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“It was his loss.”
She smiled. “By the way, my friends approve of you. They think you’re nice, even if they’re still not a hundred percent sure it was a good idea for me to join you today.”
“They could have tagged along.”
“It’s not that they’re afraid you’re going to do anything,” she explained. “It’s just that I’m the youngest, and sometimes I think they feel they have to watch out for me.”
“Like your parents?”
“Exactly. According to them, I’ve led a sheltered life, which makes me a bit naïve.”
“Are they right?”
“Probably a little,” she admitted with a laugh. “But I think most people in college are naïve. It sort of goes with the territory, especially if you grew up in a nice neighborhood and had a good family. What do any of us really know about the real world, right? Of course, if I said that to my friends, they would add that I’m also being defensive.”
I glanced over at her. “For what it’s worth, you don’t strike me as naïve,” I said. “You carry Mace, after all.”
“I think they’re talking about my emotions.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so instead, I steered the conversation to easier topics. We talked about movies and songs we liked, and after I explained how my uncle had taught me to play the guitar, she told me that she knew the words to practically every song in half a dozen Disney movies even before she started school. She talked to me about her years in dance and the concerts she’d performed and raved about her private vocal coach in Chicago. Even in college, she’d traveled to see him every other week, despite the other time-consuming requirements of her major. When she finally mentioned the names of the managers she would meet in Nashville and the singers they represented—as well as their strengths and weaknesses—along with the vagaries of the music business in general, I thought again that Morgan was a lot more than a pretty face. There was a sophistication to her that I’d never seen in someone so young, and I was struck by the realization that my own attempts at chasing my dream had paled in comparison. While she’d been thoughtfully building her skills one step at a time and laying the groundwork for later success, I’d just been having fun.
Strangely, I wasn’t jealous about that, nor was I jealous that she’d had advantages and opportunities that I didn’t. Instead, I was happy for her, mainly because I remembered how much the dream had once meant to me. I also simply liked listening to her talk, and I realized the more I learned about her, the more I wanted to know.
When we reached Fort De Soto Park, I followed the signs and parked in a gravel lot near a wooden shack that offered kayaks for rent. Both of us got out of the truck and headed toward the attendant, who took the cash and handed each of us a paddle and a life preserver.
“If you have suits, you might want to leave your clothes in the truck,” he suggested as he put the money in the register. “Unless you don’t mind being wet when you drive back to wherever you’re going.”
Back at the truck, I did my best not to stare as Morgan stripped to her bikini. I set her clothes and mine on the front seat and grabbed my sunglasses and a baseball hat out of the glove compartment. I watched as Morgan placed her phone into a waterproof case, something I hadn’t even thought to bring.
“Do you need sunscreen?” she asked, reminding me of something else I’d forgotten. “I brought some if you didn’t.”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
She squeezed the tube, dispensing lotion into my hand, which I smeared all over my arms and face.
“Do you want me to get your back?” she asked.
I wasn’t about to say no—I liked the thought of her hands on me—so I nodded, and soon enough I felt the lotion being spread on my skin, a sensation more intimate than she probably assumed it was. “Do you need me to get your back, too?” I asked.
“I had Maria do it earlier, but thanks.”
When we were done, we put on the life jackets and carried the paddles toward the kayaks, which were already at the water’s edge. The attendant gave us a quick lesson about how to hold the paddles, the importance of long, smooth strokes, and how to paddle backward to help change direction. Finally, he issued directions to a channel that led through the mangroves.
“Will we capsize?” Morgan fretted as she stared out at the water.
“These kayaks are pretty wide, so I wouldn’t worry,” the man said. “Hop in and I’ll give you a shove.”
We each climbed into our own kayak, feeling it bobble slightly. At the man’s instruction, I bent my knees slightly and watched Morgan glide backward toward me after her kayak was launched. We turned and started paddling over the glassy water.
“It hardly wobbles at all,” Morgan announced, sounding surprised.
“That’s because you weigh fifty pounds.”
“I weigh a lot more than that.”
“How much more?”
“I’m definitely not going to answer that question.”
