Chapter 1

Chuck sprawled out on the hotel room bed as if he were the victim at a crime scene. Beads of sweat were fresh on his forehead. He yanked off his shirt and threw it against the wall. "Oh, yeah!" His dark, wavy hair – which led his mother to call him Elvis Jr. on occasion – stood almost at attention after the shirt ruffled it, making him look like a dark-haired Albert Einstein. The cool covers clung to his moist back, which was killing him after the four-hour trip to paradise. In the eyes of most of his peers, Full Moon Harbor had little to offer. It was a community of Canadian transplants, retirees, summer rentals, tacky tourist traps and overpriced restaurants. But it had his hometown beat on the only thing that mattered to him, and there she was, just outside his door: the ocean. And he had always thought of the ocean as where Heaven meets Earth.

Actually, it was the Gulf of Mexico, but it sure as hell beat the muddy, gator-infested Flint River on which Henderson was built. He loved the water, even if it was just tubing down the Flint with his buddies, but he loved nothing more than the ocean. He had been to Panama City a couple of times before on spring break, but that was different. The ocean was a mere backdrop for the half million drunk, sex-crazed teenagers and college kids in Panama City. In Full Moon Harbor, however, the ocean was the reason you were there.

Full Moon Harbor was actually across the bridge from his hotel, but he could see it from the parking lot. You could see those high-rise condominiums for miles. He was in Crescent Beach, a community of native Floridians who staffed the hotels and restaurants of Full Moon Harbor. There were no high-rises in Crescent Beach. This was where the less-privileged stayed when lured to Full Moon Harbor by colorful brochures only to find out that there were no hotel rooms to be had for less than a hundred dollars a night. In actuality, though, the sand, the waves and the sun were no different across the bridge. And he knew it. Sure, his temporary home had all the characteristics of a cheap Florida hotel right down to the lame name -- the Seabreeze Inn. But it had a bed, an air-conditioner, a pool, a TV, a phone and, above all else, an ocean. He could have paid a hundred dollars a night and been able to walk a hundred yards to the ocean. Here, he paid two hundred dollars for a whole week and still could walk just a hundred yards to get his feet wet.

He did not need much more than the room offered. He was not a man of luxury. At 22, he was fresh out of college. He drove an eight-year-old truck. He grew up in a standard three-bedroom home. He mowed grass and delivered newspapers to earn extra money during junior high school. In high school and college, he made ends meet by working part-time at Mr. J's Steakhouse and with the golf course maintenance crew at the Henderson Country Club. He learned to play golf there, taking up the game up at the age of 15 at the urging of the club's assistant pro who recognized his raw talent. He saved enough money for a set of used clubs and the pros allowed him to play sometimes on his off days when the course was not busy with club members. Other times, he honed his swing at the driving range. Though Henderson High had no golf team, he earned golf scholarship with the local college, Southwest Georgia, after the coach saw him play a few times at the club. He was no great golfer, but good enough for a Division III school. He knew he had no future on the PGA Tour and never even dreamed about it. All he wanted was to go to college, something no member of his family had ever done. Without that scholarship, he never could have afforded to go to college, never would have gotten a degree in accounting and never would have been able to pull up stakes to take an accounting job in Full Moon Harbor. Nor would he have been able to marry Rachael Etheridge.

They weren't married yet, but they were engaged. Rachael still had one more quarter to go. They met at the club. She was the daughter of the family that owned half of Henderson. They ruled the country club. He was from a family of poor, but hard-working country folks just outside the city limits. His father worked for the local pulp mill, while his mother was a secretary at the courthouse. He and Rachael kept their relationship secret for nearly a year. But it was bound to come out sooner or later, and they revealed it to her parents before the senior prom in high school. They didn't say much to him, but he knew they objected in private. But Rachael stuck with him all through college. And he won the Etheridges’ respect, even if he wasn't their first choice, by pursuing a degree and a career, and by treating their daughter better than they could expect any other boy to do. He was honorable.

She would join him when the quarter was over. They would marry and eventually return to Henderson to build a family. They both agreed that while Henderson was home, they wanted at least a couple years away from home to begin their lives together. But, for now, it was just him and his mistress, the ocean. He had a few days before starting work and had no plans other than lying on the sand and relaxing in the surf. He had worked or studied every day since he was 13 years old. The break was well-deserved, he figured. Not once had he let himself go. Even when he had accompanied his friends on spring break, he carried books with him. He drank beer and got rowdy with them at night, but in the early afternoons while they were recovering from hangovers, he was studying. Chuck bore no concept of relaxation, but he was willing to give it a try.

He first saw the ocean at age nine on vacation with his parents in Savannah. All they could afford at the time was a three-night stay, but it was enough for him to decide that life was incomplete without the ocean. Henderson was home, but the ocean was paradise. It didn't matter whether it was Savannah, Miami or Full Moon Harbor, he was determined his entire youth to live on the beach. Back home, he did everything he could to simulate the beach from listening to Jimmy Buffett and cassettes of surf sounds to decorating his tiny bedroom with posters of beach scenes. But there was no substitute for the real thing.

