Theresa spent the rest of the afternoon exploring while Garrett worked in the shop. Because she didn't know Wilmington well, she asked for directions to the historic district and spent a few hours looking through the stores. Most of them catered to tourists, and she found a few things that Kevin would like, though nothing that suited her tastes. After buying him a couple of pairs of shorts he could wear once he got back from California, she went back to the hotel to catch a quick nap. The last couple of days had taken their toll, and she fell asleep quickly.

Garrett, on the other hand, faced one small crisis after another. A shipment of new equipment arrived just after he got back, and after packing up what he didn't need, he called the company to make arrangements to send back the rest. Later in the afternoon he found out that three people who had been scheduled for dive classes this weekend would be out of town and had to cancel. A quick check of the waiting list proved fruitless.

By six-thirty he was tired, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he finally closed up for the night. After work he drove first to the grocery store and picked up the items he needed for dinner. He showered and put on a pair of clean jeans and a light cotton shirt, then went to the refrigerator to get a beer. After opening it, he stepped out onto the back deck and sat in one of the wrought-iron chairs. Checking his watch, he realized that Theresa would be here soon.

*  *  *

Garrett was still sitting on the back porch when he finally heard the sound of a slowly idling motor making its way down the block. He stepped off the deck and went around the side of the house, watching as Theresa parked on the street, right behind his truck.

She stepped out wearing jeans and the same blouse she had worn earlier, the one that did wonderful things for her figure. She looked relaxed as she walked toward him, and when she smiled warmly at him, he realized that his attraction had grown stronger since their lunch this afternoon, and it made him a little uneasy for a reason he didn't want to admit.

He walked toward her as casually as he could, and Theresa met him halfway, carrying a bottle of white wine. When he got close to her, he smelled the scent of perfume, something she hadn't worn before.

"I brought some wine," she said, handing it to him. "I thought it might go well with dinner." Then, after a short pause: "How was your afternoon?"

"It was busy. Customers kept coming in until we closed, and I had a load of paperwork I had to get through. In fact, I just got home a little while ago." He started toward the front door, Theresa right beside him. "How about you? What did you end up doing the rest of the day?"

"I got to take a nap," she said as if teasing him, and he laughed.

"I forgot to ask you earlier, but do you want anything special for dinner?" he asked.

"What were you planning on?"

"I was thinking of cooking some steaks on the grill, but then I got to wondering if you ate things like that."

"Are you kidding? You forget I grew up in Nebraska. I love a good steak."

"Then you're in for a pleasant surprise."

"What?"

"I happen to make the best steaks in the world."

"Oh, you do, huh?"

"I'll prove it to you," he said, and she laughed, a melodic sound.

As they approached the door, Theresa looked at the house for the first time. It was relatively small-one story and rectangular shaped-with painted wooden siding that was peeling badly in more than one place. Unlike the homes on Wrightsville Beach, this home sat directly on the sand. When she asked him why it wasn't raised like the other houses, he explained that the house was built before the hurricane building codes went into effect. "Now the houses have to be elevated so that the tidal surge can pass under the main structure. The next big hurricane will probably wash this old house out to sea, but I've been fortunate so far."

"Don't you worry about that?"

"Not really. There's not much to the place, and that's the only reason I could afford it. I think the former owner finally got tired of all the stress every time a big storm started moving across the Atlantic."

They reached the cracked front steps and walked inside. The first thing Theresa noticed upon entering was the view from the main room. The windows extended from the floor to the ceiling and ran along the entire back side of the house, overlooking the back deck and Carolina Beach.

"This view is incredible," she said, surprised.

"It is, isn't it? I've been here for a few years now, but I still don't take it for granted."

Off to one side was a fireplace, surrounded by a dozen underwater photographs. She moved toward them. "Do you mind if I look around?"

"No, go ahead. I have to get the grill out back ready anyway. It needs a bit of cleaning."

Garrett left through the sliding glass door.

After he left, Theresa looked at the pictures for a while, then toured the rest of the house. Like many beach houses she had seen, there wasn't room for more than one or two people to live here. There was only one bedroom, reached by a door off the living room. Like the main room, it also had floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the beach. The front portion of the house-the side closest to the street-contained a kitchen, a small dining area (not quite a room), and the bathroom. Though everything was tidy, the house looked as though it hadn't been updated in years.

Returning to the main room, she stopped at his bedroom and glanced inside. Again she saw underwater photographs decorating the walls. In addition, there was a large map of the North Carolina coast that hung directly over his bed, documenting the location of almost five hundred shipwrecks. When she looked toward his nightstand, she saw a framed picture of a woman. Making sure that Garrett was still outside cleaning the grill, she stepped in to take a closer look.

