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
“’Course he is!” Finn said. “I’m tellin’ you, Miss Kate, you ain’t gotta worry about that one. Peyton’s rock-solid. You can count on him to see a thing through.”
“Where is he?” Aunt Gert asked as Finn gathered up shrimp shells and carried them to a trash bin outside.
“The Daytona city jail!” Kate said. “Apparently, Herschel—he’s our police chief in Savannah—wrote him a letter of introduction so the chiefs would feed him and give him a place to sleep. Can you believe that?”
“Of course!” Aunt Gert said. “Honey, you and Marshall got it right with that boy. He’s grade A, a hundred percent. Did you tell him his sweetie called?”
Kate put the shredded cabbage into a mixing bowl, grated onion over it, and added sweet pickle relish and mayonnaise. “I debated it—didn’t know if it would make him feel better to know she called or worse because he missed it—but I told him.”
“You think she’s got it as bad as he does?”
“Yes.” Kate smiled at the thought of such a lovely girl being smitten with her son. “She’s just not ready to admit it yet. She told me how sorry she was to hear about Marshall and asked me a million questions about how Peyton was doing.”
Aunt Gert began heating a Dutch oven filled with oil, then joined Kate at the table, where she started breading the shrimp. “What about you, Katie?” she asked without looking up. “How are you doing?”
Kate mixed the coleslaw with a wooden spoon. “The best I can hope for is numb, Aunt Gert. When I think about Marshall, it’s like a raw nerve—like a physical pain that runs through my whole body. And to tell you the truth, if it weren’t for Peyton, I would’ve gladly gone with him.”
Aunt Gert stopped breading the shrimp and looked up at her. “But there is a Peyton. And he needs you—now more than ever. Best not to even let those thoughts enter your mind.”
Kate poured the slaw into a serving bowl, covered it, and put it in the icebox to chill. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. “How did you do it, Aunt Gert? How did you make it through?”
Aunt Gert began dropping shrimp into the hot oil. “Who says I’ve made it through?”
twenty-four
A beach-town jail was no place to get a good night’s sleep. Everything was fine till about ten o’clock, when all the carousers had downed enough beer and hard liquor to start causing trouble and get themselves hauled in. After that, the jail was a cacophony of slamming cell doors and ringing telephones and drunk men snoring. Plus it was hot and airless. The minute he saw a hint of sunrise coming through the bars in his cell, Peyton straightened up his cot and pushed his bike out. The police chief had told him it wouldn’t be a good idea to leave one that nice outside the jail.