He opened the sliding glass door and stood on the concrete just outside the room. He stared at a sailboat in the distance. Could it be on the way to some exotic island? He could not fathom such freedom, though it was probably just a local boat anyway, he reasoned. It was fun to dream of sailing off into the blue horizon, but who really had such courage? Only a very few, and probably very rich. His mistress beckoned him, running her salty fingertips through his hair on a warm breeze. Just wait, he reassured her. I'll be along shortly.

Chuck was cool now. Even cheap Florida hotels boasted air-conditioners that could put icicles on the ceiling in a matter of minutes. The difference in the price of the hotels was not reflected in the coolness, but was directly proportional to the amount of rattling in the unit. And this one rattled like hell. No matter, he figured. He would not be living in the room forever, and he planned to spend his days on the beach and nights with the gulf breeze blowing through his room. He would simply run the air-conditioner on full blast while he was not in the room and cut it off when the room temperature hit 15 degrees or so. That would keep the room cool for at least an hour, even on the Panhandle.

Chuck donned a dry shirt, refreshed his face with a cool washcloth and tamed his Elvis Einstein hair. Then he paid a visit to the nearby lobby to sample the brochures featuring the area's attractions. There was nothing revolutionary in the rack of pamphlets, brochures and coupon books. It was dominated by marketing for an aquarium around the block, various day cruises and fishing charters, batting cages, amusement parks, an alligator farm and outlet centers. Just another Florida lobby.

"Looking for anything in particular?" a meek female voice asked.

"No." He didn't turn around. He didn't need any help. He wasn't going anywhere. He wasn't going to swing any bats in a cage, and he'd seen enough alligators on the Flint River to last him a lifetime.

"You just check in today?" She wasn't going to be ignored, so he relented. She was a short girl with spunky, shoulder-length blonde hair. Judging by her face, he might have figured her to be 11, maybe 12. But judging by the way her hotel uniform was painted onto her body, there was no doubt she was a teenager in full bloom. Her golden skin was no stranger to the brutal Florida sun and would probably be wrinkled beyond her years by age 40. He hadn't been interested in striking up a conversation, but couldn't turn down her wide smile and bright, blue eyes that screamed innocence. Yet, he sensed that her naivete was a front for a mischievous personality. Maybe even downright naughty.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Ma'am? I'm just 17. Don't be calling me ma'am. Where you from, and, uh, who you here with?"

"Georgia ... and no one," he responded as he fidgeted with a brochure advertising a dolphin watch cruise.

"You lookin' for something to do?"

"Not really. I just got a new job down here and was just trying to get a feel for things. You could tell me if there's a good seafood place around here, though, and maybe a jazz bar or something where I could get a drink."

"Jazz bar? I don't know about that, but there are a lot of bars along the boardwalk right there as you go into Full Moon Harbor. And there are a lot of little places to eat on into Crescent Beach. Most of the restaurants in Full Moon Harbor are for tourists, you know, seafood places that'll run you about 15 bucks for the least little thing. If you head up back toward the Air Force base, there are a lot of barbecue and steak places and some reasonably priced seafood joints. But if you're looking to go out and have fun, you've gotta go to the boardwalk, even though it is a Monday night and will probably be a little tame."

"Actually, tame is just fine for right now."

"I'd be glad to show you around," she offered.

"Isn't it a school night?"

"Not 'til next week."

"Well, I'm really just looking for a regular meal tonight. I can wait on the bar scene. Besides, I'm engaged and supposed to stay as far away from pretty girls like you as much as possible. Maybe I need to just find a hole-in-the-wall bar where just the guys hang out." He wasn't interested in pursuing this ingenue, but rather enjoyed the fleeting temptation. The brief moment of gazing into those baby blues was interrupted by a vision of Rachael. Trusting, devoted, dependable, predictable Rachael. He was ashamed of himself. He wasn't flirting, but knew he was doing little to discourage the clerk. He broke the stare and turned toward the door. “I better go.”

"Well, I was just being friendly. By the way, I'm Mindy," she said as she extended her hand across the counter.

"Chuck," he responded as he lightly shook her hand.

"Well, Chuck, I'm up here every afternoon from four to eight and nine to four on Saturdays if you need anything. And if you change your mind, I'll be glad to show you around the boardwalk sometime. It's really no big deal. I'm up there every Friday and Saturday night anyway."

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." He hurried out the door before he changed his mind about a night on the town. He couldn't remember being so physically tempted since he first hit puberty and noticed the tomboys around town sprouting breasts faster than a kudzu patch grows after a summer rain. While Rachael had the grace and poise of a high-society woman and took pleasure in the planning of a wedding that would no doubt entail a horse and carriage and a lot of rule, Mindy seemed reckless and impulsive. The twinkle in her eyes said, "I want to dance and party." Rachael's eyes said, "I want a Mercedes and a maid." He couldn't satisfy either just yet.

