“Nothing too deep,” Ben replied. He was pulling on his boxer shorts, and Hudson saw his reflection in the mirror as he reached inside and adjusted himself. “We basically played catch-up. I didn’t want to push her too hard. But it’s a start.”

“Congratulations,” Hudson said. “It must feel good.”

“It feels scary,” said Ben. “I don’t think I’m very good at the whole father thing.”

“You’re a great teacher,” Hudson said. “You’ll be a great father too.” He turned around. Ben was buttoning up his shirt. “Remember,” Hudson told him, “there’s nothing that can happen with a daughter that you can’t handle with a ... That didn’t go as well as I’d hoped,” he said. “But you get the idea.”

Ben was looking down at his shirt with a puzzled expression.

“The buttons aren’t lined up right,” said Hudson. He walked over and undid the top two, so that the shirt hung correctly. He was about to rebutton them but stepped back. What are you doing? he asked himself.

“Thanks,” Ben said, buttoning the shirt himself. “And for the vote of confidence. I’m still not convinced I can pull it off. Teenage girls aren’t exactly my specialty.” He finished buttoning his shirt and tucked it into his jeans. “People aren’t exactly my specialty,” he added.

“She just wants you to listen to her,” said Hudson, picking up the bag with his towel and wet swimsuit in it. “That’s all anyone wants, really.”

Ben ran his hand over his short-cropped hair, leaving it exactly the way it was before he touched it. “I think Caddie wants more than that,” he said. “I think she wants the last nine years back, and I can’t give her that.”

“Then give her the next nine years,” said Hudson. “And the nine after that, until you run out of years.”

Ben put his arm around Hudson’s shoulder and steered him toward the door. “Come on,” he said. “You can buy your teacher a beer.”

They went to a little English pub on one of the wharfs. Seated at a rough wooden table, Ben waved to the waitress, a tall, thin woman easily sixty if she was a day. She walked toward them with a jaunty aloofness, peering at them over eyeglasses studded with rhinestones.

“What’ll it be, professor?” she asked when she got there.

Ben laughed. “A Boddingtons and a pickled egg,” he announced, and the waitress lifted one pencil-thin eyebrow. “Just one?” she asked, glancing at Hudson.

“A pickled egg?” he said, making a face.

“Come on,” said Ben. “You only live once. And they’re fantastic with beer.”

Hudson shut his menu. “Okay,” he said. “Make it two of everything.”