Suki swiveled in the cracked white leather seat. "Why?" she said. "It's all so far away, remote. Or is it, Lazslo?"
He didn't answer. He drove. They came to Petronia Street. He should have turned right, to head downtown. He went straight instead.
Suki said, "Where are we going?"
Without looking at her Lazslo said, "I thought we'd go to Egret Key."
"There isn't time for Egret Key," she said.
"Fifteen minutes up," he said. "An hour for a drink or two. Fifteen minutes back."
"Cutting it too close," said Suki.
Lazslo glanced over at her then. He tried to make his eyes and voice facetious, but what came through was hate. "Very important, this dinner."
Suki let that pass, said, "Look, let's just go to Raul's."
But Lazslo had the steering wheel. "Free by eight," he said. "No problem."
He took a left on Truman and headed out of town. Bayview Park slipped by; they passed the statue of Marti. At Garrison Bight the charter boats were tied up in their slips, the ripples in the water were reflected on their transoms. It was a mild evening but Suki realized suddenly that she was much too warm. It registered for the first time that the Caddy's top was up.
"Lazslo," she said, "you never put the top up."
His only answer was to drive a little faster.
She'd started feeling wrong by now. It wasn't fear, not yet; just the clammy and featureless unease from which fear sometimes bubbled up, a jumpiness such as steals the grace from birds when a storm is on the way. She said, "Lazslo, if all you're gonna do is sulk, maybe you should take me home."
Lazslo just kept driving.
* * *
"How's the omelet, Pop?" said Aaron Katz. "You like it?"
His father's mouth was full of egg and cheese, he couldn't answer right away. Finally he said, "Perfect. Loose inside. Just the way I like."
"Great," said Aaron, toweling his hair. He was mostly dry and halfway dressed, bustling around the kitchen in boxer shorts and ancient slippers and just now buttoning his shirt. "So Pop, you'll be okay tonight? You'll be okay?"
"I'll be okay," said Sam. "It breaks my heart you worry. Stop worrying." He went back to his eggs.
Aaron said, "Who taught me how to worry, Pop? I learned from a master."
Sam chewed. "Who? Me? You think I worry? I don't worry. I care. That's different." He swallowed then looked around, a quizzical expression scrunching up his soupy eyes. Something wasn't right, he couldn't put his finger on it. He appraised his glass of juice, his stack of toast. Finally he said, "Aaron, you forgot my tea."
"Tea," said Aaron. Still drying himself, he moved to the stove where a pot was gently steaming.
"The whistling kind," said Sam, "it wouldn't happen you forget A brilliant invention, the whistling teapot."
Aaron dunked a tea bag in the boiling water. "So you'll watch TV, you'll read a magazine. Okay?"
Sam Katz smeared butter on his toast "It's nice to see you nervous. I think you really like this girl."
Aaron said, "You always think you know."
A little smugly, Sam ate toast
"Besides, who said I'm nervous? I'm just making sure you're set"
"Making sure I'm set" said Sam, "for that you don't miss buttons on your shirt."
His son looked down, abashed, at his misaligned shirt-tails, the sure sign of a shlump.
"And Aaron," Sam went on—then twisted up his face and pointed inscrutably to the corner of his mouth.
"What, Dad? What?"
"Go shave again," his father said. "You missed a spot."
On the silent drive up U.S. 1, Suki watched the pelicans, the way their coasting flight sometimes paralleled the sagging arcs of the power lines. She watched tide streaming under bridges, foam-topped chevrons stretching back from every piling. She watched the first bold stars burn through the darkening sky ahead of them.
She watched those things to calm herself. It almost worked. By the time they reached their turnoff, eight, ten miles above Key West, she almost believed that nothing was amiss, not really; Lazslo was just a moody guy, a macho kid whose pride was hurt. His sulk would pass, he'd get talkative again. Probably he'd say intriguing things, useful things, maybe even things that would be worth the milky ache that Suki was feeling in her stomach.
He turned right off the highway. The road that led toward Egret Key was badly paved and narrow. Grasping mangroves blotted out the fading light and the deeper darkness was not soothing. The Caddy's headlamps glared back from waxy leaves, from scarred and ulcered trunks. Frogs and lizards scurried off, their bulbous eyes flashed red.