As he walked down the breezeway toward his room, he glanced back into the office to catch one last glimpse of the young temptress. She was being berated by a man, obviously her boss, who appeared to be about 30. Chuck reasoned it was an admonishment for fraternizing with a guest. The admonishment was well-deserved, he figured. What if he had been some lunatic killer? You can't be too careful in Florida. Mindy, especially with her blossoming body, did not need to be offering to show complete strangers around town.

As he inserted the key into his doorknob, he looked left along the four doors between him and the office. A part of him hoped Mindy was walking behind him, offering him one last chance to change his mind. She wasn't. He had suddenly become hungry, starving actually. He donned a pair of khaki pants and a golf shirt nice enough to get him into any restaurant along the beach. He rushed to his old Toyota Tacoma. He had to find a restaurant fast, else he might starve to death. His blood sugar must have fallen, for his hands were trembling. He had succeeded in convincing himself he was indeed in dire need of food, not merely a refuge from temptation.

The Blue Dolphin was a touristy restaurant, decorated with ship wheels and fishing nets, but it did have a nice view of Full Moon Harbor's marina. Chuck ordered a frozen margarita to have while looking over the menu. He rolled his eyes as the waiter asked for his ID and quickly flipped his wallet open to get through the embarrassing procedure as quickly as possible. He never had to show ID back home. Nobody checked ID there, maybe because everyone knew him. Now, he was a stranger.

He watched the occasional craft coming into the harbor after a day of fishing. The fishing boats, with their paint peeling and rust on every metal part, didn't stop. They continued past the marina into the Thronateeska Bay under the Highway 98 bridge that linked Full Moon Harbor and its less-fortunate neighbor, Crescent Beach. The marina was reserved for yachts, mini-yachts, loaded fishing boats and the kind of sailboats for which burned-out yuppies abandoned the suit-and-tie business world to find Margaritaville.

He wondered if he could work a few years in the accounting business, live modestly and then buy one of those boats and do charter work and accounting on the side. But it was a very fleeting thought. Rachael would never go for it. She had plans for them, in Henderson. He'd never have to struggle for clients, and they wouldn't have to leave their friends, who were just as unlikely to put down roots far away. Besides, her family practically owned the town of residential streets boasting antebellum mansions and 300-year-old live oak trees dripping with Spanish moss like the Southern accents that dripped from the mouths of the ladies who took over the country club each Thursday for bridge and tea.

He dined on red snapper, a treat he could rarely get back home, but somehow it didn't taste quite right all alone. Even though he was a loner, the reality of being a couple hundred miles away from his nearest friend made him feel uneasy. He was not lonely, but it just didn't feel right, like someone wearing glasses their whole life and switching to contacts. He had gotten used to his friends, family and fiancée being around all the time even when he preferred being alone. They were always there, and he had come to terms with that fact. Now, the thought of going back to watch TV in the hotel room did not interest him as much as it did before he hit the road to Florida. Then again, he was not really alone. There were those thoughts plaguing his mind like a swarm of mosquitoes. He ordered another drink.

He turned down the air-conditioner as soon as he entered the room. It had done its job and he wanted only to hear the surf, not that rattle. After checking the Braves' score, their third straight win, he dropped the wine coolers into the hotel ice bucket, put his shorts back on and walked down the breezeway to the ice machine, where the clanging of the cubes hitting the bottles generated an echo in the near-empty hotel. He then stopped by his car to grab his portable cassette player. In accordance with the plan he created in his mind long before he left Georgia, he tromped down to the beach until he found the perfect vantage point for worshiping the sunset while catching a buzz to the tune of Andy Narell on the steel drums, a jazz artist who for the past year had taken Chuck to the Caribbean from an electrical outlet in the corner of his tiny bedroom in Henderson. The setting sun had lost its ferocious heat and blinding glare. It seemed tired, and the air was warm, not hot. Crescent Beach was quiet, with the exception of the violent crashes of four-foot waves a couple dozen yards away.

He was working on his second bottle a half hour later when he heard, "Hey, again." No longer in her red hotel uniform, Mindy was now wearing cut-off blue jean shorts, sandals and a loose-fitting white T-shirt that had been cut with scissors to show off her tight tan abs. Though she had filled out that uniform unbelievably, this fitted her, for she was a natural beauty. She wore no makeup, and her hair was styled only by the breeze and bleached only by the sun. No made-up Miss America contestant could hold a candle to her in the cut-off jeans competition. He smiled, unwittingly.

"I always walk out here when I get off work." She didn't wait for his permission to create a seat in the sugar-white sand beside him. "What you drinkin'?"

"Fuzzy navel wine coolers"

"Can I have a swallow?"

"You're not gonna get in trouble, are you?"

"Nah."

"Sure?"

"Yeah." He handed her an unopened bottle of her own.

"I'm not bothering you, am I? I'm not supposed to mingle with guests, but I don't see anything wrong with being friendly."

"No, no, you're not bothering me, not at all." He stared at her the same way he had watched the sunset for the previous 15 minutes, but, still, he wasn't aware that he had been so mesmerized. But anyone else looking at his face would know for sure, or would think he had just been hit in the head with a bottle, like on those old westerns. "But I don't want you to get in trouble with your boss."

