He remembered the afternoon that last day when she reached for him, and he reached back. They were both voracious with need, stripping off their clothes in the heat of her bedroom, with the summer air blowing inside. The two of them, naked, hungry. Her mound, moist as he kissed it. Her gasping scream as he entered her. She hadn’t had sex with Birch in four years, she said. He hadn’t had sex since Vivian, and he thought he could erase her memory in a single afternoon in Diane’s bed. He remembered the lust of being inside her, this woman who was his mother’s best friend, and he remembered the burning shame afterward.

He left Florida that night. He never saw her again.

He began to run.

Cab heard the vibrations of his phone over the purr of the Corvette’s motor. He wondered if it was Lala, finally calling him back, but it wasn’t. Her absence made him angry. He needed her.

‘Cab, it’s Caprice,’ she said, her voice as fruity and intoxicating as a tropical drink.

‘Yes, it is,’ he said.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Actually, I’m about to drive to a federal penitentiary.’

‘Hamilton Brock?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Well, good luck. And thank you for helping Diane.’

Cab wondered if he’d ever really helped Diane, now or in the past. He remembered their eyes meeting the previous night, just for a moment. It brought back the guilt and shame. ‘I guess I can’t say no to my mother,’ he said.

‘Really? Here I thought you couldn’t say no to me.’

Caprice was flirting with him, and he liked it.

‘Are you checking on your new employee?’ he asked.

‘No, I wanted to see if you would go to dinner with me tonight.’

‘Tonight?’

‘It’s Saturday, Cab. That’s when people go out to dinner.’

‘Is this work or a date?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘I guess not.’

He thought about Diane, and the recollection of the afternoon he’d spent with her was still arousing. He thought about Lala and the intensity of their relationship. Fire in bed. Arguments out of it. And for days now – silence.

‘So?’ Caprice asked. ‘Shall we dance?’

‘Yes, we shall.’

‘Excellent. The Columbia in Ybor City at eight o’clock. Don’t be late.’

8

Peach watched Annalie Martine from her Thunderbird. The newest foundation employee – the woman who’d replaced Justin – sat at a table outside an ice cream shop in Indian Shores. The Saturday noontime traffic on Gulf Boulevard was a parade of weekenders making a beeline for the sand. The strip mall where Annalie waited was tucked among pastel hotels and condos, and bikini-clad teenagers pushed and giggled past her toward the white beaches. Annalie lazily licked a single scoop of maplenut ice cream from a sugar cone.