“Yeah, yeah, I know. So cool that you can help. We’re gonna stop this, you know. Stop this guy from building on the island. You’re the clincher, man. Totally. They’ll listen to us now. I’ve heard about you from my buddy in Beaufort—how you helped save that osprey nest where they’re building the new resort.”

Revvy stopped and looked at Amy. “Hi, Mrs. Reynolds. How are you today?”

“Great, Revvy, great. Let’s go.”

Irritation rose without reason. And she always had a reason—for everything.

The OWP group carried backpacks with cameras and specimen containers, and for once, Amy didn’t feel like the escort on a school field trip. Nick walked with her; the rest of the group waved enthusiastically from the dock.

In Nick’s truck on the way to the marina, she’d explained the history of each member of the group. This litany not only filled the warm cab with innocuous information, but protected her from discussing the past—something she was not yet ready to do.

She’d explained that Norah, the dark-haired law student, was in charge of gathering and correctly cataloging the information to submit for a Heritage Preserve Trust. She’d never seen a hint of makeup on Norah’s face, yet she was one of the most beautiful girls Amy had ever known: quiet in her passion, inexhaustible in her efforts. Amy often wondered if Norah ever slept.

Brenton was the naturalist of the group, a botany student who hoped to find a rare species of plant or animal on the island that would qualify it for the Trust. He lived in a tent on the beach in one of the national parks; he considered the stars the only roof he could tolerate. He was calm and intense, his brown hair falling to his shoulders in a wavy mass that most girls envied. She’d once heard him tell Norah that his parents quit supporting him when he dropped out of the Citadel. His father would not tolerate his son dropping out of his alma mater, considering it a chromosomal error and therefore that Brenton was a man not good enough to be his son. Brenton hadn’t cut his hair since then or slept on any bed, not even a cot.

Amy and Nick reached the group and she introduced them one by one as she explained what each one did. Revvy was the leader and specialist in sea turtles and their endangered eggs.

Nick greeted each one as if they were old friends—pumping their hands, offering words of encouragement. They glanced sideways at her and she imagined she saw a newfound respect in their eyes; Nick changed her in their perception and, as before, changed her in her own.

It shouldn’t be this way—that another person could change her image of who and what she was and could do; but it was always that way with Nick.