"You know that isn't it. But you have been here almost two weeks. Aren't you bored? Don't you want to see your friends and check on the boat?"

He shrugged. "They're not going anywhere."

"I'm sure Harry and your father both miss you."

"Oh, yeah. They've been burning up the phone wires."

"Your mother's in Mexico. It's not eas -- "

"She arrived in Houston yesterday."

"What?"

"I didn't want to tel you."

"Oh?"

"I knew you'd hustle me off when she got back."

"Why would you think that?"

His hand dropped, fingers curling over the bowl's edge. Outside, a siren wailed, soft, loud, soft. When he answered he didn't look at me.

"When I was a little kid, you always stayed just out of reach, afraid Harry might feel jealous. Or angry. Or resentful. Or inadequate. Or, or -- " He picked a crouton, threw it back. Drops of oil jumped onto the table.

"Kit!"

"And, you know what? She ought to feel inadequate. The only thing I should thank Harry for is not burying me in a goddam shoe box when I was born."

He got to his feet. "I'l pack my stuff."

I stood and grabbed his arm. When I looked up his face was tight with anger.

"Harry has nothing to do with this. I'm sending you home because I'm frightened for you. I'm frightened over the people you've been seeing and what they may be doing, and I'm afraid you're involved with things that could place you in jeopardy."

"That's bul shit. I'm not a baby anymore. I make my own decisions."

I flashed on Frog Rinaldi, his shadow rippling across a grave. Gately and Martineau had made a decision. A deadly decision. So had Savannah Osprey. And George Dorsey. I would not permit Kit to do the same.

"If something happened to you I'd never forgive myself."

"I'm not going to get hurt."

"I can't take that chance. I think you've been putting yourself in dangerous circumstances."

"I'm not six years old, Aunt Tempe. You can kick me out of here, but you can't tel me what to do anymore." His jaw muscles bunched, then his Adam's apple rose and dropped.

We both fel silent, realizing our proximity to words that, once spoken, would wound. I released my grip, and Kit disappeared down the hal , bare feet swishing softly on the carpet.

I slept fitful y, then woke and lay in the dark, thinking about my nephew. The window shade changed from black to charcoal. I gave up on sleep, brewed tea, and took it to the patio.

Bundled in Gran's quilt, I watched stars fade overhead, and remembered evenings in Charlotte. When Katy and Kit were smal we would identify constel ations and christen patterns of our own. Katy would see a mouse, a puppy, a pair of skates. Kit would see a mother and child.

I tucked my feet and sipped the hot liquid.