“Is he gone?” Adele Beyers, the woman who served as my foster mother for three years during my high school years and who is now my roommate and dearest friend, doesn’t look up from her jumbo book of crossword puzzles.

“Abe? Yeah, he took off.” Too bad I can’t say the same for the creepy feeling he left behind. My entire body feels like it’s covered in Eau de Abe. I want to step into the shower and use steel wool to remove the entire upper layer of my skin. “How long was he outside?”

“He showed up about sixish, probably thinking you’d be getting home from work. Spent the whole time hanging out by the door. The few times I checked on him through the peephole, he was on his phone.” A frown mars Adele’s face. She looks up from the crossword and meets my eyes. “Couldn’t hear what he was talking about, but it seemed serious. He say anything to you?”

I shake my head and try not to think about the impression of how he acted like he didn’t want me to make my next payment, like he had other plans, besides warming his bed, for me. “No.”

I don’t bother asking if she had any trouble with him. Despite knowing her for more than ten years and considering her the closest thing I have to a parental figure, Adele has never revealed anything about her history.

But I know she has one. Not only was she the one who put me in contact with Abe’s father when I needed a loan, but guys like Abe not only leave her alone, but they treat her with a great deal of respect. She’s a more effective deterrent than a pair of trained attack Rottweilers.

Adele looks at me and her eyes narrow. “What’s wrong?”

I was a street-wise, too smart for my own good fifteen-year-old when the state placed me in Adele’s foster care. Hers was the sixth home I’d been in during the eleven years I’d been in the system. From the first day, she’d been different. Right from the beginning, all it took was a single look to gauge my emotional well-being.

“Nothing, just a long day.” I remove a plastic cup from the dish drying rack and fill it with cold tap water. I take a long drink. The city water doesn’t taste as good as bottled, but it’s cheaper so I make do.

Adele quirks a brow and waits for me to continue.

“I had a run-in with Jerry.”

Adele’s lips curl back, exposing her teeth in a gruesome grimace. “What’d that weasel-faced punk do this time?”

Adele met Jerry shortly after I started working at the call center and hadn’t been impressed with him. If I asked her to choose between the two men currently interested in me, Jerry and Abe, I’m pretty sure she’d pick Abe for me. In her mind, at least, Abe is relatively honest and forthright. Jerry, as far as she was concerned, is lower than a slug.

“He asked me out and I turned him down, which is why I had to work late.”

“The prick,” Adele sputters. “You should report him to his boss and demand his balls on a pike. I can’t believe that all the women in the office let him get away with that kind of behavior.” She glares at me. “And I really can’t believe you put up with that shit. I raised you better than that.”

She’s right. She did. She made sure that all the foster kids who came through her home knew how to take care of themselves. The fact that I refuse to stand up to Jerry is like an open wound. It really bothers her.

The reason I don’t is that I really need to keep my job. The pay is crap, but they provide health insurance – and every once in a while, the company pays me extra for fixing a computer glitch in their program. They prefer using me to their IT department, because I get the job done quicker and generate better results. I keep hoping they’ll offer me a position in the IT department so I can stop answering calls and put a little distance between myself and Jerry’s lewd demands, but so far that hasn’t happened, and I don’t dare push.

“It’s not so bad. At least I’ll get some overtime.”

Adele mutters a few nasty sounding words under her breath that I can’t quite make out. “Did something else happen?” she asks in a louder voice.

“Just the run-in with Abe.” I rinse the glass and return it to the drying rack before opening the refrigerator and peering at the nearly-bare shelves. The few items it does hold don’t spark my appetite.

“You’re lying,” Adele says. “Something else happened. Something that has nothing to do with Abe Paoletti’s visit. What is it?”

Adele has always been able to read me like an open book. Back when I was in high school, me and my foster siblings always thought she was psychic. Not that that stopped us from trying.

“I just had an upsetting call, that’s it.”