Catherine must have been in her mid-twenties when it was taken. Like the photos on the walls, it looked as though Garrett had taken it himself, and she wondered whether it had been framed before or after the accident. Picking it up, she saw that Catherine was attractive-a little more petite than she was-with blond hair that hung to midshoulder. Even though the picture was slightly grainy and looked as if it had been reproduced from a smaller photo, she still noticed Catherine's eyes. Deep green and almost catlike, they gave her an exotic look and almost seemed as if they were staring back at her. She put the photo down gently, making sure it was set in the same angle it was before. Turning around, she continued to feel as if Catherine were watching her every move.

Ignoring the sensation, she looked at the mirror attached to his chest of drawers. Surprisingly, there was only one more photo that included Catherine. It was a picture of Garrett and Catherine smiling broadly, standing on the deck of Happenstance. Because the boat looked as if it had already been restored, she assumed the picture must have been taken only a few months before she died.

Knowing he could enter the house at any time, she left his bedroom, feeling a little guilty about poking around in the first place. She walked to the sliding glass doors that led from the main room onto the deck and opened them. Garrett was cleaning the grill top and smiled at her when he heard her come out. She strolled to the edge of the deck where he was working and leaned against one of the rails, one leg over the other.

"Did you take all the photos on the walls?" she asked.

He used the back of his hand to wipe the hair from his face. "Yeah. For a while there, I took my camera out on most of my dives. I hung most of them at the shop, but because I had so many, I thought I'd put some up here as well."

"They look professional."

"Thanks. But I think their quality had more to do with the sheer volume I took. You should have seen all the ones that didn't come out."

As he spoke, Garrett held up the grill top. Although it was charred black in places, it looked ready, and he set it off to one side. He reached for a bag of charcoal and dumped some into a grill that looked thirty years old, using his hand to make sure they were spread evenly. Then he added a bit of lighter fluid, soaking each briquette for just a moment.

She spoke in the same teasing voice she had used before. "You know, they have propane grills now."

"I know, but I like to do it the way we did it growing up. Besides, it tastes better this way. Cooking with propane is just like cooking inside."

She smiled. "And you did promise me the best steak I've ever had."

"And you'll get it. Trust me."

He finished with the lighter fluid and set it by the bag of charcoal. "I'm going to let this soak for a couple of minutes. Do you want anything to drink?"

Theresa asked, "What do you have?"

Garrett cleared his throat. "Beer, soda, or the wine you brought."

"A beer sounds good."

Garrett picked up the charcoal and lighter fluid and put them in an old sea chest that sat next to the house. After dusting the sand off the bottoms of his shoes, he went inside, leaving the sliding glass door open.

While he was gone, Theresa turned and looked up and down the beach. Now that the sun was going down, most of the people were gone, and the few that were left were jogging or walking. Even though the beach wasn't crowded, more than a dozen people went past the house in the short time he was gone.

"Do you ever get tired of having all these people around?" she asked when he returned.

He handed her the beer. "Not really. I'm not here all that much anyway. Usually by the time I get home, the beach is pretty much deserted. And in the winter, no one is out here at all."

For just a moment, she imagined him sitting on his deck, watching the water, alone as always. Garrett reached into his pocket and took out a box of matches. He lit the charcoals, stepping back when the flames shot up. The light breeze made the fire dance in circles.

"Now that the coals are started, I'm going to get supper going."

"Can I give you a hand with something?"

"There's not much to do," he answered. "But if you're lucky, maybe I'll share my secret recipe with you."

She cocked her head and looked at him slyly. "You know you're setting a pretty high standard for these steaks."

"I know. But I have faith."

He winked at her and she laughed before following him inside, to the kitchen. Garrett opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a couple of potatoes. Standing in front of the sink, he washed his hands first and then the potatoes. After turning on the oven, he wrapped the potatoes in foil and set them on the rack.

"What can I do?"

"Like I said, not much. I think I've got it pretty much in control. I bought one of those prepackaged salads, and there's not anything else on the menu."

Theresa stood off to one side as Garrett put the last of the potatoes in the oven and got the salad out of the refrigerator. From the corner of his eye, he glanced at her as he emptied the salad into a bowl. What was it about her that made him suddenly want to be as close to her as possible? Wondering, he opened the refrigerator and pulled out the steaks he'd had the store cut just for tonight. He opened the cabinet next to the refrigerator and found the rest of the items he needed. After collecting them, he set everything down next to Theresa.

She shot him a challenging smile. "So, what's so special about these steaks?"

Clearing his mind, he poured some brandy into a shallow bowl. "There's a few things. First, you get a couple of thick filets like these. The store doesn't usually cut them this thick, so you have to ask for it special. Then you season them with a little salt, pepper, and garlic powder, and you let them soak in the brandy while the coals are turning white."

