Tristan's heart gave a sickening lurch. In that moment she reminded him so much of someone…someone he'd known a long time ago… "Wait just a minute," he began.

"We're gonna go into town, have dinner…maybe see a movie. Come on, Dad, it's my first day of vacation-I'm not gonna spend it sitting at home. Anyway-" she grinned wickedly and gave a kind of wiggle that made Tristan's hair stand on end "-I want to show Cory the local night-life. If he thinks he can handle it."

Jess made a strangled sound that could have been laughter or dismay. Tristan opened his mouth, but couldn't think of a response, because in his mind he was trumpeting all sorts of dire paternal threats and proclamations, the kinds of things fathers of daughters have always thought, but these days, at least, are seldom foolish enough to say out loud: Over my dead body! I'm gonna lock you in your room until you're forty and strangle with my bare hands any man who dares to touch you!

"I don't think that's such a good idea," he mumbled at last, scowling, realizing he sounded more pouty than paternal. "You're gonna need to get up early tomorrow morning."

Sammi June's laugh was incredulous. "Dad, hello. I'm used to studying until four in the morning, then getting up three hours later to take a test. It's not like I'm a child, can't be up past my bedtime."

"That's not the point-"

Cory leaned his head close to Sammi June's and murmured something to her under his breath. In response to which her chin jutted out and tilted upward, and her mouth took on a stubborn look her father well remembered. "The point is, Dad, I'm eighteen years old. You don't get to tell me what to do, okay?" With that, she stomped up the steps past him and into the house.

After a moment's hesitation Cory followed her, looking unhappy and apologetic. When he got to the top of the steps where Tristan was, he paused and said, "Look, man, I-" Jess touched his arm and shook her head, and he bit back whatever it was he'd started to say and went into the house.

When the door had closed behind them both, Tristan rounded on his wife and growled, "What the hell'd you do that for? Maybe I could've talked some sense into him, at least."

"And then what? Make an enemy of your daughter?" Her tone was mild, but her voice sounded shaky, which set Tristan back momentarily.

He scowled at her for a moment, then huffed in a disbelieving tone, "What, over a damn date?"

She made an exasperated sound. "A date? For heaven's sake, Tris, that's not what this is about. Can't you see she's in love with him?"

"In-" He gulped the word as if he'd been punched in the stomach with it. "What are you talking about? That's just…ridiculous. She's…hell, she's not old enough to be in love."

"Now that," said Jessie, "is ridiculous. She's the same age I was when I fell for you."

"And," Tristan blustered on, not hearing her, "he's sure as hell too old for her!" He paced a few steps one way, then the other. Rubbed his forehead, ran into a blackberry scratch and winced. "Should be ashamed of himself," he muttered. "Damn well ought to know better."

"It's not Cory's fault." She was trying to keep her voice down so as not to be overheard, but even so he could tell it was shaking again. "And by the way, he's the same age you were when I met you."

"Yeah," he growled heedlessly, "and we both know how that ended up, don't we?"

She was silent for a moment, just looking at him. Her eyes, in the deepening dusk, nevertheless seemed to shimmer. Then, very quietly, she said, "Yes. And if I remember correctly, that was my doing, not yours. You were all set to walk away."

He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again when he realized the shimmer in her eyes was tears. He looked back at her, and felt an ache in his heart that was part regret for her tears, part longing for that time of sunshine and happiness that was forever lost to him. "Why'd you do that?" he asked in a voice that felt as if it had rusted. "Call me back?"

"I knew what I wanted," she said softly. A tear spilled over and she brushed it away with a quick, angry motion. "And so does she."

His heart wasn't made of steel, and he'd never liked fighting with her. He would have gone to her then; he wanted to. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her close to the aching places inside him and forget everything about the past except the fact that he loved her. But when he made a jerky move toward her, she held up a hand to stop him, like a traffic cop, and turned away, shoulders hunched and back stiffened against him. Pain stabbed through him, pain as bad as anything he'd endured at the hands of his Iraqi jailers. He'd learned ways to endure that kind of pain, but this was something beyond his experience. She'd never done such a thing to him before.

He turned blindly and went into the house. Farther down the hall, in the alcove behind the stairs where the telephone was, he could hear Sammi June and Cory talking, evidently checking on movie schedules. He tightened his jaw and went up the stairs, wondering why his knee was bothering him again all of a sudden, when it hadn't for days. The motorcycle accident, he wondered, or self-pity?

In the bathroom he washed his face, then stood for a few minutes studying his reflection in the mirror. He'd avoided looking too long and hard at himself since he'd been back. He didn't like to think he'd ever been a vain man, but it had still been a shock, seeing himself for the first time after so many years. He'd barely recognized himself. He'd grown old. His hair had gray in it now, and his face had lines and hollows-not to mention scars-that hadn't been there before. He could hardly blame Jess for looking at him as if he was a stranger, when he was a stranger to himself.

It hit him then, like a cold blast of wind. Fear. Fear that the dream he'd carried in his heart for so long, the dream that had kept him alive, kept him sane, might never come to be. All he'd thought about, all those years, was getting back home, home to his wife, his daughter, his family. And now-well, he was back, but he sure as hell wasn't home, and his wife and daughter didn't seem to have places for him in their lives anymore.

He'd known there was a possibility Jessie might have married somebody else, of course, but he hadn't believed it, not really. And when he'd found out she hadn't and in fact was still his wife, well…he'd taken it for granted things would eventually take up pretty much where they'd left off, after a reasonable adjustment period. It hadn't ever occurred to him he and Jess might not be able to make it work again…ever.

