Back on Route 1, driving, driving. They rode along in silence for a time, listening to the road slip beneath them. Shady struggled up from the back seat and licked at Asher’s face, then pressed his wet nose against Justin’s cheek before pushing himself into Justin’s seat. Justin kept his eyes on the road and one arm around Shady’s neck. Asher could hardly bear to watch this love blooming between his son and this new dog without thinking of their sweet, old boy Roscoe.

As the light increased, Florida Bay yawned out at their right, dotted with sailboats and small yachts, lined by houses of every bright color. On the left, the Atlantic, too big to comprehend.

islamorada, the sign said. Justin pronounced the town’s name aloud several times, more to himself than to Asher.

(Eye-la-more-ah-dah)

They passed over dozens of small Keys. They passed a hundred gas stations and motels and waters that sped by on either side. Justin begged to stop at the Theater of the Sea, and then at the Indian Key State Park, but they had to keep moving, and besides, it wasn’t even seven in the morning.

Justin watched the Gulf, pointing to what he thought might be dolphins.

There was the old railroad bridge, stretching out like a concrete mystery.

Conch Key.

“Look at that!” Justin pointed to a terrible plastic mermaid on a sign, welcoming visitors to the Tiki Bar.

Justin was feeling good this morning. He turned up a Tom Petty song and danced along in his seat. Asher watched him twisting around, thrusting one arm out the passenger window, the other against the Jeep’s roof, his eyes closed in satisfaction as he sang along. Asher had done the right thing and they could be happy like this every single day of their lives if everyone would just leave them alone.

“You’ve got good taste in music, little man,” Asher told him when the song was finished.

“I know it,” Justin said, and smiled.

9

9

The Everything

They walked out on the old bridge in the place where the Gulf waters churn against the Atlantic.

Justin dragged his hand along the rusted metal railing. The sun shone in his hair and Asher imagined how warm it would be to the touch.

The water beneath them—the Gulf of Mexico—was dark and blue, but up ahead, just past the bridge, were the emerald waves of the Atlantic. These were colors that were more than colors; they went beyond that into something magnificent. In all of Asher’s thirty-five years he had never seen anything that compared.