"Don't worry about it. I'm not. I bet your girlfriend, I mean, your fiancée is very pretty," she said, looking away and twirling her index finger in the soft, cool sand.

"She's very nice."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah."

"If you weren't engaged, would you have gone to the boardwalk with me?"

"In a heartbeat."

She kissed him on the cheek. "You're so cute and sweet. I should have known you were taken." She stood up and slowly walked back toward the hotel, leaving a half-full bottle stuck in the sand. "I'd better head on before David catches me out here talking to you. I'll see ya 'round."

"Yeah, see ya."

"By the way, if you change your mind about going out tonight, there's a cool bar called Sharky's on the boardwalk in Full Moon Harbor. I think you'd like it. I go there a lot."

He could not help but ogle her from behind as she sauntered back to the hotel. Her body swayed with each step, but it was no exaggerated motion for his benefit. It was just the way she walked. When she disappeared around the corner of the building, he turned back to watch sun sink into the sea, but it was gone. Lights at hotels, condominiums and bars were flickering on down the beach toward Full Moon Harbor. The only natural light left was the glow from the purple and orange clouds over the gulf. He gulped down the remnants of his drink and picked up Mindy's bottle. "No sense letting it go to waste," he reasoned out loud. He finished the drink, savoring not the taste of the wine, but the knowledge that her lips had just been there.

Chuck bolted upright in bed. He had no idea where he was. He reached in the direction of the ring. "Hello?"

"Hey baby!"

"Rachael?"

"Well, of course, baby. Who else would be calling this late?"

"Uh, I don't know. What time is it?"

"Ten-thirty. You hit the sack pretty early, didn't you? It's just nine-thirty your time."

"Yeah, I guess that long drive kind of caught up with me. How was your day, baby?"

"Great. I got registered for classes and got everything I needed. I tried to call about six, but you were gone."

"Yeah, I had supper at some seafood place."

"Mmm, I wish there was a good seafood place here, too. Well, I'll let you go back to sleep. I'll call you tomorrow when I get off work, OK?"

"OK."

"I love you."

"You, too."

After a couple of failed lunges, he managed to place the receiver back onto the phone. He slid out of bed and stumbled to the sliding glass door, to see the moonlight reflect off the waves. He marveled at how the gulf seemed so lively and fun during the day, but so mysterious and dangerous at night. He wouldn't dare go swimming in it at night, even though there was no difference. Same water, same waves, same swimming stroke. But swimming in the sea after dark, there was just something scandalous about it, even if there were no rules against it. It was risky, reckless, maybe even kinky in a non-sexual sort of way. Or maybe it was just "Jaws." No matter how much he tried to relax in the water on his few previous beach trips, he was all too aware that he wasn't alone in the water. There were constantly things around him, under him, behind him. Things that stung, things that bit, things that chomped girls in bikinis. But at least he could see them coming in the daytime. And perhaps the shark could see him, too, and see that he was not wearing a bikini and move on.

Chuck was accountant number five out of the five accountants at Wells & Stephens. Sam Wells took Chuck under his wing the first week. He was an acquaintance of Frank Etheridge, Rachael's grandfather, and Chuck knew that likely played a role in his landing the job. Mr. Etheridge had a condo in Full Moon Harbor. He was a retired judge and kept himself busy deep-sea fishing, golfing and investing in real estate along the undervalued Gulf Coast, which ran from Full Moon Harbor all the way down near Crystal River. Chuck earned his keep at the office, but drew far more praise for his 70 in the Wednesday afternoon tournament at the par-72 Thronateeska Bay Country Club. The office was closed every Wednesday afternoon for the tournament. Deals were made on the golf course. And his play was a big deal, conquering the course in his first go-round.

He buried himself in his work, though, not golf. He worked late familiarizing himself with accounts and made a couple of stops at a driving range, anything to keep from bumping into Mindy. He had yet to convince himself he could keep turning her down. He was spoken for and considered himself an honorable man. But he was just a man and could be tempted. He had grown up with little more than his self-respect and felt that he was nothing without it. If that meant hiding from Mindy, so be it.

After work on Friday, it seemed every car he passed was filled laughing teenagers and Generation Xers bound for a night on the town. Every other business he passed was a bar or restaurant alive with patrons. He thought back to those nights in Henderson when he was a teenager, hanging out in front of the bowling alley and paying drunks to buy him some beer from the liquor store. These kids here don't appreciate what they've got, he thought. Not only do they have places to hang out and bars everywhere, but they've got a hell of a lot better view than the parking lot of the bowling alley back home.

"This is crazy," Chuck said aloud as he threw an empty wine cooler bottle into the trash can. It was just past 7 p.m. and he was watching "Jeopardy" while waiting for Rachael's nightly phone call. Even the thought of stepping out onto the beach and watching the sunset was losing its appeal. He was getting cabin fever. The call came sooner than usual.

"Hey, baby!" squealed the voice from the receiver.

"Hey," he mumbled back. She seemed especially perky. He recognized the giggles and laughter in the background as those of Rachael's Kappa Delta sisters. "Are you up on the KD floor?" The Kappa Deltas did not have a sorority house, but did have the run of the third floor of one dormitory.

