to enjoy a rare breeze that tossed the fronds of a nearby royal palm and sent small licks of shade teasing across the roof.
His hair was clumped with sweat and he raked it out of his eyes. From countless hours on the water, fishing the creeks and flats of Florida Bay, Thorn had scorched his hair to the shade and texture of summer straw. At six feet tall, he was still as wiry as heâd been in his teens and as darkly tanned. Although lately heâd been feeling some middle-age creaks, a little swelling in the finger joints, he was still agile enough to spider-walk the roof without strain. And that bedroom incident this morning, something entirely rich and strange, it gave him a jolt of confidence about the aging thing. Undiscovered territory lay ahead. Whole continents yet to be explored.
For the dozenth time since mounting the roof, he touched the alien lump in his pocket. It was silly for the device to make him anxious. But he couldnât dispel the feeling that he was hauling around some living creature that might at any second squawk and demand attention. More than once in the past few minutes, he thought the cell phone had squirmed against his thigh and heâd fought the urge to snatch it out and heave it as far as it would fly.
For the next half hour he replaced the flashing around the three vents. When he was done he climbed to the peak to catch his breath and slug down some water from the thermos heâd hooked to the ridge seam.
With every degree the sun rose, the white aluminum glared more harshly. Sweat dribbled from his flesh and hit the roof and vaporized. He squinted into the brightness for a while, gathering himself for the next phase.
As he gazed out at Alexandraâs neighborhood from that height, seeing each house planted neatly in the center of its fifty-by-hundred-foot plot, and the streets running in a grid exactly north and south or due east and west, he felt a twinge of claustrophobia. A milder version of what that doomed man in the Poe story must have felt when he awoke and became slowly aware that he was locked inside a coffin.
He forced aside the pang and reclaimed some of the buoyancy heâd felt earlier. By God, he was determined to make this work. Resolved to beat back the qualms and give the city a fair shot. There was no other option if he and Alex had a chance. A woman every bit his equal in toughness and independence, and one who awakened in him a mix of tenderness and sensuality he hadnât known he was capable of. He felt fresher around her, more confident than he had in years.
So this was his week to adjust, make last-second tweaks to his tranquilized Keys psyche before she returned. Find his place in this seething stew of humanity.
While he rested, a yellow cab drew over to the curb two houses away, parking in the shade of an oak. For an idle moment Thorn watched the taxi and listened to the snarl of several nearby motors. In the past hour three different gardening crews had descended on the neighborhood and were roaring up and down separate lawns like synchronized drill teams with their weed whackers and leaf blowers.
Thorn had another sip of the icy water, splashed some over his hair, and got back to work. He used Alexandraâs Makita drill to back out the screws. A fine tool that fit solidly in his hand and made a throaty purr that blocked out the leaf blowers and the rumble of traffic from a thoroughfare a few blocks to the west. One motor canceling out a dozen others. Maybe that was a way to cope. Get one of those exotic machines that produced the rumble of artificial surf and keep it running in the background.
He worked his way down the first panel, pocketing the stainless-steel screws while his rubber soles squeaked against the hot aluminum.
He slid the first panel aside and spotted the telltale rip in the roofing paper. As he was congratulating himself on his good fortune, a manâs voice called out a hello from the front yard.
Thorn rose and
His hair was clumped with sweat and he raked it out of his eyes. From countless hours on the water, fishing the creeks and flats of Florida Bay, Thorn had scorched his hair to the shade and texture of summer straw. At six feet tall, he was still as wiry as heâd been in his teens and as darkly tanned. Although lately heâd been feeling some middle-age creaks, a little swelling in the finger joints, he was still agile enough to spider-walk the roof without strain. And that bedroom incident this morning, something entirely rich and strange, it gave him a jolt of confidence about the aging thing. Undiscovered territory lay ahead. Whole continents yet to be explored.
For the dozenth time since mounting the roof, he touched the alien lump in his pocket. It was silly for the device to make him anxious. But he couldnât dispel the feeling that he was hauling around some living creature that might at any second squawk and demand attention. More than once in the past few minutes, he thought the cell phone had squirmed against his thigh and heâd fought the urge to snatch it out and heave it as far as it would fly.
For the next half hour he replaced the flashing around the three vents. When he was done he climbed to the peak to catch his breath and slug down some water from the thermos heâd hooked to the ridge seam.
With every degree the sun rose, the white aluminum glared more harshly. Sweat dribbled from his flesh and hit the roof and vaporized. He squinted into the brightness for a while, gathering himself for the next phase.
As he gazed out at Alexandraâs neighborhood from that height, seeing each house planted neatly in the center of its fifty-by-hundred-foot plot, and the streets running in a grid exactly north and south or due east and west, he felt a twinge of claustrophobia. A milder version of what that doomed man in the Poe story must have felt when he awoke and became slowly aware that he was locked inside a coffin.
He forced aside the pang and reclaimed some of the buoyancy heâd felt earlier. By God, he was determined to make this work. Resolved to beat back the qualms and give the city a fair shot. There was no other option if he and Alex had a chance. A woman every bit his equal in toughness and independence, and one who awakened in him a mix of tenderness and sensuality he hadnât known he was capable of. He felt fresher around her, more confident than he had in years.
So this was his week to adjust, make last-second tweaks to his tranquilized Keys psyche before she returned. Find his place in this seething stew of humanity.
While he rested, a yellow cab drew over to the curb two houses away, parking in the shade of an oak. For an idle moment Thorn watched the taxi and listened to the snarl of several nearby motors. In the past hour three different gardening crews had descended on the neighborhood and were roaring up and down separate lawns like synchronized drill teams with their weed whackers and leaf blowers.
Thorn had another sip of the icy water, splashed some over his hair, and got back to work. He used Alexandraâs Makita drill to back out the screws. A fine tool that fit solidly in his hand and made a throaty purr that blocked out the leaf blowers and the rumble of traffic from a thoroughfare a few blocks to the west. One motor canceling out a dozen others. Maybe that was a way to cope. Get one of those exotic machines that produced the rumble of artificial surf and keep it running in the background.
He worked his way down the first panel, pocketing the stainless-steel screws while his rubber soles squeaked against the hot aluminum.
He slid the first panel aside and spotted the telltale rip in the roofing paper. As he was congratulating himself on his good fortune, a manâs voice called out a hello from the front yard.
Thorn rose and
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