He was so strong that, even as he drove deep inside her, he made sure the rough bark didn’t abrade her skin. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, breathed him in, and climaxed long before she wanted to. He expected more from her. After letting her rest for a moment, he began to move inside her again, filling her, luring her, commanding her to join him.

The waterfall streamed beside them. Its crystalline gush mingled with her rough breathing, with his hoarse commands and husky endearments. Their mouths fused, swallowing the words. He dug his fingers into her bottom. A surge…a rush…and they, too, joined the flood.

Afterward they said nothing. As they headed back down the trail, he moved ahead of her, and she shocked herself by starting to cry. Those old feelings of wanting to belong had once again taken root inside her.

Dean walked faster, increasing the distance between them. She understood him too well. He slid in and out of relationships like other people changed clothes. Friends, lovers…It was all so easy. When one relationship ended, he had a long line of people waiting to step into the void.

He turned and called back to her—something about having worked up another appetite. She faked a laugh, but her pleasure in their encounter was gone. What had started out as nothing more than a silly sex game had left her feeling as fragile and defenseless as the child she’d once been.

A letter that had been forwarded from Seattle arrived from Virginia the next day. When Blue opened it, a photo slipped out. Six schoolgirls wearing filthy clothes and teary smiles posed in front of a simple wooden building in the jungle. Her mother stood in the middle, looking exhausted and triumphant. Across the bottom, Virginia had written a simple message. They’re safe. Thank you. Blue gazed at the picture for a long time. As she took in the face of each girl her money had saved, she let go of her resentment.

On Thursday afternoon, four days after the hike in the Smokies and two days before Nita’s party, Blue put the finishing touches to the walls. The murals no longer bore more than a surface resemblance to the original drawings, nor did they resemble the gooey landscapes of her college years. They were something else entirely—all wrong—but she couldn’t make herself fix them.