“An upsetting call? Care to elaborate?”

“No,” I say. “I don’t.”

Adele stares at me with worry-tinged eyes. “There’s something you’re not telling me.” She turns back to her crossword puzzle. One of the many things that made Adele such a great foster mother was that she’d instinctively known when one of the kids the state had deposited in her care needed to be pushed and when they needed space to work through a problem. Right now, she is giving me space and I’m grateful for it.

I grab a peach from the bowl on the counter and walk to the edge of the kitchen to stare into the living room. The light spilling from the tiny kitchen is enough for me to see that the large brown sofa has been pulled out and turned into a bed where my daughter sleeps. The small size of the lump she forms bothers me. She’ll be seven soon, but she’s small for her age, so small, she’s often mistaken for a four- or five-year-old.

“How is she?” I keep my voice low so I don’t wake her.

Adele writes something in the book before glancing toward the living room. “Okay, I guess. She was coughing a little bit.”

My stomach tightens. Coughing always makes me nervous.

“I talked to her teacher yesterday,” Adele continues, “and she said there’s a nasty cold going around, so I’m betting Kelsey is starting to come down with that.”

That’s not good. “Maybe I should pull her out of school for a few days, until it’s run its course.”

I don’t have to look at Adele to know that she’s watching me with a sharp, disapproving expression. “You can’t protect her forever, El. I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to let her live a little.”

Adele’s right, but that doesn’t mean I have to like her advice.

“What about her insulin?”

“It was a little low when she got home, but when I checked just as she was getting ready for bed it was back to normal. I think we’re getting better about regulating it.”

I look over my shoulder at my oldest and dearest friend. She’s given up so much to help me out. I don’t know what I’d do without her. “Thank you,” I murmur.

“It’s okay, sweetie. I love both you and Kelsey. I would do anything for you two. You know that as well as I do.”

She’s right but that doesn’t make me any less grateful.

I wish Adele goodbye and move into the living room.

My daughter, Kelsey, the light of my life and my whole reason for being, is too soundly asleep to notice my presence, but the long-haired gray cat she’d talked me into keeping despite the fact we really can’t afford him, opens one yellow eye and peers at me.

“Hey, Mal,” I greet the cat, named after Kelsey’s all-time favorite sci-fi character, and nudge him to one side. He growls a low protest, but acquiesces, shifting his weight off my daughter’s chest and moving to lay by her hip instead. I rest the heel of my hand against Kelsey’s chest until I feel the slow, steady throb of her heartbeat.

For the first time since this morning, the tension eases from my body.

Seven years ago, just a week before I was scheduled to graduate from college, I’d learned I was pregnant. Instead of being terrified by the idea of being a single mother, I looked forward to the experience.

I was due to start a good job as soon as the ink dried on my degree which would provide me the resources needed to care for a child and I was excited by the thought of having someone in my life who would love me unconditionally.

Everything changed when I was seven months pregnant and an ultrasound revealed that not all was well with my little girl. She’d developed a heart condition and her prognosis was grim.

My OB warned me that without a heart transplant, there’d be little chance of her living more than a few days past her birth. And the odds of that were…the word the doctor used was ‘incalculable’.

It had been a knife to my heart. Until I learned that I was going to lose her, I hadn’t fully realized just how badly I wanted my baby.

Refusing to believe that there wasn’t any hope at all, I turned to the internet. I dug around until I learn about a doctor who had worked on infants who had the same heart defect as Kelsey and that he’d saved their lives. But he was located in Germany and my insurance wouldn’t cover the treatment.

Terrified, I’d called the closest thing I’d ever had to a mother, Adele, and the whole story had spilled out. Not only had she held my hand through the entire horrible ordeal, but it had been she who’d help me connect with Abe’s father, even while warning me about the risks connected to taking the loan he’d offered.

I’d taken the loan, flown to Germany, given birth to Kelsey, and the doctor had performed a miracle.

