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
“Not the really big trawlers, but I know what to do on a decent-sized boat.”
“Got a license?”
“Yep. But . . . between you and me, I had a little . . . help getting—”
Millie held up her hand. “I don’t wanna know.” She reached under the counter, pulled out a paper map of downtown Key West, and drew the path Peyton needed to follow. “Once you get to the marina, ask for Captain Wally Whitehead and tell him I sent you.”
“Hey, he’s the other Whitehead I told you about—the one who gave me a ride to the base,” Peyton said.
“Whole island would sink right into the ocean without us. If he thought you were worth helpin’ once, he’ll help you again.”
Outside, Peyton slipped on the aviators and took Lisa by the hand. “Where to, ma’am?”
“No place in particular,” she said. “Can we just ramble?”
They wandered both sides of Duval Street, in and out of shops selling everything from hats and sunglasses to books and Cuban cigars, stopping now and then for a Coke or a limeade or a scoop of mango ice cream.
Lisa drifted toward an open-air restaurant where a Cuban band was playing to a packed dance floor. “Never saw moves like that before,” Peyton said as he stood behind her, looking over her shoulder. “Wonder if Aunt Gert knows how to do that.”
“From what you’ve told me, I’ll bet Aunt Gert knows how to do everything.”
“Want to give it a try?” Peyton suggested.
“You mean dance like that?”
“Well, we’re here . . .”
Lisa peered through the entryway, watching the dancers, then tried to help Peyton mimic the steps. “Okay, your left hand goes on my waist and mine goes on your shoulder . . .”
They were taking their first awkward steps on the sidewalk outside the restaurant when they heard a voice behind them. “The danzón is not about counting. It is about courting.”
They turned to see an older man, probably in his seventies, watching them from a few yards away. His skin looked like fine leather aged to a rich brown, and his hair was white as a cloud. He wore white linen trousers and a pale blue shirt with short sleeves, a panama hat with a black band, and black leather sandals.
“Sir?” Peyton said.
“You are counting,” the man repeated. “You should be courting.”
“What do you mean?” Peyton asked.
The man took an imaginary partner in his arms and danced his way to Peyton and Lisa. His steps were smooth and easy, his eyes never leaving the invisible woman dancing with him. When he stopped, he gave them a little bow and said, “I am Silvio.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Peyton shook the stranger’s hand. “I’m Peyton and this is Lisa.”
“You are not conch?” Silvio said.
“No, sir,” Peyton said. “Kinda wish we were, though.”
“What’s conch?” Lisa asked Peyton.
“It means local.”
Silvio took a few more dance steps with his imaginary partner. “You wish to dance como un Cubano?” he asked them.