He did this as he spoke, and for the first time since she'd met him, he looked his age. Based on what he'd told her, he was at least four years younger than she was.

"That's your secret?"

"It's only the beginning," he promised, suddenly aware of how beautiful she looked. "Right before they go on the grill, I'll add some tenderizer. The rest of it involves how you cook them, not what they're flavored with."

"You sound like you're quite a cook."

"No, not really. I'm good with a few things, but I don't prepare many meals these days. By the time I get home, I'm usually in the mood for something that doesn't take much effort."

"That's how I am. If it wasn't for Kevin, I don't think I'd cook very much at all anymore."

Since he was finished with the steaks for now, he went to the drawer again and found a knife, returning to her side. He reached for a couple of tomatoes that were on the counter and began dicing.

"It sounds like you have a great relationship with Kevin."

"I do. I just hope it continues. He's almost a teenager now, and I worry that when he gets older, he's going to want to spend less time with me."

"I wouldn't worry too much. From the way you talk about him, I would think that you two will always be close."

"I hope so. Right now, he's all I have-I don't know what I'd do if he started to shut me out of his life. I have some friends with boys a little older than he is, and they tell me it's inevitable."

"I'm sure he's going to change somewhat. Everyone does, but that doesn't mean he won't talk to you."

She looked over at him. "Are you talking from experience or just telling me what I want to hear?"

He shrugged, again noticing her perfume. "I'm just remembering what I went through with my father. We'd always been close growing up, and it didn't change when I started high school. I started doing different things and seeing my friends more, but we still talked all the time."

"I hope it's the same way for me," she said.

With the preparation under way, a peaceful silence descended upon them. The simple act of cutting tomatoes with her by his side eased some of the anxiety he'd felt up to this point. Theresa was the first woman he'd invited to this house, and Garrett realized there was something comfortable about having her here.

When he finished, Garrett put the tomatoes in the salad bowl and wiped his hands on a paper towel. Then he bent over to remove his second beer.

"Are you up for another?"

She drained the last of her bottle, surprised she had finished so quickly. She nodded, setting the empty bottle on the counter. Garrett twisted off the bottlecap and handed her another, opening one for himself. Theresa was relaxing against the counter, and when she took the bottle, something about the way she was standing struck him as familiar: the smile playing across her lips, maybe, or the slant of her gaze as she watched him lift his own bottle to his mouth. He was reminded again of that lazy summer afternoon with Catherine, when he'd come home to surprise her for lunch-a day that in retrospect seemed so fraught with signs . . . yet how could he have foreseen everything that would happen? They had stood in the kitchen, just as he and Theresa were doing now.

"I take it you've already eaten," Garrett said as Catherine stood in front of the open refrigerator.

Catherine glanced at him. "I'm not very hungry," she said. "But I am thirsty. Do you want some iced tea?"

"Tea sounds great. Do you know if the mail came in yet?"

Catherine nodded as she pulled the pitcher of tea from the top shelf. "It's on the table."

She opened the cupboard and reached for two glasses. After setting the first glass on the counter, she was pouring the second when it slipped from her hand.

"Are you all right?" Garrett dropped the mail, concerned.

Catherine ran her hand through her hair, embarrassed, then bent to pick up the glass shards. "I just got a little woozy there for a second. I'll be okay."

Garrett moved toward her and began to help clean up. "Are you feeling sick again?"

"No, but maybe I spent too much time outside this morning."

He was quiet for a moment as he picked up the glass.

"Are you sure I should go back to work? This last week's been pretty tough on you."

"I'll be fine. Besides, I know you've got a lot to do there."

Though she was right, when he finally started back to work, he got the feeling that maybe he shouldn't have listened to her.

He swallowed hard, suddenly aware of the stillness in the kitchen. "I'm going to check the coals to see how they're doing," he said, needing something, anything, to do. "Hopefully, they're getting close."

"Can I set the table while you're checking?"

"Sure. Most of the things you'll need are right over here."

After showing her where to find what she needed, he headed outside, forcing himself to relax and clearing his mind of the ghostly memories. Once he reached the grill, he checked the coals, putting his mind to the task at hand. Almost white, they had another few minutes, he figured. Again he went to the sea chest, and this time he removed a small, handheld bellows. He set it on the railing next to the grill and took a deep breath. The ocean air was fresh, almost intoxicating, and for the first time, he suddenly realized that despite his vision of Catherine just moments ago, he was still pleased that Theresa was here. In fact, he felt happy, something he hadn't felt in a long time.

It wasn't only in the way they got along, but it was little things Theresa did. The way she smiled, the way she looked at him, even the way she'd taken his hand earlier this afternoon-it was already beginning to feel as if he knew her longer than he actually did. He wondered whether it was because she was similar to Catherine in so many ways or whether his father had been right about him needing to spend some time with another person.