Now, I am struggling to stay caught up on the interest of a debt that terrifies me, but I have a beautiful, vibrant daughter who laughs all the time, happily spends hours watching one sci-fi show after another, and who loves animals.

She’s small for her size and every six months we meet with a cardiac specialist who analyzes her condition. There’s always the fear that her heart will start to fail – and that despite all my efforts she’ll find herself waiting for a donor heart. That’s one of the main reasons I put up with Jerry’s bullshit and keep working for the call center. The pay is crap, the job is soul sucking, and the hours horrible, but they do provide decent health insurance, something Kelsey needs.

As if struggling with a faulty ticker isn’t enough for one small child to deal with, six months ago she was diagnosed with diabetes, a disease that scares me almost as much as her heart condition.

Sitting here in the near dark and feeling the steady throb of her heart is enough to make my world complete. As long as she’s happy and healthy, I don’t need anything else.

Except money.

Abe’s warning rings in my ears and the same prickle of unease I felt in the hallway creeps up my spine.

I locate my battered laptop before I return to the pulled-out couch bed and settle beside my daughter.

The blue glow of the screen attracts Adele. She walks into the living room, hands me a steaming cup of tea, and quirks a brow. “Something wrong?”

I log in to my favorite freelancing job board and start searching through the ads. “Abe acted like he’s hoping I won’t have enough to cover this month’s payment and I really don’t want to find out why.”

“Do you have it?” Adele asks, her voice soft.

“It’ll be tight. If I can pick up one or two freelance web development projects and get paid for them by Friday morning, I will.”

I spot a client I’ve worked for in the past and click on the ad. The job is simple, something I should be able to complete in a few hours, and the amount I’ll get paid will be just enough to cover what my weekly paycheck doesn’t. I accept the job and start searching for another.

Adele moves closer and kisses the top of my head. “Just be careful that you don’t work so hard your own health suffers. Kelsey needs you. You’re a great mom.”

I snort and roll my eyes. “That’s me, super mom.” Sarcasm colors the words.

“Hey.” Adele’s voice is sharp. “It’s not a mocking matter. You’re a fantastic parent and you know it.”

“Doesn’t feel that way.” Back when I was growing up and getting bounced from one foster home to another, I vowed that if I ever had kids, I was going to spend all my time with them, make sure that they knew they were the most important thing in my life. And look how that turned out.

I have Kelsey, the most amazing kid I’ve ever known—and she is my reason for getting up each morning—but I’m so busy, I hardly ever see her.

“Eleanor.” Adele’s use of my formal name, which no one ever uses, shakes me out of apathy.

Wide-eyed, I stare at her.

She pinches my chin between two thin but strong fingers. “Don’t. You. Ever. Think. You’re. Anything. But. An. Outstanding. Mother.” She drives each word home with the same force John Henry used while he wielded his hammer in the race against the steam-powered one.

I know better than to argue with Adele so I bite the tip of my tongue.

Satisfied that she’s made her point. Adele gives my chin one last pinch before releasing me. “I’m going to bed,” she says. “Don’t work too hard tonight. You won’t do Kelsey any good if you work yourself into an early grave.”

“I won’t,” I assure her, knowing full well that I’ll most likely break the promise.

* * *

Two hours later, eyes burning with fatigue, I shut off my laptop and close the lid. One web development project is more than half completed. With just a little luck I’ll be able to wrap it up during my lunch break tomorrow and the money for it will be in my PayPal account by the time my shift ends.

Only then will I be able to breathe easier about my financial situation. We might have to eat nothing but ramen and water this weekend, but at least I won’t have to worry about using an alternative method of payment to settle with Abe.

I stumble to the living room and check on Kelsey one last time. She is sleeping with one head buried under a pillow, her arms flung out across the covers, and with her cat curled up on her stomach. I slide the pillow off her face and press my hand against her chest, taking comfort in the strong beat of her heart against my palm.