Look to the future, Cory had told him. But he had to face up to the fact that he and Jessie might not have a future-not together. Face it. Staring into his own bleak and shadowed eyes, Tristan felt cold to the very depths of his soul.


* * *

So far, the weekend was turning out better than Jessie had expected. Tristan's friend Tom Satterfield's lake house wasn't on one of the big Savannah River Corps of Engineers' lakes, but on a small tributary lake on the South Carolina side. The house, set on a wooded knoll, was small but comfortable, a mobile home that had been improved and added onto and now had a huge covered and partly enclosed deck that overlooked the water and zig-zagging wooden stairs running down to the boat dock.

A set of house keys had been left with the Satterfields' next-door neighbor, who had been instructed to turn them over to Tristan along with the keys to the ski boat parked in the carport. The neighbor even helped Tris and Cory launch the boat, explaining as he did so that the tank had been filled up with gas not long before Tom-the lieutenant commander-had shipped out. The neighbor knew all about Tris and shook his hand warmly and wished him welcome home with a catch in his voice.

As Tris had promised, the house was clean and equipped with everything they needed, but Jessie had made up the beds with the sheets she'd brought with her, anyway, to save having to launder the Satterfields' linens before they left. The house was only a little stuffy and muggy from being closed up for several months, but the air conditioner soon took care of that, and by the time Jessie had made the beds and stashed away the groceries, the men and Sammi June had the boat launched and were tooting and waving at her from the dock.

There'd been thunderstorms in the night. Now it was midafternoon of a clear, hot and hazy day. Sunlight sparkled on brownish-blue water, and the air was busy with the sounds of boat engines of every description. Pontoons churned sedately up and down, passengers waving at one another or at friends on the docks they passed; bass fishermen patiently rode the wake-choppy waters in coves and inlets; water-skiers swooped and soared, sending up joyful roostertails of spray. And darting in and out amongst them all, the inevitable wave-runners and jet skis sounded-and annoyed-like angry hornets.

Jessie, slathered with sunscreen and wearing shorts, her bathing suit top, a hot pink sun visor and dark glasses, was occupying one of the ski boat's rear-facing seats. Sammi June and Cory were in the water-she was teaching him to water-ski-and it was Jessie's job as observer to tell the driver, Tristan, when he no longer had a skier attached to the other end of the nylon rope. Understandably, this had happened with great frequency at first, although Cory remained game and was staying up for longer and longer periods while Sammi June rode shotgun on a knee board, like a proud parent running alongside her child's first two-wheeler.

The latest run, in fact, was going amazingly well. Cory looked relaxed; he even seemed to be smiling as, following Sammi June's lead, he successfully navigated the wake. With the skiers riding on smooth water outside the wake, Jessie took her eyes away from them for a moment to glance back at Tris. Her heart seemed to swell and tremble inside her chest as she watched him guide the boat with effortless, well-remembered skill…big, raw-boned hands steady on the wheel, the wind riffling through his hair.

How incredible this must be for him, she thought. And how hard. Incredible because it had been so long since he'd known such freedom…such joy. Hard because she knew he'd have much preferred to be out there in the water himself; on a single ski, Tris had been poetry in motion. But, while he'd come a long way in the past weeks and in spite of his determination to build back his strength to what it had been before his capture, he was still a long way from being ready for the rigors of the sport of waterskiing. And thank God, Jessie thought, he was smart enough to know that. Still…it must be hard for him, and she wondered if that was why he'd chosen to wear knee-length shorts, sandals and a print shirt borrowed from C.J. instead of bathing trunks.

Or maybe, she thought as she turned back to the skiers, it was that he felt uncomfortable about showing his scars…

A moment later the run was brought to a halt when a jet ski, manned by two young teenagers, cut too close to the skiers. Jessie sent up a yelp as first Cory, then Sammi June hit the water, but Tris had seen trouble coming and already had the boat throttled down. He was swearing under his breath as he brought the boat around in a wide circle, trailing the tow grips.

"Those kids don't have good sense," Jessie said.

"They're gonna kill somebody," Tris growled, skillfully maneuvering the towlines so the skiers could grab them easily.

"That was a great run," Jessie called, as Cory, grinning and exuberant, paddled his ski toward the tow rope. "Hey-you guys 'bout ready to take a break yet?"

Cory's mouth opened, and so did Sammi June's. But instead of words Jessie heard a shout and, a split second later, a terrible, grinding crunch. For a moment she stared at the skiers, unable to process what could have happened to her hearing. Then behind her she heard Tris swearing loudly, angrily, as he put the boat in gear and headed it out across the water.

"Take the wheel," he shouted at her, already half out of his seat. And she saw what he had seen.

At the mouth of a small cove inlet maybe fifty yards away, the jet ski that had brushed past them minutes before lay in the water at a crazy angle. Next to it, a bass boat was slowly sinking. One of the teenagers, a girl with long blond hair, was clinging to the jet ski, dazed and disoriented. Her friend, buoyed by his life vest, was floating nearby, facedown in the water. Of the occupants of the bass boat there was no sign.

All this Jessie absorbed in the space of a few seconds-or split seconds-how could she know, when time moved in stops and jerks? And even as she was moving to take over the boat's controls, knowing she had no choice but to do so, she was screaming, "Tris-no! Don't you dare-Tris!"