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scrunchie . The thrown-together outfit reflected her frame of mind: tired and not in the mood for anything too important.
    “Hi,” she said with a thin smile.
    Bev beamed. Seeing his daughter dissolved his preoccupation; now there were no concerns about beetles or anxiety or ghostly headaches. They shared a hug; she retained an odor of last night’s party too. A chip off the old block.
    “Guess I really did drag you out of bed.”
    “It’s okay, it’s worth it...I’m so thrilled to have you home now.”
    “Good to be home.” Sort of .
    A young hostess escorted them to one of a dozen booths on the outside pier. They ordered a bucket of mini-Coronas and faced the healing vista of the ocean. Cool salty wind escaped the ceaseless motion of the surf and kissed their silent faces—nature’s rhythm, offering its comforting welcome, which they embraced. A waitress came and took their orders. While they waited, they drank and spoke of each other’s careers, Bev asking Kristin questions of her writing, and then, of her personal life. She revealed as much as she’d been willing, so it appeared, until he brought up the night before, and Rebecca Haviland .
    “Dad, please...”
    The waitress returned with their meals. Bev stayed silent until she finished serving them. Then he said, “Look, you’re my daughter. I raised you all by myself since you were a year old...I’m only looking out for your best interests, as much as I can.”
    “You’ve mentioned that. A few times before.” She raised one eyebrow.
    “Just want the best for my girl.”
    “Understood. And I want the best for my dad. So...any women in your life?”
    “How’d this get turned around?”
    “Answer my question, and I’ll answer yours.”
    “Wise ass!”
    “I can be. Sometimes. So...you hooked up with anyone, or what?”
    “Jesus, Kristin. No, no one special.”
    “Just your road hoes, huh?” She giggled.
    “Kristin...”
    “Woo- hoo dad!”
    “All right, enough. I don’t do those things. Anymore. Frankly, I can’t handle it.”
    “You oughta take out Rebecca Haviland .”
    Bev eyed her suspiciously. “Rebecca?”
    “Yeah...she’s available, you know.”
    “Well, I don’t know that, nor do I really care. Actually, I thought that you—”
    “Why not? She’s pretty. And she kinda looks like Mom, you know, from the pictures.”
    Bev thought about it. The publicist did resemble Julianne a bit. Maybe just in the eyes. He wondered how he hadn’t noticed this until Kristin brought it up. “No one could ever replace your mother.”
    The somber note segued into a few moments of silence where they enjoyed their meals. Bev ate a seafood salad while Kristin attacked a cod sandwich and fries. Where does it all go? Bev thought fondly. In her brain? The food, the cool wind, and the fresh air seemed to have revived Kristin a bit. She ate and smiled and chatted pleasantly between bites. When they were finished they lit cigarettes and stared back out into the ocean blue.
    “That was good,” she said, and the way the sun hit her at that moment made her look more like Julianne than ever. The ache it brought struck him hard, and he looked down into his empty plate.
    Suddenly, she revealed, “Last night, at the party, there was a man looking for you. Said he had something important to give you.”
    Bev looked up at her, the night’s strange memories triggered like sudden explosives. With all the day’s distractions, the bugs and the odd physical discomforts, he’d forgotten all about it. How could I? He slid his hand into his back pocket. The envelope. Still there. “Son...of...a...bitch.” He pulled it out. Crisp. Beige. He unfolded it.
    His scrawled name met his hesitant gaze. His stomach fluttered uncomfortably.
    “What’d he look like, this man you spoke to?” His gaze was still on the envelope.
    “I don’t know, didn’t really look at him too closely. Tall, serious. Kinda disheveled. Didn’t look like he was there to have a good