We walked fifty feet farther and what stood before us was not “a little something.” It was a big boat, like the Love Boat, with black stripes and gold sails that reached heaven. Fitting colors, seeing that Graham was an Alpha man.

“You like it?” he asked as he stood petting its nose like the proud father of his firstborn child.

“Yes, I love it.”

Before I could even take it all in, someone, noticing our arrival, came from the inside to greet us.

“Good evening, Mr. Jackson. Dinner is almost ready.” It was an older Asian man dressed in all black with a white hat.

A chef? Graham had a chef, a boat, and a big black Benz. Frequent. Opportunity. Frequent. Opportunity.

“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Let’s go up on deck. It’s a little chilly, but if you don’t mind standing close to me, I’m sure our bodies will keep us warm.”

We gazed across the shimmering, mirror-like waters of Lake Michigan. Reaching for my hand, Graham opened my palm and placed in it a small stone that he pulled from his pocket.

“Montana, I want you to throw this out as far as you can,” he whispered softly.

I flashed back to the many days spent by the pond at my grandmother’s house where skipping rocks was our pastime pleasure. I walked over to the edge of the deck, wound up like Satchel Paige in the Negro League World Series, and with all the strength and might I could muster, hurled the rock deep into the distant darkness.

Barely seconds after it left my hand, Graham grabbed my waist and said softly in my ear, “Now what do you see?”

“I see ripples caused by the rock. Ripples that seem to go forever.”

“That rock is you, Montana. And the ripples are what happened six months ago when you walked into my life. That’s what this visit is all about. I wanted to make sure the ripples are still as intense.”

I returned his pointed stare and threw caution to the wind asking the obvious question.

“So, are they? Are the ripples still as intense?” I held my breath. It was clear to me that our future together and the success of my entire visit to Chicago hinged on his response.

While the brisk Lake Michigan breeze whistled through the air, causing a gentle mist to appear from his mouth, he spoke, “As if someone dropped a rock the size of the state of Illinois in a pond the size of my palm.” Unsure of what, if any, my response should be, I stood silent, in awe.

“Montana, what I’m saying is, just like the ripples that continue in the distance, I want our lives to be a series of ripples that last a lifetime.”