“You can come in,” he said. He studied her as she rolled the upright vacuum into his office. She turned on the machine and began vacuuming in the corner of the room. Her long blond hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she looked much younger than her twenty-two years.

Shelly.

He knew so much about her. More than anyone else, perhaps. He turned back to the window. A sailboat was out in the sound, far beyond the marsh, leaning almost parallel to the water.

Suddenly, the noise from the vacuum stopped, and he turned to see Shelly staring at him. She looked worried.

“You seem unhappy again,” she said.

Sean looked down at the papers on his desk. He truly didn’t want to burden her with his problems. He never did. But right now he felt driven to tell her, his own personal confessor, what was troubling him.

1 he meeting with the priest certainly had not gone according to plan, Rory thought as he drove home from the church. He wouldn’t be able to get information on Shelly’s adoption from Father Macy, that much was certain. Sure, he could get the facts from public records, but he had wanted the priest’s angle on the emotions involved. Without either of the elder Catos still living, it was impossible to understand exactly why and how they had longed to adopt the foundling.

He was waiting at a stoplight when his eyes were drawn to the roof of a house across the street. Construction workers were on the roof, building a deck, and one of the workers was obviously a woman. Her back was to him, and she was leaning over, hammering, her khaki shorts defining her shape. Her narrow waist curved into trim, shapely hips, and he felt an instant, visceral attraction. Was this the sort of work Daria did, balancing on the side of a roof, wielding a hammer? His gaze drifted to one of the other workers, a man whose blond hair was tied back in a ponytail, and he realized the man was Andy Kramer, Daria’s coworker. Rory jerked his gaze back to the woman. She stood up from her task, and he saw the wild black hair. Daria. A grin broke out across his face. He was filled with warmth at seeing her up there on the roof, and he was surprised, and a little shaken, by his unexpected physical attraction to her. It was a bit like being attracted to your sister. Except that Daria was not his sister.

The driver behind him honked, and Rory quickly looked at the traffic light to discover it was green. He pressed on the gas, wondering how long he had been sitting there in a daze.

Later that evening, he and Zack were batting the volleyball across the net on the beach, when Kara showed up. She was dressed in a green halter top and short shorts cut low enough to display the gold hoop in her navel. Leaning against the post that supported the net, she watched the two of them, and Rory was aware of the vibrations passing between his son and the girl. No doubt, they wished he would disappear. He was superfluous now that Kara had arrived.

He happened to glance toward the Sea Shanty and spotted Daria standing on the widow’s walk, watching them.

“Hey, Daria.” He waved to her.

“Come join us so we can have two teams.”

He was pleased when Daria called back that she was coming down, and in a moment she was on the beach. She was still wearing the tank top and khaki shorts she’d had on when he spotted her on the roof.

“How do you want to divide up?” she asked.

“Kara and me against you guys,” Zack said quickly, and Kara walked onto his side of the net. “This is going to be too easy,” Zack said to Kara.

“I don’t know about Daria, but my dad’s an old guy with a screwed-up knee.”

Rory rolled his eyes at Daria. She was laughing.

The game began. Daria was one mean volleyball player. She could spike the ball over the net with unstoppable speed, and when she jumped for a shot, it was as though she had springs on her feet.

Rory touched her to position her on the court. He knew that at least half his touches were unnecessary, yet his hand seemed drawn to her. This was crazy. A few hours ago, he’d thought of her as his little playmate. Grownup now, yes, but still essentially that spirited, sexless child. One glimpse of her up on that roof and suddenly, her body beneath his hand was the body of a woman.

He and Daria won the game. They were both sweaty and winded, and his knee throbbed, but they savored the victory, celebrating with a hug.

Zack muttered something about having let the old folks win and refused to play again, which was a secret relief to Rory, who doubted his knee could handle a second game.

He collapsed on the sand, and Daria sat down next to him to watch Zack and Kara play one-on-one. Daria’s thick hair was loose and blew around her face in the ocean breeze.

“I saw you at work today,” Rory said.

“You were up on a roof, working on a deck.”

“Oh, yeah,” she said.

“Where were you? Driving by?”

“Uh-huh.” He still remembered how she looked up there.

“I was driving back from St. Esther’s. I had an appointment with Father Macy.”

She shifted on the sand to look at him.

“You did?” There was unmasked disapproval in her voice.

“He called me,” Rory defended himself.

“Oh,” she said.

“Well, how’d it go?”

Rory sighed.

“That man does not like me,” he said.

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, he’s sure not going to give me any information about Shelly’s adoption.”

“He cares very deeply for Shelly,” Daria said, brushing her hair back from her cheek.

“He’s trying to protect her.”

“Yeah, yeah. That same old song and dance,” Rory said tiredly.

“Nobody wants me to pursue this, except Shelly herself.”

“And Shelly doesn’t”

“Doesn’t know what’s good for her,” Rory finished the sentence.

“I

know that’s the party line. I just don’t buy it. I started wondering today if you know more than you’re letting on. If you’re trying to protect someone. “

“I’m trying to protect Shelly,” Daria said.

“She’s the only one I care about.” She shut up then. Zack and Kara were batting the volleyball back and forth in an easy rhythm, and Rory grew uncomfortable with the silence between Daria and himself. She was first to break it.

“I’m going to Rodanthe tomorrow,” she said suddenly.

“Rodanthe?” He thought of Grace.

“Why?”

“That’s where the pilot lived,” Daria said.