"Yeah, we're going to the Kappa Sig house for a rush party."

"Kappa Sigs? What for?" Chuck never aspired to be in a Greek organization. Every single member of the college golf team was a Greek, and he didn't like a single one of them. He attended a few open parties during his college days and decided that was all he needed. He wasn't much into brotherhood, especially if you had to buy it. He called them "rent-a-friend" clubs. He had better things to do with his money, like saving it.

Rachael, on the other hand, had no choice but to follow in her mother's and older sister's footsteps into the ranks of the Kappa Deltas. She was also a Sigma Chi little sister. The Sigma Chis were the preppiest frat on campus, and Chuck knew several from the golf team. They recruited him every year, if for no other reason than to clinch the interfraternity golf championship. At least he could tolerate them. The Kappa Sigmas, however, were rowdy and the Sigma Chis' biggest rivals. Parties at the Kappa Sig house usually ended with a visit by the police.

"They're supposed to have an awesome band over there. And, well, the Sigma Chis have got some nerdy pledges this year."

"I don't want you hangin' out at the Kappa Sig house, Rachael. I mean, they've always got fights happening and I've heard of girls getting gang-raped and stuff. You're too old to be hangin' out with those rednecks!"

"Geez, lighten up Chuck. We're just gonna go over there and dance and have a few drinks. It's nothing to get all bent out of shape about. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. Don't be so overprotective."

"I just don't want to see you get hurt!"

"I'll be OK. I'll tell you what. I'm gonna see what I can do about coming down there in a couple of weeks and we can spend some quality time together on some dark corner of the beach." He heard a collective "Woooooo!" from the sisters eavesdropping on their conversation. "How does that sound?"

"Well, uh, you don't care if I go out and have a margarita somewhere tonight, do you? I'm tired of sitting around this damn hotel room."

"Fine with me. I know I can trust you. See how easy that is. But be careful. They're strict about drinking and driving down there. Well, we gotta go. I love you."

"You, too."

"Bye."

The sun was setting over the Gulf as Chuck settled into his chair at Fat Tuesday, an open-air bar overlooking part of the marina that he had seen from his table at the Blue Dolphin earlier in the week. He licked the salt around the cup of his frozen margarita as he watched middle-aged and elderly men clean and secure their crafts for the evening. For the first time in a week, he was soaking up the atmosphere again. It was about 78 degrees with a sticky breeze. The light jazz sounds of the bar and the alcohol helped him relax after getting worked up over Rachael's announcement that she would be spending the night at a wild party. Still, he was glad she wasn't with him in Full Moon Harbor. He relished not having her hanging on his arm every step. He was certain there would come a time when he longed for her again, but it hadn't come yet.

He tossed the empty cup in a trash can and walked to the marina to get the feel of the place and check out prices on sightseeing and fishing tours. Midway along the boardwalk, he stopped to admire a sailboat which stood out among all the motorized boats. The sail was neatly tucked away under the mast, indicating that it was unlikely the boat had left the marina that day or had any plans to leave soon. It gently bobbed as a 40-foot pleasure yacht passed slowly in the no-wake zone. "Oya" was almost pure white with Florida registration letters and numbers along the side. Thick ropes around a pair of heavy timbers rising from the water kept the craft securely in its slip. Tacked onto the nearest timber was a plastic bag containing slips of paper. Written in smeared black marker were the words "TAKE ONE". He reached in and retrieved a piece of notebook paper on which was a handwritten list of services provided:

Captain Sam's Charters

3-hour sunset/dolphin watch sail: $150

Palm Island tours: $250

Charter this boat anytime for $75 an hour or all day for $400

Call Captain Sam at 944-1352

Chuck folded the sheet of paper and stuffed it into his back pocket. He often picked up such items in hotel lobbies and restaurants just out of curiosity, though they usually found their way into trash cans. What the heck, he thought. It might be something to do whenever Rachael or Jack, his best friend back in Henderson, came to Full Moon Harbor.

The marina's sidewalk veered away from the boats and climbed a short hill that carried tourists back to the level of restaurants, bars and gift shops, which blended together without definitive boundaries along a boardwalk. He wasn't sure if this were the same boardwalk of which Mindy spoke. In his boredom, he decided to explore it. Most of the restaurants were filled with middle- and retirement-aged couples, and most of the bars were packed with baby boomers or slightly younger yuppies listening to live music, more often than not a guitar player singing James Taylor-type songs, light and easy. No bar or restaurant seemed different from the next, like those same sofas and pictures the Flintstones kept passing when running through their house. Then he stepped into another world, a bar packed with teenagers and teenager-wannabes with blaring rock music. He might as well have been at the Kappa Sig house himself.

"Hey, Georgia boy! Over here!"

Mindy was sitting with two other girls at a small round table twenty feet away. She motioned for him to join them, though there was no empty seat remaining.

"Chuck, this is Elizabeth and Jennifer." She pointed to each girl as she said the name. Elizabeth smiled brightly, while Jennifer greeted him with a disinterested, but polite grin. "Want to join us for a little while?"