I lean down and brush a light kiss across her cheek. “Love you, baby girl,” I murmur, not caring that she’s too deeply asleep to hear me.

I scratch Mal’s head, causing him to arch his neck and purr loudly before returning to my own tiny bedroom.

Despite the exhaustion weighing down my muscles, I’m too restless to sleep. I keep hearing an echo of Jason saying my name reverberating through my brain.

I hesitate for a second or two before going to my closet and rummaging through it until I locate a specific shoe box. I haul it out, open the lid, and remove a dog-eared copy of a celebrity business magazine.

I crawl on top of my bed and lean against the headboard, the magazine on my lap, staring at the cover. The image is a beautifully edited headshot of Jason, who is gazing at some point just past the camera.

I run the tip of my index finger along the glossy paper, outlining his jaw, while memories that should have faded a long time ago come back with high def clarity.

My friends have abandoned me to pursue interests that don’t inspire me, leaving me feeling just a little off. I’m standing in front of a beach bar that’s made up to look like a Tiki hut. From the inside I can hear the raucous sound of college students having a great time and it suddenly occurs to me that I’ve spent the last not-quite-four years with my nose firmly pressed to the academic grindstone. Even now, I’m not in Florida on a traditional college spring break. I’m only here because of a computer conference I wanted to attend.

I don’t regret it. I’m about to graduate at the top of my class with a degree in computer sciences and am already considering some incredibly exciting job options.

Still, I can’t help wondering if in my desire to be the best, I haven’t somehow managed to miss out on something. Not once have I ever had as much fun as the people inside the bar are having. And don’t I deserve a little bit of fun?

Just once?

I glance at my watch. I don’t have to meet my friends and start the long journey back to MIT for another twelve hours. Surely that’s enough to at least get a small sample of what I’ve been denying myself all this time. Maybe it’s even long enough to have a wild and crazy experience that I’ll be able to share when I’m a boring old woman looking back over my life.

I glance down at myself. Bikini top, khaki shorts pulled over the matching bottom, and a pair of flip-flops I bought at a dollar store two years ago. Normally, I wouldn’t even consider wearing this kind of outfit into a gas station, much less a bar, but based on what some of the people milling near the door are wearing, I’m actually overdressed for this particular locale.

Decision made, I walk into the bar.

It’s insane. I expected it to be busy, but I didn’t expect wall-to-wall people, most younger than me by at least one or two grades, all of them working hard on consuming as much booze as they can in the shortest amount of time.

I get a drink, something fun and fruity that the overworked bartender promised me I’d like. I sip it, enjoying the way it tickles my throat and clings to my lips as I wind my way through the shifting throng of people, looking for someplace quiet where I can sit and crowd watch.

I spot a guy, a cute guy, sitting by himself at a table for two near the back of the building, his head bowed over a book. Perfect!

I suck in a deep breath and ignore the familiar rush of shyness that always presents itself whenever I’m about to talk to a stranger. Someone jostles me. I tear my gaze away from the solitary guy and focus on keeping my drink from sloshing over the sides of my glass. When my gaze snaps back, the guy is on his feet, a finger marking his place in the book, and offering his seat to an attractive pair of girls.

Instead of staying to talk to them like I expect, he turns and pushes his way through the crowd, heading towards a door marked exit.

Instinct has my feet changing directions and following after him.

He doesn’t leave. Instead I follow him to a bench about twenty feet away from the bar, close enough to hear the driving music and laughter, but far enough away to enjoy a little peace. A light on top of a small, old fashioned lamppost illuminates the spot, which is probably why no one else is there. It’s too well-lit to encourage hot and heavy make-out sessions.

He sits on the bench and crosses an ankle over his knee before opening his book.

I hover in the shadows and watch him. There’s something about him that draws me toward him the way the moon draws the tide onto the beach.

Finally, after several minutes of silent observation, I muster up all my courage and step into the pool of light surrounding the bench.