While he was outside, Theresa set the table. She put a wineglass beside each plate and sorted through the drawer for some silverware. Beside the utensils were two candles with small holders for each. After wondering whether it would be too much, she decided to put them on the table as well. She would leave it to him whether or not to light them. Garrett came in just as she was finishing up.

"We've got a couple of minutes. Would you like to sit outside while we wait?"

Theresa picked up her beer and followed him out. As it had the night before, the breeze was blowing, but it wasn't nearly as strong. She sat in one of the chairs, Garrett right beside her, his legs crossed at the ankles. His light shirt brought out his deeply tanned skin, and Theresa watched him as he stared out over the water. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling more alive than she had in a long time.

"I bet you don't have a view like this from where you live in Boston," he said into the sudden silence.

"You're right," she said, "I don't. I live in an apartment. My parents think I'm crazy for living downtown. They think I should live in the suburbs."

"Why don't you?"

"I used to, before the divorce. But now, it's just a lot easier. I can get to work in just a few minutes, Kevin's school is right down the block, and I never have to take the highway unless I'm going out of town. Besides, I wanted something different after my marriage ended. I just couldn't handle the looks my neighbors gave me after they found out that David had left."

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged, and her voice softened. "I never told any of them why David and I separated. I just didn't think it was any of their business."

"It wasn't."

She paused for a moment, remembering. "I know that, but in their minds, David was a wonderful husband. He was handsome and successful, and they didn't want to believe that he did anything wrong. Even when we were together, he acted as if everything were perfect. I didn't have any idea he was having an affair until the very end."

She turned toward him, a rueful look on her face. "As they say, the wife is always the last to know."

"How did you find out?"

She shook her head. "I know it sounds like a clich? but I found out from the dry cleaner, of all people. When I picked up his clothes, the cleaner handed me some receipts that had been in his pocket. One was from a hotel downtown. And I knew from the date that he had been home that evening, so it must have been for just an afternoon. He denied it when I confronted him, but by the way he looked at me, I knew he was lying. Eventually, the whole story came out, and I filed for divorce."

Garrett listened quietly, letting her finish, wondering how she could have fallen in love with someone who would do that to her. As if reading his mind, she went on:

"You know, David was one of those men who could say anything and make you believe it. I think he even believed most of the things he told me. We met in college, and I was overwhelmed by how much he had going for him. He was smart and charming, and I was flattered that he was interested in someone like me. Here I was, a young girl straight from Nebraska, and he was unlike anyone I'd ever met before. And when we got married, I thought I'd have a storybook life. But I guess it was the furthest thing from his mind. I found out later that he had his first affair only five months after we were married."

She stopped for a moment, and Garrett looked toward his beer. "I don't know what to say."

"There's nothing you can say," she said with finality. "It's over, and like I said yesterday, the only thing I want from him now is for him to be a good father to Kevin."

"You make it sound so easy."

"I don't mean to. David hurt me pretty badly, and it took me a couple of years and more than a few sessions with a good therapist to get to this point. I learned a lot from my therapist, and I learned a lot about myself along the way. Once, when I was babbling about what a jerk he had been, she pointed out that if I kept holding on to my anger, he'd still be controlling me, and I wasn't willing to accept that. So I let it go."

She took another sip of her beer. Garrett asked: "Did your therapist say anything else that you remember?"

She thought for a moment, then smiled faintly. "As a matter of fact, she did. She said that if I ever came across someone who reminded me of David that I should turn around and run for the hills."

"Do I remind you of David?"

"Not in the slightest. You're about as different from David as a man can get."

"That's good," he said with mock seriousness. "There aren't many hills in this part of the country, you know. You'd have to run a mighty long way."

She giggled, and Garrett looked over at the grill. Seeing that the coals were ready, he asked, "Are you ready to start the steaks?"

"Will you show me the rest of your secret recipe?"

"With pleasure," he said as they rose from their seats. In the kitchen he found the tenderizer and sprinkled some on the top of the steaks. Then, removing both filets from the brandy, he added some to the other sides as well. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a small plastic bag.

"What's that?" Theresa asked.

"It's tallow-the fatty part of the steak that's usually trimmed off. I had the butcher save some when I bought the steaks."

"What's it for?"

"You'll see," he said.

After returning to the grill with the steaks and a pair of tongs, he set them on the railing beside the bellows. Then, taking the bellows he'd removed earlier, he began to blow the ashes off the briquettes, explaining to her what he was doing.

"Part of cooking a great steak is making sure the coals are hot. You use the bellows to blow off the ashes. That way, you don't have anything blocking the heat."

He put the grill top back on the barbecue, let it heat for about a minute, then............