Though he wouldn't admit it even to himself, he had hoped as soon as he began walking toward the bar that he would have a chance encounter with Mindy. She scooted to the side of her chair and motioned for him to share her seat. She took his hand in hers as if they had been friends for years. She then turned to Elizabeth and said, "Told you he was cute." Turning back to Chuck, she asked, "So, tired of staring at those loud hotel room walls?"

"I reckon."

"You know, if you stare at them long enough, they'll make you dizzy," she said.

"Really? I'll have to try that."

"What'll you have?" interrupted a waitress dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt.

"Uh, how 'bout just a plain ol' frozen margarita?"

"You got ID?"

"Yes, ma'am." He flashed his wallet and she checked his license closely. She nodded as she handed the wallet back to him and walked away.

"Oooo, I didn't even think about you being old enough to drink," Mindy said. Most girls at the bar were dressed to the hilt and had every curl in place with makeup caked on their faces, but Mindy needed not go through such rigors to draw attention. A simple pony tail sufficed for her hairdo, complemented by a thin white T-shirt, tight khaki shorts and sandals that exposed her tan feet, the tell-tale sign of a true Florida girl.

"They sure check IDs a lot around here," he said.

"Yeah, Full Moon Harbor's full of old fogies," Elizabeth said. "You've got to catch a buzz and then hit the bars. But Panama City, they don't give a crap what you do. You can be 15 and walk down the strip with a beer in your hand and the cops just cruise right on by. It rocks." Elizabeth's jet black hair was cut in a bob. He sensed she had a wild streak. While Mindy's eyes were bright and innocent, Elizabeth's hinted at a girl willing to try anything. They were obviously best friends. Jennifer was more of a third wheel and sat opposite Elizabeth.

The waitress set a giant frozen margarita before Chuck and he handed her $5. The girls looked on with envy as green as his drink as he leaned back and took a lick of the salt around the rim before taking a swig of the cold treat.

"Uh-oh," muttered Jennifer as a burly fellow approached the table. Mindy gripped Chuck's hand a little tighter.

"Who the hell is this?!" The young man glared at Mindy. Chuck nervously took another swig of his margarita, as if he didn't notice the guy, about six-foot-three and probably about 200 pounds, a good high school linebacker size. His sluggish movements gave away that he had been drinking. He had dark brown hair that curled around a Florida Gators cap and a spotty teenage beard that was a few days old.

"Not that it's any of your business, Billy, but if you must know, he's new in town and we're all showing him around." Elizabeth nodded to confirm the story.

"Why don't we go for a walk on the beach and have a little talk?" Billy suggested. He was looking at Chuck.

"Don't you get it, Billy? Just leave me alone. Please, just leave me alone," Mindy pleaded.

"I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to your new friend here." Chuck was hardly interested in fighting someone who obviously was his physical superior, but he had handled drunk guys plenty of times at frat parties and back in high school. He wasn't about to fight, but wasn't going to let Billy embarrass him either. He was about six feet himself and 190 pounds, though he had the build of a golfer, not a linebacker. Violence was not his first option.

"I'm sorry," Chuck said as he leaned back in his chair and coolly sipped his drink, "but you're not really my type."

Elizabeth giggled, and Billy's face turned red. He lunged over the table, grabbing Chuck by the shirt and spilling half of the margarita on Mindy's shirt. "Don't fuck with me! I'll kick your ass right here, you little faggot!"

A waitress grabbed Billy by his shoulder. "Get out of here now, Billy, or I'll call the cops! I don't think they'll be too keen on you being drunk. You're on the wrong side of the bridge to be pulling this redneck crap!"

Billy let go and backed off. A couple of other guys, noticing the bartender grab a phone and motioning that he was about to call the police, came in to assist the waitress.

"Come on, Billy. Leave him alone, man. Let's go." Billy stared down Chuck as he backed out of the bar with his buddies holding him at the elbows. He gave them a reassuring look to signify that his point had been made and they could release him, which they did. He turned away from their table and kicked the swinging doors that separated the outdoor deck of the bar from the inside and disappeared.

"Great!" Mindy said as she stood and brushed the green ice off her shirt. "God, look at it! That's never coming out! My mom's gonna kill me! This is her shirt."

"We need to rinse it out somewhere real quick," Elizabeth advised. "You don't have to be home for a few hours. You'll have plenty of time to dry it out."

"We can drive by my house," Jennifer suggested. "My folks are probably at dinner right now."

"Uh, yeah, but you parked in front of the bar, right?" Elizabeth said.

"Yeah, why?"

"Billy, that's why," Mindy said. "I guarantee you he's out there waiting in his truck for us to come out there. He's not going anywhere."

"Well, I'm parked down there around the marina," Chuck said. "I'll take you wherever you need to go, since it was my drink."

They agreed and headed for the marina, which could not be seen from the bar's parking lot. As they headed down the steps toward the boats, Mindy said, "Damn, it's drying already!"

