to put the last Archie story into a desk drawer. For good. “It’s not mine,” she’d told him. “It belongs to Leo and Matilda and someone who hasn’t even been born yet. It’s not the story I need to tell.” And still, he’d been so stalwart about helping her look for Leo, she knew he’d even gone off on his own a few times.
“I liked this place,” she said to him. “In spite of everything.”
“I liked it, too,” he said. They stood there, her hand in his, both of them looking a little giddy and a little tentative and a little sun-kissed and a little sweaty, and though she didn’t understand the heady optimism moving through her (she hoped it was her new work, but maybe it was just the sway of the dock? the swell of the water? Paul?), she decided to embrace it. To bear her own joy.
“Do you know what else I like?” she said, putting a hand on each of Paul Underwood’s shoulders.
FROM HIS USUAL CHAIR at the regular Friday morning bodega card game, the one facing the door, Leo had seen Paul the minute he crossed over to the drink cooler. He’d moved off to the side of the room and tried to stay calm while wondering what to do. The guys he was playing with would cover for him. He wouldn’t have to explain, just tell them that Underwood was trouble and they’d clam right up. He made his way to the restroom out back and locked the door behind him, wanting to think for a minute where Paul couldn’t ambush him. There were advantages to running, of course, but he was also curious, wondered who was with Paul. Bea, that seemed obvious. Paul and Bea had to be waiting for the 5:15 P.M. ferry, which was always at least fifteen minutes late. He wondered if anyone else had come looking for him. He had time to sneak over to the terminal and see who else was there. Melody maybe? Stephanie?
Or he could just walk up to Paul and ask. Man to man. Man to half man. Man to Underdog. Whatever. His siblings could find him but they couldn’t force him to do anything. He’d kind of been expecting this moment. Truthfully, he was surprised it took so long. Technically, he should have been in South Vietnam right now but—he’d gotten a little lazy.
He splashed his face with some questionable water from the sink marked NONPOTABLE and stepped back into the bodega. Paul Underwood was nowhere in sight. Had he not seen Leo? Leo was sure he had. Paul never did have a poker face. Leo decided to investigate.
Across the street, from a spot inside the tiny terminal building, he saw Bea sitting on the outside pier right away. Even in a crowd of American tourists, her clothes were ridiculously colorful. She was sitting on a bench, her legs out in front of her. Her gold sandals caught the sun. A tall woman stood next to Bea; her back was to Leo but he would know that long red hair anywhere. Stephanie.
He quickly moved toward the open doorway and right before he crossed the threshold, the redhead turned toward Leo and he stopped. It wasn’t Stephanie, not even close. This woman was too heavy and her face was sunburned and pudgy, almost piglike. He felt a surge of fury for this stranger who dared to look from behind like someone he now realized he’d been expecting to see. She hadn’t come.
As the ferry docked and started unloading its passengers, a few local teens began to play the steel drums, hoping to be the first recipients of the newly arrived tourists’ dollars. Leo watched Bea stand and say something to Paul that made him smile as she lazily dropped her arms over his shoulders. Even from a distance, Leo swore he could see Paul blush.
“Come on, Underdog,” Leo found himself silently coaxing. “Grow a pair.”
Paul slid one hand along Bea’s waist and pulled her closer, ran a finger along the line of her jaw and then cupped her face with his hand; right there, right in that moment, Leo watched Bea surrender. Exhale. He watched her knees collapse a bit and her elbows bend as she leaned into Paul and then they were kissing—as if they were alone, as if they were in love, as if for all time.
AFTER THE LONG AND HEADY KISS (Bea hadn’t ever expected to be kissed like that again in