“Can I get you anything?”

“Well, aren’t you sweet! But no, thank you.”

Peggy Martell looked like a model or a movie star. She was tall and thin, with blonde hair done up in a French twist. Her skin was tan, her nails manicured, her makeup flawless. Peyton had a feeling Gina wouldn’t like her one bit.

Tapping her notebook with a pen, Peggy stared at Peyton and said, “Now—tell me the real story.”

“Ma’am?”

She grinned and winked as she reached across the table to touch his arm. “I don’t look that old, do I?”

“Oh—I didn’t mean—”

“I’m just having a little fun with you,” Peggy said as she leaned back in her chair. “But seriously, Peyton, I’ve read that piece on the wire service, and I have to tell you, I’m not buying it.”

“Not buying what?”

“That this whole thing is just you paying tribute to your dad. There must be another reason why you’re riding a bicycle the whole length of Florida. What’s her name?”

“Who?”

“The girl!”

“I never said there was a girl.”

“You didn’t have to. Is she pretty?”

“She’s beaut—now, wait a minute. I can’t bring her into this.”

“You’re not! We’re just talking. So you have a girl in Florida and you’re so madly in love with her that you just had to see her. Is that about it?”

“Well, no, ma’am, it’s not like that—”

“And she’s a blonde. Like me. I can feel it.”

“Her hair’s dark red, but that doesn’t—”

“How romantic! An alluring ginger siren to rival Titian’s Venus! Does she live here in Palm Beach?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Miami, then—or Key West? Does she live there?”

“Neither one—but ma’am, you’ve got this all wrong.”

“Perhaps she’s just visiting . . . Miami?”

“Well, I’m not sure if she’s there . . .”

Peggy leaned forward and fixed Peyton with a stare. “Tell me her name, Peyton. You know you want to.”

There was a time when he probably would’ve blurted it out, but Peggy had finally managed to conjure the image of Gina shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “No, ma’am,” he said. “I can’t do that.”

“Of course you can.”

“But I won’t.”

Peggy leaned back in her chair and stared him up and down, as if she were making some sort of calculation. “Well then, I guess we’re finished here.” She snapped her notebook shut.

“I guess so.” Peyton stood when she did.

She started to go but then turned and said, “You do realize I could make you famous, don’t you? I could make both of you famous.”

“Thank you, but I kinda am already, and she doesn’t want to be.”

Peggy hurried to the pool gate as if she had someplace far more important to be. Peyton finished his burger and looked across the deck to the ocean just beyond it. The sight of the surf made him think of Finn and Will. He wondered if his friend had won any more races in the number 10 car and if he was staying away from the casino and out of jail. Sometimes Peyton felt like all he did now was say goodbye—first to Lisa, then his father, then Aunt Gert, Finn, and his mother; then Will, Gina, and her family . . . All the goodbyes were beginning to wear on him. He found himself longing for reunion—not the artificial kind the Cabots orchestrated at their picnics, but the genuine reunion that Gina and her family enjoyed around Mama Eva’s kitchen table every Saturday night. He imagined what it would be like to have a family like that with Lisa—everybody laughing and gathering around the table, nobody worrying about which fork to use.