“Good book?” I ask.

“It’s okay.” He keeps reading the thick tome.

Not exactly an invitation for conversation, but I decide to try again. I fan myself with one hand and press my half-full glass to my sternum, hoping it looks like I’m trying to cool down. “It’s really hot in there, so I came out for some fresh air. Mind if I sit down? Just for a minute.”

He looks up, his eyes roaming over my body. He must like what he sees, because he shifts sideways in silent invitation.

I hurry to sit in the space he’s left for me, not wanting to give him any time to change his mind.

I expect him to ignore me and keep reading, but he doesn’t. Instead he once again uses his finger to mark his place and shifts on the bench so he can watch me. “Jason,” he says.

I follow his first name only example. “Ella.”

“Here on spring break?”

“Sort of,” I say, wincing at how lame I sound to my own ears. “I’m actually here for a computer conference. I think they chose the time and location with the hope of not making students have to decide between spring break and the conference.”

A stunned look creeps across Jason’s face. “You’re shitting me,” he exclaims. “Are you talking about that conference down at the Bristol Hotel, on Penn Street?”

“Yeah,” I reply, startled. “MIT sent me and some of my friends here to man a booth for them. Were you there?”

“I swung by there a few times. There were some seminars I was interested in. I go to the University of Tennessee, majoring in computer sciences.”

“Cool.”

We spend hours on that bench, talking about everything, the classes we are taking, friends, career plans. It’s the first time I’ve ever encountered a person I clicked with from the first word.

Eventually we move off the bench and walk down the beach, continuing to swap stories and ideas as we admire the way the moonlight sparkles on the dark water.

“Oh,” I squeal, “look.”

Jason follows the direction I’m pointing until he spots a small pod of dolphins, about fifty feet off the shore, frolicking in the waves.

“Gorgeous.” He breathes the word. I turn to smile at him and find that he’s much closer than I thought. And he’s no longer looking out at the ocean, but rather at me. Mesmerized by the look in his eyes, I sway even closer. He bends his head and covers my lips with his own in a kiss that is soft as silk and makes my toes curl and my skin sing.

Breathless, we fall apart and stare into each other’s eyes, trying to work out what just happened.

Jason reaches for my hand. Our fingers tangle together. “Come on,” he says, his voice sounding a little strained. He nods towards the ocean, where the dolphins continue to play in the moonlight. “I know just the place to watch the show.”

The place turned out to be an empty lifeguard station. Jason and I climbed up into it and rather than turning to each other and watching the dolphins, we fell into each other’s arms, stroking and kissing one another while gradually shedding one piece of clothing after another.

The memories are just as vivid, just as scorching today as they were seven years ago when Jason Monroe, future software designer and billionaire, divested me of my virginity and gave me a daughter, a daughter he knows nothing about.

Memories of what his hands, of what his tongue did to my body continue to crash into me until my skin is flushed and feels too tight. Pressure builds between my legs. I never should have taken this trip down memory lane.

My body remembers, probably even better than my mind does, the way his fingers brushed against the sides of my breasts as he freed them from my bikini top, How he used his tongue to eased the sore spots where the straps had dug into my skin. How he smelled as he gently laid me down on the sand-coated floor of the lifeguard station and his hands glided slower, slipping over my bare stomach, unzipped my shorts, and touched me in ways I’d never imagined being touched before.

Fire explodes in my veins. This little trip down memory lane was a big mistake.

Knowing there’s only one thing I can do to calm my raging body and finally get the rest I desperately need, I dig into my nightstand drawer and shove aside a variety of items until my fingers close around what I’m seeking. It’s located way in the back the drawer where I keep it so that Kelsey doesn’t accidently find it.

I press the button on the side the vibrator and it springs to life, the buzz against my hand sending a jolt through my entire body. I part my thighs and angle myself so I can see Jason as I seek the sweet release my body has been demanding ever since I heard Jason whispering my name across a phone line.