raised her eyebrows at Hannah, and Hannah nodded, âdipped.â
Phil was bushy-browed and teenaged, his arms like fresh summer sprigs sprouting from beneath his short-sleeved uniform. âComing right up, honey,â he breathed.
Sarah Anne patted the stool next to her. âMaybe she doesnât believe in it.â
âWho? What?â
âYour mother,â Sarah Anne said softly as she began to tear a napkin into strips. Hannah noticed that several of the girlâs cuticles were bloodied. âYour immortal soul.â
Callum made it his mission to ease her fear of boats. She grew to like being on the water, the green hyacinth patches that spread like a shifting carpet.
Still, she watched the small waves bob the boat, knowing that any disturbance of the moss could be an alligator warring in the dim.
Callum guided them down tributaries sheâd never seen. She glimpsed the white-shingled roof of a mansion. Sparse notes, piano and cello and sometimes steel guitar, floated down from the summer homes. She wondered if Sarah Anne was in one of them, waiting for her, but sheâd lost the piece of paper with the womanâs address.
âWhy did you come here? To Louisiana?â she asked Callum one afternoon.
âI was driving around the South with a couple of high school friends, pretending that we were a proper band, and I met a girl here. She said the touring life wasnât for her, so the band went on without me. Yoko was the least of what they called her. She was trying to make it as a photographer, and when she was called away on a job up north, I went with her. We tried for a while, but it didnât take. Iâd always liked it here, so when that death knell sounded on our relationship, I came back. It turned into a joke, how everyone left me for the world, but I left everyone for Louisiana.â
âDid you love her?â Hannah asked, struggling to sound casual.
He turned off the motor. The silence was instant and absolute. He rested his elbows on his knees. âWeâre here. Iâve been up and down these waterways, but this is the most beautiful clump of trees Iâve seen.â
Hannah looked up into the gray, sun-stroked canopy, fragile as ancient lace.
âI come here to be alone sometimes. Thatâs Spanish moss hanging from the trees. Its closest relative is the pineapple, of all things.â Callum paused. âI did love her. And of course, it couldnât last. We didnât know that, at eighteen. People tell you, but you think you know better.â
âCan it last now? Is there a magical age?â Her own questions frightened her, as did the possible answer, but she found that she now hungered for comfort. Her life with Mae had been so insular, so self-sufficient, that sheâd rarely given thought to sharing her life with anyone else. Even Sarah Anne, whoâd flitted between boys, had once made a makeshift scrapbook for her future wedding. Rose petals preserved in hairspray were pasted carefully between faded ivory satin she hoped to one day be swathed in.
Callum drew a deep breath. âItâs possible with the right person.â
âDo you still love her?â She instantly wanted to take back the words.
He gave her a tender look. âIt was a lifetime ago.â
âI was eighteen two years ago,â Hannah said, squinting at a large estate on a hill, the moss trailing down toward the water. âShort lifetime.â
Moving slowly, he lowered himself on top of her and pinned her arms against the edge of the boat. âOver ten years for me. Thatâs a fifth of a life in some parts.â Hannah opened her mouth but he growled against her lips. âShut up, smartass.â
He settled in beside her as she snaked her arms around his neck, and the current made them undulate against each other. They closed their eyes and slow danced against the bottom of the boat, changing rhythms as the current drifted