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recipe?’
    ‘There’s a minimum requirement. He and I were comfortable together. But comfort wasn’t quite enough.’
    ‘Did you ever think of me when you were married?’
    ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘A few times. But if you had shown up on my doorstep all you would have gotten was a friendly hug and a cup
     of coffee. I took my marriage seriously, Ben.’
    ‘I’m sure you did.’ Ben took her hand. ‘I never told you this, but you were my first, Claudia.’ He grinned. ‘I had to get
     you out in the middle of the Gulf to confess that. No danger of anyone overhearing.’
    ‘I suspected as much, if I remember.’
    ‘Couldn’t admit it to you. The guy can never be the virgin.’
    She squeezed his hand. ‘Well, I forgive you, Ben.’
    He leaned over, kissed her, soft and gentle but not tentative. Not the lips of the boy she had kissed at seventeen, not the
     boy she had given her own virginity to, but a man surer and wiser with his touch. He broke the kiss first, kissed her closed
     eyelids.
    ‘Now I’m really glad Stoney didn’t come. Plus his girlfriends are all idiots.’
    She wondered what it would be like to make love on the deck of the boat, out here in the middle of nowhere, the sun their
     only blanket.
    ‘I’ll fix us sandwiches, open a nice wine,’ he said.
    ‘You made lunch yesterday. I’ll do it.’
    ‘Naw. You’re my guest. Just relax. I’ll be back in a sec.’
    Claudia nestled deeper in the lounge chair, letting the breeze of the Gulf hum over her. Really happy to be with Ben. And,
     she thought with a degree of rationality about love she rarely allowed, Ben Vaughn was a known quantity. The kind of guy her
     family would embrace even though they had adored David. Her mother, who considered being over twenty-five and single a sign
     of social leprosy, would surgically attach Claudia to Ben to bolster the chances of marriage.
    But do you like Ben or just the idea of Ben? Are you just lonely and he’s familiar, someone you know won’t hurt you?
    Ben brought homemade chicken salad sandwiches on thick sourdough bread, potato chips, and sliced fruit.
    ‘You slaved over this,’ she said.
    ‘Yeah, opening containers. Stoney’s housekeeper stocks the boat when we take it out. I was thinking maybe we could cruise
     over into Port Aransas later, eat at the Tarpon Inn if you like.’ But Ben didn’t give her a chance to answer the invitation,
     his gaze going past her, his eyes crinkling.
    ‘That boat’s in trouble,’ he said.
    Along the wave-broken cobalt of the waters Claudia spotted a Bertram sportfisher in the distance, a single man at the bow,
     waving a red blanket like a flag.
    ‘Dumb ass,’ Ben said. ‘seventy-five miles out and he doesn’t bother with enough fuel.’
    ‘Maybe that’s not the problem.’ Claudia waved back at the man. He was now hoisting a baseball cap, bright red.
    ‘We’ll see.’ Ben hurried up to the flying bridge, tried to call the boat on standard Channel 16. No response. Benwhipped the wheel about hard and closed the distance between
Jupiter
and the drifting boat. Claudia stood on the deck in front of the bridge as Ben steered toward the Bertram.
    Within minutes they pulled close to the sportfisher; its name,
Miss Catherine,
was written in faded blue script on its stern, with
New Orleans LA
beneath in smaller letters. Claudia moved up to the bow, smoothing her wind-whipped hair.
    The man standing at the bow of
Miss Catherine
was in his forties, a little heavy and rosy-cheeked, his skin tanned. He wore dark sunglasses and a baggy white T-shirt with
     a Tampa Bay Buccaneers logo on the front and faded orange shorts. He gave Claudia a sun-squinted smile full of straight teeth.
    ‘Hello the boat,’ Claudia called. ‘You in trouble?’
    ‘My alternator’s busted. Lost power for the engines and the radio.’
    ‘You’re a ways from New Orleans,’ Ben called.
    ‘Oh, that’s old. I live in Copano now,’ the man said. ‘This is what I get for hauling