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of the camp. After the walk-through, we stood on the porch, and Mr. Johnson went over his notes as I studied him nervously. On impulse, I blurted out what I intended to use the building for, unable to hide my despair at the thought that it wouldn’t happen. When my voice trailed off, Mr. Johnson stared off into the distance for what seemed like forever, scratching his head thoughtfully. I dared not glance at Lex, who scribbled in his notebook as he awaited the verdict.
    George Johnson is a gruff, uneducated black man who worked for Mack before leaving to open his own construction business, which prospered once the building boom hit the Gulf area. I’d never have imagined him swayed by his emotions, but he turned to me with watery eyes and said, “My youngest girl is going through the worse divorce you ever seen, Miz Ballenger. It’s ’bout to kill her, and the wife and me, too. Maybe if she had somethin’ like them retreats of yours …” I jumped on it, saying quickly, “Oh, I’m sure we can work something out, Mr. Johnson. Matter of fact, I’ll be glad to exchange therapy, retreats, whatever she needs, as part of our dealings.” He thought for a long moment before nodding, then offered his hand, saying, “We’re gonna make this happen. I’ll give you a good estimate, and we’ll work out a payment plan to suit both of us.” I shook his hand formally, even though I wanted to throw my arms around him and plant a big kiss on his cheek.
    I can’t help myself: After the truck disappears, I’m so relieved that my eyes fill with tears. I wipe them with the edge of my T-shirt. Turning my head, I see that the sun is disappearing behind the dark silhouette of treetops, and the waters of Folly Creek have become fiery red. Beyond the bend in the creek, I spot a familiar shape.
    â€œLex!” I call out. My and Mr. Johnson’s bartering must have inspired him, because a few minutes ago he returned to his measuring. “Finish what you’re doing and get out here—you’ve got to see this.”
    He sticks his head out the front door, a pencil behind his ear. “What on earth you yelling about?”
    â€œHurry.” I grab his arm and begin pulling him down the steps. “This you’ve got to see.”
    â€œWhoa, woman,” he groans as he stumbles behind me, almost losing his footing. “The sunsets around here are something, granted, but not worth me busting my ass on these loose steps. Remind me to add them to the list.”
    â€œIt’s not the sunset I want you to see. It’s Zoe Catherine.”
    Lex stops in his tracks. “She’s sure not worth me busting my ass.”
    I roll my eyes in exasperation. “Trust me, okay?” I hurry across the driveway, making my way to the creek as I look over my shoulder and motion for Lex to follow. Grumbling under his breath, he rambles behind me, and when I reach the creek, he comes to stand next to me, huffing and puffing in an exaggerated manner.
    â€œThis better be good—” he begins, but I hold up a hand.
    â€œHush! You’ll have to shut your big mouth to get the full effect.”
    An old wooden canoe comes into sight, rounding the bend in the creek. It’s what I had spotted from the front porch, way off in the distance. Zoe Catherine is seated at the helm, grinning at me as I stand there waving, Lex beside me with his hands on his hips. When Zoe dips the oars into the sunlit waters of the creek, it looks as though she’s dipping them into molten lava. I’m tickled to see that she’s in all her glory this afternoon. When she came to my house for dinner, she was pure Southern belle, in an antique white dress that looked like something she’d snitched from the wardrobe of a Tennessee Williams production. Today she’s decked out in army fatigues, and with heavy boots laced almost to her knees, she looks like an extra from an