"Why don't you dip it in the water now?" Elizabeth suggested. She was pointing to the shore of the inlet that housed the marina. Light waves lapped at a tiny strip of beach that was used as a launching spot for personal watercraft and parasailers, but not for swimming of sunbathing.

"Yeah, I guess. Come with me."

Chuck stayed with Jennifer as Elizabeth and Mindy jogged away. It was dark, but Chuck could make out Mindy's silhouette as she took off her sandals and waded into knee-deep water. After a couple taking a stroll passed, Mindy took off her shirt and dipped it into the water a few times, wringing out the salt water. Elizabeth served as a human shield between Mindy and potential spectators.

Jennifer put her hands over Chuck's eyes, jokingly, though she didn't smile as she did it.

"You were staring," she said.

"Sorry."

"Do you like her?"

"Sure I do. She's a nice girl."

"You know what I mean. What's going on between you two?"

"It's nothing like what you're thinking. Geez, I've only talked to her a couple of times."

"Yeah, but I think you're the reason she dumped Billy."

Chuck said nothing. He was stunned that he had moved Mindy to such action. And he was scared. What had been harmless flirting was developing into an opportunity to act on temptation. And he was interfering in other lives. He had forgotten how teenagers could blow things out of proportion.

"I just don't want to see anybody get hurt," Jennifer continued.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"Oh, you know, Mindy's just ... I don't know. I'd just hate to see her get her heart broken. But you're engaged, right? So, I don't guess there's anything to worry about with you, huh?" She brushed the sandy blonde, shoulder-length hair out of her eyes, revealing ice-blue and very serious eyes. They were not the eyes of a child or teenager. With those eyes, if they ever needed a district attorney on the student council, she'd have been the perfect choice.

"No, I guess not."

"Besides, she and Billy will be back together by next weekend. They do this about once a month."

"He's a real catch,” Chuck said sarcastically. “She can do a lot better than that jerk."

"Billy's all bark and no bite. He's actually kind of sweet in his own dumb sort of way."

"Yeah, he seems real sweet. He'd make a great mall Santa Claus."

Mindy and Elizabeth reappeared in the glow of the street lamp under which Jennifer and Chuck were having their conversation. Fresh from the tragedy of staining her shirt, Mindy was all smiles again and grabbed Chuck by the arm and playfully complained to Jennifer, "I saw you up here trying to steal my man." Jennifer glanced at Chuck, who was busy trying not to notice the wet shirt clinging to Mindy's body. "Is there any chance we could go back to the hotel with you until my shirt dries?" Mindy asked.

"And could you buy some wine coolers for us?" Elizabeth begged.

He looked to Jennifer, almost as if to ask permission. She shrugged her shoulders to signify that she was powerless to stop the duo. Chuck figured there was no harm and that he could resist temptation so long as Jennifer and Elizabeth were there to keep him straight, especially Jennifer. She appeared to be the sensible, calming influence on the trio, countering Elizabeth's wild streak. Mindy bounced somewhere between the two personalities, just wild enough to be fun and just sensible enough to stay out of trouble.

"Park away from the office," Mindy said as Chuck steered his Tacoma into the Seabreeze Inn parking lot with two four-packs of wine coolers in the floor of the passenger side between Mindy's feet. Elizabeth and Jennifer occupied the back seat. "I don't want David to see me."

It was just after nine o'clock when he unlocked the door to the room. Elizabeth turned on the TV and flipped through the channels to MTV. Jennifer sat calmly at the table and began flipping through Chuck's half-read Lewis Grizzard book. Chuck set the bag of wine coolers on his bed and kicked a couple of pairs of underwear and socks out of view. Mindy stood over the air-conditioner and let the air flow through her wet shirt.

"God, that's freezing!" she said. "You know, I haven't been in one of these rooms since we threw that little party here a couple of months ago. Remember that, Jennifer?"

Jennifer's eyes looked like a deer frozen by headlights.

"I don't know about Jennifer, but you were plastered when I left," Elizabeth laughed. "I've never seen you that drunk before."

"I'd never been that drunk before," Mindy giggled. "I had no idea where I was when I woke up, what happened or nothing."

"I've got a shirt you can wear if you want until that gets dry," Chuck suggested, noticing a couple of pointed physical signs that she was cold. He pulled out a T-shirt from his duffel bag.

Mindy read the front of the shirt aloud. "Southwest Georgia Tornadoes. What's that?"

"Oh, it's just a practice shirt from when I played golf in college."

"Cool."

"You can change in the bathroom if you want."

"No need, just close your eyes for a second." She had pulled her wet shirt up enough to reveal her navel before getting the words out. Chuck spun and faced the wall. Elizabeth snickered. "You don't have to be so eager to not peek," Mindy said. "You won't go blind or anything." She wiggled into the shirt and jumped onto the bed alongside Elizabeth and the wine coolers. "Who wants a drink?"

"I do," Elizabeth said.

"Are you decent?" Chuck asked.

"I'd like to think so," Mindy said.

"I'll go get some ice," Chuck said as he grabbed the ice bucket. After Mindy and Elizabeth grabbed bottles from the bag, Chuck removed a third one and offered it to Jennifer, who shook her head to refuse. He twisted off the cap, drank a couple of ounces and set it on the nightstand.

