. He doesn’t stand for anything.”

“I disagree.”

“Yeah? What is he to you?”

“The guy who almost got you killed yesterday.”

I stopped short, but Poe kept going, and I practically had to run to catch up to him.

“Poe.”

“Two dollars.” And he kept walking.

“Jamie.”

“You still owe.”

“You don’t blame Darren, do you? It was an accident.”

He slowed down but kept his face turned toward the ground. “People are still responsible for accidents. Someone is always at fault.”

“Yes, but I’m not angry at him, so why are you?”

“I’m not.”

“You just said that you can’t disassociate him from the fact that he made me fall off the boat yesterday, which, I might add, is just as much Clarissa’s fault.” If she hadn’t been so squeamish…

“That doesn’t make me angry at them.” And with that curious statement, we reached the end of the path. Beyond us was only woods. “Watch out for snakes.”

Snakes? Some sanctuary. I started picking my way in after him. “So who are you angry at?”

“If you keep talking, you won’t see anything.” He put a finger to his lips. “Just look.”

So I looked. By this time, the sun had done its duty, bathing the island in warmth and bright light. The patches of sky I could see between the treetops were a deep, opaque blue. Presently, the trees thinned and we broke out onto a narrow, unkempt beach, marred with bleached driftwood and piles of dried seaweed.

“What are we looking for?” I whispered.

He pointed, and out of the trees shot a flash of brown and white. I watched it soar over the water, circle around a bit, then drop like a stone into the waves. A minute later, it rose, clutching something floppy in long, hooked claws.

“Watch where it goes.”

The nest was pretty easy to spot, as it was perched at the top of one of the tallest pines in the stand, dripping with needles like a beard in need of a trim. The bird circled the tree, letting out a long shriek, then landed. Its back and wings were dark brown, its underside pure white, and even from the ground, I could see its enormous golden eyes and the sharp curve of its large talons. It looked around, as if aware that it had observers, then occupied itself with the fish.

“Not an eagle,” I said. I knew next to nothing about raptor species.

“An osprey. It’s breeding season. I was hoping the nests would still be here.”

“It’s really beautiful,” I said. Bird sanctuary. Of course. A moment later, the osprey’s mate joined him at the nest. I listened hard for the sound of cheeping, but if there were any babies in the nest, the wind carried their voices away.

We sat in the sand and watched the birds in silence for a while longer, and then Poe said, “So that’s the last thing there is to do on the island. You can swim, hang out in the rec room, or see the birds.”

“That seems like plenty to me.”

“Come on, Amy, don’t kid yourself. You’ll go as stir-crazy as Darren in a matter of days.”

“Then it’s good I’m only staying a week.” I watched the osprey make another trip to the water, looping in wide circles for a long time before diving again. Imagine being as comfortable both in the air and in the water as this creature was.

Poe seemed to tire of antagonizing me. “Did you talk to Salt yet?”

“He’s pretty interesting…gung ho.”

“That’s a kind way to put it.” He stretched his legs out in front of him. “Couple years ago he wanted to chop down the trees, chase off the ospreys.”

“Why?” I asked, stricken.

“Nesting pairs like this are quite the draw to bird-watchers. The last thing he wants is trespassers on Cavador Key.”

“So he mentioned.”

“Funny thing is, the folks who’d come for the ospreys couldn’t care less about the society. They really, truly just want to watch the birds. Wouldn’t even get near the compound. One group sent all kind of letters to the Trust promising as much. Said they’d stay right here on this beach.”

“What happened?”

“TTA let them on. Three weeks later, a conspiracy-theorist group showed up, dressed as the bird-watchers, and broke into the main house.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Yeah, they stole some photo albums and some of our other stuff. Ever since then, Salt’s been pretty militant about not letting anyone on the island, no matter what they said they were here for.”

“What a shame.”

“You want to see them?”

“The bird-watchers?”

“No, the conspiracy nuts.” He stood, brushed sand from his shorts. “They’re camped out on the next island over. Always are around this time of year, since they know Spring Break is high season. I bet there are even more of the campers this year, watching for the Gehrys.”

We picked our way across the beach until we reached a small cluster of mangroves. Poe claimed you could see them better from the far beach, at the tip of the island.

“Yeah, but won’t they be able to see us?”

“Like I said, there isn’t a whole lot to do around here. One night, we’ll amuse ourselves by playing dress-up and giving them something to actually look at.”

“How very John Fowles of us.”

We moved inland around the mangroves and spilled out onto another beach. This one was shaped like a large, open crescent. On the far side of the lagoon, I saw a tiny sandbar, and beyond that, the expanse of the sea, with a view of another island in the distance.

“You can’t really see,” I said, shooting Poe an accusatory glance.

Poe was taking off his clothes!

“What are you doing?” I asked, as his T-shirt hit a rock.

“You have to get out to the sandbar to see. Take your shoes off.”

I shook my head violently. “What is this, an ambush?”

“Amy, it’s not deep. You can wade.” He pulled off his sneakers, then his socks, laid them side by side on the rock.

How could I make this any clearer? “I don’t like the water.”

“And I don’t like that you almost drowned yesterday. Let’s see what we can do about those things, shall we?”

“No thanks.” I turned, fully prepared to storm back into the woods, but he grabbed my arm.

“You wanted to know who I’m angry at?” he asked. “I’m angry at you.”

“What!” I whirled.

“It’s unbearably stupid that you don’t know how to swim. You have no excuse.”

“I have a phobia.”

“You’re too smart to have phobias.”