When our parents were well out of earshot, I turned to Mike. "What was that all about?"
He ignored my question. "How are you feeling, Jenny?"
"Apparently, better than you," I said, and took a step closer.
He took a step back. "I'm fine."
"Except for your minor surgery last night-did you undergo a brain transplant?"
He smiled a little and started walking toward the docks, striding quickly, as if he couldn't stand still and look at me. "No, but I had a lot of dreams-actually the same one over and over."
I struggled to keep up with him.
"I kept searching for you in a dark theater," he said. "I'd find you, but each time I reached for you, you'd slip through my fingers."
"And after that nightmare you decided that you didn't like working in theaters anymore. I get it. Hey, slow down! And look at me, please." I grabbed the edge of his shirt. "You're making it difficult for a one-armed girl."
He stopped. "Sorry."
"Look me in the eye, Mike, and tell me you don't love theater."
He gazed at my hair instead.
"Lower," I told him.
"Your hair is like a burning bush."
"Lower," I repeated, then caught my breath when his eyes met mine.
"All right," I said. "You had no trouble looking in my eyes and saying all those romantic lines during auditions. Let's see how well you can act now.
Eyeball to eyeball, tell me you don't love theater."
"I wasn't acting then."
"Mike, I know what you're afraid of. You think that I'll think you're trying to score points with- What did you say?"
"I wasn't acting, Jenny. I didn't hang around Liza hoping to meet her father, but hoping to meet her sister."
"Me?" My heart did a somersault.
"Liza kept talking about you, what you did, what you said, what you thought, how you could make her laugh. She showed me pictures of you. I kept waiting for you to come see her."
"I can't believe it!"
"I realized too late that Liza mistook my interest in you for interest in her. I felt terrible about it, but I didn't tell her the truth because I didn't want to hurt her.
I tried to back out, but she wouldn't let go. In the end I think she began to figure it out. The morning she died, she gave me the picture of the two of you."
I closed my eyes and swallowed hard.
"When I learned from Ken that Liza had been lured out of the house by a note she thought I wrote, I felt responsible for her death. If I hadn't been so eager to meet you, if I hadn't hung around so much, she might not have fallen for it."
I shook my head. "You're not responsible, Mike. If it wasn't that, it would have been something else," I said. "Maggie was in so much pain, she would have figured a way to get her no matter what."
"Because of the note I thought that the murderer was someone who knew Liza," he continued. "But when the police decided it was a serial killer, I was so relieved I accepted the theory. I convinced myself that Keri had made up the story-or maybe wrote the note herself-to prove to Paul that Liza didn't like him.
"I didn't want to come back this year, but Walker kept calling me. I decided that to get past what had happened, I had to return. When I arrived I went straight to the theater, because that's where Liza was happiest. I was shocked to see a girl onstage delivering lines exactly as Liza had. I suspected it was you, and when I met you beneath the bridge, I knew for sure."
Mike and I had reached the docks and walked out on one. I followed him down a ramp and onto a floating platform.
"I couldn't understand why you had come, Jenny, or why, after all that had happened I still wanted so badly to know you. I felt wrong for feeling the way I did, and I tried to avoid you, but it was impossible. You weren't a dream girl but a real girl, and the more I got to know you the harder it was to stop thinking of you."
As he spoke he kept his distance, letting only his eyes touch me. His eyes alone were enough to make me feel unsteady on my feet.
"Mike, sometimes when I look at you it's like-" I hesitated, trying to find the words. Now I knew why people quoted plays and poems. "It feels like the ground is moving beneath me."
He laughed. "It is, Jenny. We're standing on a floating dock."
"That's not what I meant."
The words "I love you" were still too new, too scary, but somehow I had to explain to him. "I think there should be no more accidents."
He studied me a moment, his eyes turning gray. "Sure, that's okay, I understand."
"No! Wait! You don't understand. I meant that from now on every kiss of mine is purely intentional."
"Is it?"
I waited for him to take me in his arms, to sweep me off my feet, as dramatic types are supposed to do. He didn't move.
"So, uh, don't you want to kiss me?"
"You go first," he replied. "I did last time."
But I suddenly felt shy.
"If you want to kiss me, Jenny, why don't you?"
I held on to his arm with one hand, stood on my toes, and kissed him on the cheek. It was horribly awkward.
Then Mike leaned down and gently kissed the fingers of my injured hand. He kissed each bruise on my arms, the places he had gripped to keep me from falling. He drew me close to him and cupped my head with one hand, laying his cheek against mine.
"I'll never stop wanting to kiss you," he whispered, then sealed his words with tenderness.