“Nobody knows how,” said Hudson. “You just do it.”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” she said.

“About what?”

“My father,” Caddie explained. “Whether or not you like him.”

“Of course I like him,” Hudson said.

“Don’t be dim,” said Caddie. “You know what I’m asking. If he wants you to stay around, will you?”

“What would you think if I did?” he countered.

“I asked you first,” she said.

Hudson watched her for a moment. She really wants to know, he thought. But what answer did she want to hear? Which one would make her feel better and which would only add to her worry? He wasn’t sure, and that uncertainty made his answer even harder to give.

“I don’t know,” he said truthfully.

He waited for her response, expecting, at the very least, to be accused of being a liar. Instead, Caddie smiled at him. “I know how that goes,” she said.

Hudson pushed his plate away. “What do you say we get out of here?” he suggested.

He caught the attention of their waitress, who came over, again ignoring the group clamoring for her services. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked. “How about some pants-busting dessert?”

Hudson handed her his credit card. “I think we’ve had enough,” he said.

The girl glanced at the teenagers. “You and me both,” she said as she walked away.

After Hudson had signed the slip she brought back, he and Caddie walked out into the fading afternoon light. It was half past six. The air had a slight chill, and the crowds of tourists were thinning as they returned to hotels and homes.

“Come on,” Hudson said, an idea forming in his mind.

“Where are we going?” Caddie asked as he walked down the sidewalk.

He didn’t answer, ducking into the first gift shop he saw. Caddie, following him inside, looked at the shelves of tacky merchandise with bemused interest, watching him as he scanned the shop.

“Ah,” he said, spying something of interest. “This might work.” He went to a display of sweatshirts and picked one up. Unfolding it, he held it out for Caddie’s inspection.

“Property of the Cannery Row Sardine Packing Team?” she said. “You’re kidding.”

“What size are you?” Hudson asked, ignoring her. “Medium, I think.” He handed her a shirt. “And we’ll get a large one for your father.”

“This is so queer,” Caddie said, holding the sweatshirt up to her chest.

“You’d expect anything else?” Hudson replied. “Trust me, your father will think it’s great.” He paused, wishing he hadn’t said that. What if Caddie thought he was saying he knew more about Ben that she did?

“He does like that book,” she said, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Then she pointed to some bumper stickers that were hanging nearby. “What about that?” she suggested, singling out one that read REAL DIVERS GO DOWN. “Too much?”