Contents ( 66)
- Cover
- Books by Valerie Fraser Luesse
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- Contents
- Map of Florida
- one
- two
- three
- four
- five
- six
- seven
- eight
- nine
- ten
- eleven
- twelve
- thirteen
- fourteen
- fifteen
- sixteen
- seventeen
- eighteen
- nineteen
- twenty
- twenty-one
- twenty-two
- twenty-three
- twenty-four
- twenty-five
- twenty-six
- twenty-seven
- twenty-eight
- twenty-nine
- thirty
- thirty-one
- thirty-two
- thirty-three
- thirty-four
- thirty-five
- thirty-six
- thirty-seven
- thirty-eight
- thirty-nine
- forty
- forty-one
- forty-two
- forty-three
- forty-four
- forty-five
- forty-six
- forty-seven
- forty-eight
- forty-nine
- fifty
- fifty-one
- Epilogue
- Keep Reading for a Preview of Valerie Luesse’s Next Book!
- Prologue
- one
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Back Ads
- Back Cover
“You never know. You might turn out to be the best there is. Here—you’ll need these.” The pilot took off his aviator sunglasses and handed them to Peyton. “If you’re going to fly, you need to see where you’re going.” Then he winked and walked away.
Peyton stared down at the sunglasses, which had an irresistible pull. He slowly raised them to his face and slipped them on. Instantly, they tamed the sun’s glare and made his way clear. One day, he was going to fly.
Some of the guys on base had helped him tune up his bike and put on new tires before he set off, and now he had left the mainland behind. Once on the Keys, Peyton expected to see ocean all the way but was surprised to find palms and mangroves blocking the view. It was a strange feeling. Pedaling through small island villages, past fishing camps and little motels, he would forget that he was in the middle of the ocean until a bridge pulled back the curtain, revealing the vast waters beyond the highway and redefining the supposedly solid ground he traveled: It was nothing more than a string of tiny stepping-stones floating in the deep.
Fish camps were his home as he stopped over in Islamorada and Marathon, finally closing in on Key West. Just as the sunrise pierced the darkness, he packed his bike and pedaled out to the one leg of his journey that gave him trepidation—Seven Mile Bridge, seven miles of two-lane highway surrounded by water. If he encountered any kind of trouble, there would be nowhere to go. He would literally be at sea. He felt for the St. Christopher medals hanging around his neck and turned them over and over between his fingers. If his dad could muster the courage to pedal a railroad track across the very same water—and trust the train wouldn’t change its schedule—surely Peyton could manage a smooth highway.
As he started across, the sun lit the sky enough for him to see the water. It took his breath away. Neither blue nor gray—the shades of the Atlantic—the water here was turquoise, more green than blue but not quite either. With the sun growing brighter, the water lit up, as if a fire were burning beneath it someplace far below the surface.
A passing fisherman pulling a boat waved and gave his horn a friendly tap as someone leaned out the passenger window to shout, “We’ll tell ’em you’re almost there, Bike Boy!” Peyton gave them a thumbs-up.
By the time he was midway across the bridge, the Florida sun was high and bright, and he found himself squinting. Pulling over and getting as close to the guardrail as he could, Peyton reached into his saddlebag and pulled out the aviator sunglasses. His view of the world immediately changed as he slipped them on, just like the first time he wore them. The shadows were gone, the glare dissolved, the roadway clear. He wasn’t afraid of Seven Mile Bridge anymore. It was taking him where he wanted to go, across a watery divide to Lisa.