“I got the name and address for her parents, and I’m going to pay them a visit.”

“You move fast,” he said.

“Have you spoken to them yet?” “No, I thought of calling them first, but I think a face-to-face meeting would be better.” She was staring toward the ocean, stoic determination in her eyes.

“It’s going to be hard,” he said.

“Yes,” she agreed, “but so is not knowing how they’re doing.” She looked at him.

“I’m glad you pushed me to do this, Rory,” she said.

“At least, I’m glad right now. We’ll see how I’m feeling tomorrow night after I’ve seen them.”

“Well, while you’re down in Rodanthe, say hi to Grace for me. My mystery woman.” He lifted a handful of sand from the beach and watched it flow through his fingers.

“She doesn’t know what she wants. I was wondering about that illness she had. Maybe it was breast cancer.

Maybe she had a mastectomy. “

“You mean … you… Wouldn’t you know by now?”

He was confused for a moment, then realized what she meant and laughed ruefully.

“No, I wouldn’t know. I told you, she keeps me at arm’s length.”

Daria’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Still?”

“Still. She seems to want to be with me, but she shies away from physical contact. I don’t know if she’s still got a thing for her husband, or what.”

“It must have something to do with her illness,” Daria said.

“It’s time you asked her, don’t you think?”

He dug his feet into the sand, shaking his head.

“She’s not like you,” he said.

“You don’t seem to have a problem talking about anything.

Grace is very. closed. ”” When do you see her again? “

“Saturday. She’s coming to watch the hang-gliding competition with me.

Are you going? “

“I plan to. I haven’t been for a couple of years, but I want to root for my favorite priest.”

“Father Macy’s in the competition?” Rory asked. He’d forgotten that the priest was a hang-glider pilot.

“He wouldn’t miss it,” Daria said.

Suddenly, Daria jumped to her feet and ran onto Kara’s side of the net.

“Kara, girl,” she said, “you need to learn how to rush the net.”

Rory watched as Daria gave Kara a few tips, helping her jump higher, helping her place the ball where Zack didn’t stand a chance.

“No fair!” Zack complained after missing several of Kara’s shots.

“Show me how to do that.”

Daria stepped over to his side of the net to offer him the same training.

Rory leaned back on his elbows in the sand. He remembered the other night, when he’d sat with Daria on her porch steps, acutely aware of the unrelenting anguish the plane crash had brought her. He’d had his hand on the back of her neck, and he wished he’d somehow been able to absorb her pain through his fingertips to free her from it. He hoped her trip to Rodanthe served that purpose, that it eased her guilt and brought an end to her nightmares.

Kara pounded the ball across the net, and both Zack and Daria ran for it. They collided in midair and fell to the sand. laughing. Rory laughed with them, and he knew in his heart that he was watching two people he loved.

1 he day was blistering hot as Daria drove south to Rodanthe, and the heat rose from the road in shimmering waves. She’d barely slept the night before, rehearsing what she would say to the pilot’s parents, but with the meeting looming in front of her, she found she couldn’t think about it. Instead, her mind slipped back to the evening before, when she’d played volleyball with Rory, when he’d touched her on the court. The last thing she’d needed was his help; she was now and always had been a superior volleyball player to him. But she had needed that touch. She’d hoped for it, even moving herself into positions where she thought she might find his hands on her body. And he had read her need and touched her. It had felt like a dance, but she had to remind herself she was dancing alone.

So, he and Grace still were not lovers. She kept him at arm’s length.

A smile formed on her lips at the thought. He was most likely right about Grace: she’d probably had breast cancer, maybe a mastectomy. She always wore those high-necked bathing suits. Naturally, she was struggling with intimacy, and Daria was a grade-A bitch for taking any pleasure in that fact.

She drove across the bridge above the Oregon Inlet and through the green, undeveloped stretch of land that formed the Pea Island Wildlife Refuge. A short time later, she was in Rodanthe, the northernmost town on Hatteras Island.

The houses were fewer here on this narrow strip of land, and the sense of commercialism that permeated Kill Devil Hills was missing.

Rodanthe was so small that she found the street she was looking for with little trouble. She turned onto it, toward Pamlico Sound, and parked in front of the address she’d been given. The house was older, small and yellow, fronted by a tidy landscaped yard. There were no cars in the driveway, but there might have been one in the small garage at the rear of the property. She hadn’t thought about what she would do if no one was home. Maybe she should have called first.

She knocked on the door and waited.

“They’re not home.”

She turned to see a woman getting out of a car in front of the house next door, grocery bags in her arms. “Do you know where I can find them?” Daria asked.

“Probably at their store,” the woman said.

“It’s called Beachside Cafe and Sundries. It’s straight down that way.” She pointed toward the sound.

“Make a left at the fork.”

Back in her car, Daria followed the woman’s directions to the Beachside Cafe. She parked on the street and sat in her car for a moment, debating what she should do. She didn’t want to interrupt them at work with something this weighty. Maybe she could just tell them who she was and ask if there would be a more convenient time for her to speak with them.

With that plan in mind, she got out of the car and walked inside the cafe.

The cafe was small and crowded and smelled strongly of coffee. All the tables by the windows overlooking the sound were full, and a couple of women stood near the counter, waiting for their orders, Daria supposed. A very young woman—too young to be the pilot’s mother—carried a tray of sandwiches to the diners at one of the tables. Standing behind the counter, a dark-haired man worked the espresso machine. He glanced up as Daria approached.