"She doesn't drink," Elizabeth said. "She's a party pooper."

"No she's not," Mindy argued. "It's OK not to drink. One of us has got to keep her head on straight. Can you imagine all three of us drunk?"

Jennifer didn't bother to look up from the book

"I'll be back in a second," Chuck said.

The ice machine was located just outside the office. As the ice made a racket tumbling into the bucket, David, the assistant manager, peeked out the glass door of the hotel office. Chuck smiled and said, "How's it going?"

David said nothing, just nodded. Damn, Chuck thought, I was just trying to be polite. I am a guest here.

Elizabeth and Mindy were barefoot and sitting on the bed in front of the TV on which some grunge rockers were hollering out a song that grated on Chuck's nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. Jennifer appeared uneasy in his room and busied herself reading.

"Ya'll mind turning that down a notch before somebody complains?" he suggested as he began placing the cool wine coolers into the bucket. "I don't want to get kicked out of my home here. This may be just a hotel room to ya'll, but I've gotta live here for a little while."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and lessened the volume with the remote control. Chuck pulled a chair out from the table where Jennifer sat and propped his feet on the bed with his toes just inches from Mindy's thigh. As he reached down into the ice bucket to grab a bottle, he felt Mindy's cool hand caressing his leg, beginning at the ankle and steadily advancing to his thigh.

"You've got cute legs," she said.

He uncomfortably brushed her hand aside, but softly. He liked the attention, but didn't want her to know. She smiled and they gazed into each other's eyes. The ringing of the phone saved him.

"I'll get it," Elizabeth announced as she bounced across the bed toward the telephone.

A wave of panic swept over Chuck. What if it were Rachael?

"No! I'll get it!" he shouted. Elizabeth backed away like a puppy that had been smacked in the nose with a rolled-up newspaper. "And hold it down for a second!" He picked it up after the fourth ring and tried to sound relaxed, as if he had been lying around the hotel room all night waiting for her call. "Hello?"

"Is Mindy there?" asked a male voice.

"Mindy?" He looked to the teen for answers. She shrugged her shoulders. "I think you've got the wrong number."

"I know she's in there, goddammit! Touch her and you die!" The warning was followed by a click and dial tone. Chuck was shaking as he put down the receiver. All three girls stared questioningly at him.

"That guy from the bar tonight, does he know where I'm staying? What did you tell him about me?" Chuck asked nervously. It was one thing to have a run-in at a bar. It was quite another to be stalked.

"Billy? No, that couldn't have been Billy. He doesn't know anything about you. He doesn't even know your name," Mindy said.

"Well, then he must have followed us over here. He knows you're here, and he just threatened to kill me."

Chuck cut the evening short and drove the girls back across the bridge to the boardwalk's parking lot in Full Moon Harbor as soon as Mindy's margarita-stained shirt was dry. Billy's truck was not in sight. Chuck opened the car doors for Elizabeth and then Jennifer. Mindy wasn't ready to leave and stood there as if she were awaiting a goodnight kiss.

"We didn't get to spend much time together, but I had fun," she sighed as she reached for his hand. His hands were shaky and he had the feeling Billy and his buddies were going to jump him from behind at any moment. He released her hand almost as soon as she made contact.

"You'd better go," he said as he helped Mindy into the back seat of Jennifer's blue four-door Corolla. He then turned to Jennifer, the sensible one. "Do I need to follow ya'll home?"

"No, I think it's best that you don't," she responded. "Maybe you'd better just go on back and call it a night."

"I think you're right. See ya'll later."

In the rear-view mirror, Chuck saw headlights jump onto the highway from an apparently abandoned cluster of warehouses on the bay at the base of the bridge between Full Moon Harbor and Crescent Beach. He fumbled for some calming music on the radio as the headlights closed in at a high speed. Don't be paranoid, he thought to himself, as the lights were about a hundred yards behind him and still in his lane. He pressed the accelerator and pushed his speed from 50 to 65 miles per hour. The headlights were now 50 yards away. His heart was pounding as his Tacoma reached the top of the bridge. The steering wheel became loose in his sweating hands. He pictured his truck being rammed on the side, flipping over the guardrail and plunging into the bay below. He put his left foot near the brake as he prepared to dodge the oncoming assault. The lights then veered into the next lane and a Pine County sheriff's department car sped past him and continued into Crescent Beach.

"Must be a shift change," he said aloud. Though no one else knew the terror he had just experienced, he was embarrassed. On top of that, he felt guilty for cheating on Rachael, even if it were only in his heart. As much as he had wanted Mindy earlier, he now longed to feel the security of his high school and college sweetheart's arms wrapped around him. His fiancée. His soon-to-be wife. There was no reason to be unsatisfied with the direction of his life, he reassured himself. There were worse situations than settling down with a beautiful, respectable girl in the security blanket of his hometown with family and friends on every corner – such as getting killed by a jealous redneck. This was not why he came to the gulf. He was supposed to be setting the stage for the rest of their lives, not burning down the theater.