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A gust of wind blew a crumpled newspaper across the parking lot, and her resolve not to engage in a conversation with him wavered. “You like her, don’t you?”
He straightened, resting only the heels of his hands on the rail. “More like I owe her. She?
?s sent a lot of business my way.”
“You like her, too.”
“I guess. She’s crazy, but she’s gutsy, too. Sort of like you, although in your defense, your crazy is a little less in-your-face than hers.”
“You being a model of sanity.”
He leaned out, watching Temple as she emerged from the lighthouse. “At least I know what I want out of life, which is more than you seem to.”
She abandoned her attempt to keep the conversation impersonal. “What is that? What do you want?”
“To do my job well, pay my bills on time, and keep the bad guys from hurting the good guys.”
“You were doing all that on the police force, so why give it up?”
He hesitated a moment too long. “Lousy pay.”
“I don’t believe you. Fighting the bad guys had to have been more interesting than guarding Temple from fat grams. What’s the real reason?”
“I got burned out.” He pointed to the water’s edge. “Riprap. That’s what they call the rocks they use to hold back erosion.”
In other words, he wanted her to stop asking questions. Which was fine. She’d had enough sharing for one day. “I’m going down.”
He followed her to the bottom. As they stepped out into the sunlight, she saw Temple doing some deep walking lunges into the wind. Another set of visitors had arrived. A mother stood near the jetty arguing with her son while his younger sister chased a seagull.
Lucy heard the frazzled young woman say to the boy, “I don’t have any more juice boxes, Cabot. You finished the last one in the car.”
“Sophie finished it.” The kid stamped his foot. “And you gave her the grape! Grape’s my favorite!”
As the boy demanded her attention, the little girl ran into the wind, arms outflung, curly hair skinned away from her face. She was around five, more interested in the joy of the day, the violent crash of waves over rock, than her brother’s tantrum.
“That’s enough, Cabot,” the mother snapped. “You have to wait.”
His sister threw up her arms, racing closer to the rocky shoreline as the wind plastered her pink T-shirt to her small chest.
“But I’m thirsty,” the boy whined.
An unexpectedly fierce gust made Lucy take a step backward. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the little girl stagger, lose her balance, and with nothing more than the softest cry, stumble onto one of the treacherous boulders lining the edge of the water. Lucy gasped as her small arms flailed. The child clawed to find a hold, but the rocks were too slippery, and within seconds, she’d tumbled into the rough water.
Even before her head vanished under the churn, Panda had begun to run. Lucy raced after him. The mother finally saw what was happening and screamed. She started to run but was farther away.
Panda scrambled onto the slippery boulders, trying to locate the child as he moved. A wave crashed around his legs. He must have seen something because he kicked against the jagged rocks and launched himself into the water in a powerful dive.
Lucy clambered onto the wet rocks, barely keeping herself from falling in, too.
Panda surfaced. He was alone.
Lucy was dimly aware of the mother’s cries behind her. Panda went under again. Lucy scanned the water for a glimpse of pink, saw nothing. Panda came back up, grabbed some air, and dove.
And then Lucy saw something. Maybe just a reflection, but she prayed it was more. “There!” she screamed when he resurfaced.
Panda heard her, twisted in the direction she was pointing, and went under again.
He stayed there forever. She tried to spot him, but he’d gone deep.
