Tarla inclined her head toward the welcome desk with a flirty flick of her eyebrows. Cab glanced in that direction and saw a woman in denim overalls staring intently at him. When their eyes met, she turned away. He didn’t know her, but she was about his age, black and skinny, with reddish corn-rowed hair. The red T-shirt under her overalls advertised a local landscaping company.

‘She looks quiet, but the quiet ones can surprise you,’ Tarla said.

‘You don’t say.’

‘I do say. I hear that librarians are ferocious in bed, for example.’

‘Where exactly did you hear that?’ Cab asked.

‘Oh, it’s true. What they lack in uncorrected vision they make up for in voluptuous curiosity.’

He knew better than to argue with his mother. He took a last look at the museum desk, where the black woman stared back at him again. Her puffy lips were pressed into a frown. She picked up a water tank as he watched her and headed outside to water the hanging flowers.

Cab offered Tarla his elbow, and she slung her arm through his as they left the welcome center and made their way uphill toward the tower. It was the top of the hour, and he heard carillon bells. The lawns around them were lush and manicured. Spanish moss swayed like a skeleton’s arms as a stiff wind rustled the tree branches. Quivering red and pink flowers dotted the bushes. As they climbed, the concrete trail gave way to spongy dirt. Bamboo clusters leaned over the path. Where the ground leveled, they could see the pink stone tower and its elaborate metal grilles on the far side of an algae-laden pond.

They sat on a bench. The bells played a medieval carol. Tarla stared at the tower, which was full of memories for her, and the breezy self-assuredness in her face gave way to something more tentative. She could smile and make jokes, but she didn’t want to be here.

‘I know this is difficult for you,’ Cab said.

‘More than I expected,’ Tarla admitted. ‘I never came back here. After.’

‘I’m not surprised.’

‘It’s a shame, because this was one of my favorite places as a child. Diane and I spent hours here. There were days in Hollywood where I would sit and think about what was going on at the tower at that very moment. Who was there. What the weather was like. What music might be playing. It got me through tough times, remembering this place.’

‘Did you ever regret leaving home?’ Cab asked.

‘You mean, did I ever think about going back to Lake Wales? To my old life? Yes, many times. Even after I’d broken through, I had fantasies of going back. As soon as you leave something behind, you start to think of it as an easier, simpler time. Which it probably was.’

‘Why did you leave in the first place?’