Before too long summer was upon them, and it was one of the most brutal heat waves Anthony could remember. The high temperatures were relentless, and drought conditions made it close to impossible for Native Touch to keep their clients happy. It wasn't easy producing luscious green lawns with little to no water.

Anthony watched as Christy's demeanor slowly changed and despite the scorching weather, she seemed to bloom. He sensed that she'd been set free from her secret and the scrappy, feisty woman he'd met in Vivian's bedroom last year reasserted herself. And it was where she reasserted herself that surprised and concerned him.

She'd become a regular at Camp Sawgrass. She never participated in or approved of some of their more sinister activities, but she did take it upon herself to protect the women that regularly showed up there. He'd caught her more than once reading the riot act to one of his men for mistreating one of the girls, and he'd finally forbade her from showing up at the camp without him. He knew that no one would ever dare touch her, but the men secretly groaned and complained about her, and Anthony couldn't blame them. She could be a tyrant when her nurturing instincts surfaced to protect the wayward and lost souls that found their way to the camp.

"You can't forbid me from going there, Anthony," she'd snapped at him one hot afternoon.

"Yes, I can, Christy," he'd barked back, giving her a look that would've sent a grizzly packing. "It's my camp, and they're my men, and I don't want you there if you’re going to interfere."

"How is me telling them to not force sex on the girls interfering?" she questioned.

He rolled his eyes. "Christy, that is the only reason some of those women are there. To have sex with the men in exchange for money or drugs."

"But if a woman doesn't feel like it, she shouldn't have to," she yelled, her voice rising with every word.

"If she doesn't feel like it, she should leave," he screamed back. He knew she wouldn't back down, so he said in a softer voice, "How about we meet somewhere in the middle?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, her tone laced with skepticism.

"Instead of you randomly showing up there whenever you feel like it, how about we put the word out that you'll visit on Tuesday afternoons? You could go to the cemetery like you do every week, and afterward, swing by the camp. This would give the girls you help an opportunity to know ahead of time that you'll be there in case they need something. And the guys who know you'll be there the opportunity to stay away, he thought.

He could see her thinking about it, and he knew she'd bite. At least he hoped she would since he already told the men he’d make sure she showed up on the same day every week.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she thought about his suggestion. "I guess it would work out better for me and them. The last few times I was there I kept missing one of the women, and I knew she needed help with scheduling a visit with her doctor. If they knew I would be there every Tuesday afternoon, it would mean less driving for me and less frustration for all of us."

And less ball battering for my men, he thought.

"It would also free up your time to get started on the park project you've been talking about," he reminded her.

Her eyes lit up as she nodded. She'd recently mentioned to Anthony that she wanted to personally oversee funding a park in Abigail's name.

They were interrupted by the telephone. It was Grizz. It had taken a year, but he'd finally found the man who'd raped and almost killed Kit, and the person who'd helped him plan it.

"Grizz is bringing Kit over to this coast while he takes care of business," Anthony told Christy.

"Is she staying with us?" she asked, her voice one of excitement. She really liked Kit.

"No. He's putting her up in a hotel but is arranging for people to visit with her and keep her company until he comes back for her. How do you feel about spending a day at the beach?"

"I'd like that," she told him, excited at the prospect of spending time with Kit.

"You didn't have to stay the whole day, Anthony," Christy told him as she walked in their front door, Anthony close behind.

"I wanted to," he told her.

She turned around and smirked. Cocking her hip, she said, "I've been with you for over a year and not once have we spent an entire day at the beach. Not once."

"I didn't hang out at the beach with you two," he countered. It was true. He'd spent most of the time in an air-conditioned bar and grill that overlooked the spot where Kit and Christy had set up an umbrella and beach chairs. He sat at the end of the bar, facing the ocean and handled some business from the bar phone, tying it up for several hours. The owner didn't complain. He'd owed Anthony a favor and was only too happy to let him use it. Or maybe he was too scared to tell the imposing man no.

Anthony had sauntered down a few times to sit with the ladies under the umbrella and they both walked Kit back to her hotel room at the end of their visit.

"I heard what you told Kit when I went to use the bathroom," Christy told him.

"Of course you did," he smiled.

Anthony had expressed concern to Kit that he still wasn't certain whether Christy would pull another episode like she had a few months earlier. She seemed happy and busy, but there was always that nagging feeling that if he let his guard down, she would leave him again.

"I'm not leaving again, Anthony, and like I told you when you found me, you don't have to give up your lifestyle for me. I know that's what she wants from Grizz. As sweet and kind as Kit is, and as much as I like her, I'm not her."

He walked toward her and hoisted her up. She knew to lock her legs around his waist.

“Good,” he told her as he kissed her forehead. He was relieved she didn’t want him to give up his less-than-savory endeavors. “I don’t want you to be Kit or any other woman.” He carried her to their bathroom where they undressed and showered together.

Afterward, they ate dinner, and he mentioned, "Nisha is supposed to call tonight with an update on X's case. Do you want to listen?"

She had a mouthful of food and nodded. After swallowing, she said, "Yes, definitely. Besides, I haven't officially met your sister, so these phone calls are the only time I get to talk to her."

Two hours later, Anthony let out a resigned sigh after hearing from Nisha that Alexander’s trial would be a difficult one for the defense. He cast a sidelong glance at Christy and noticed a single tear rolling down her cheek. In a solemn voice he told her, “It’ll be okay, Owani. We’ll figure this out.”

“What did you call me?” Nisha’s voice blasted through the speakerphone.

“I didn’t call you anything,” Anthony replied. “Christy is upset and I told her we’d figure it out.”

“But you called her Owani. I can’t believe you are being so disrespectful to her, Anthony!” Nisha remembered calling Alexander this same word on their first dinner date. After all Alexander had done for her since then, and based on what she now thought she might feel for him, she could only pray he hadn’t heard it, and if he had, she was relieved he would have no way of knowing what it meant. It wasn’t a nice word at all.

“It’s okay,” came Christy’s soft reply. “He used to call me Princess when we first met. And not in a good way.” She sniffed. She wasn’t in the least upset about the endearment. She was still shaken over the news about Alexander. “He told me about the fantasy world game you made up as a child. I already know Owani is something insulting. But I also know he doesn’t mean it like that.” She smiled at Anthony.

“You’re darn right it’s insulting,” Nisha replied. “And derogatory.” Her voice was starting to rise. “I made it up to describe—”

“Nisha, stop talking!” Anthony interjected. “Owani is not insulting or derogatory. The other word you made up is the one you’re thinking about. Owanu. That’s the word that describes someone hateful and despicable.”

“You’re wrong, Anthony,” Nisha squealed. Her voice seemed to echo off the walls of his office. “It was my game. I would remember my own game better than you.” Her tone was both accusatory and defensive.

“No, sister. It’s you who is wrong. I used to get them mixed up when we were kids, so you went so far as to make up rhymes to help me remember. You drilled them into my brain. They’re still there. You’ve obviously forgotten them.”

“B-but…” Nisha stammered.

“Don’t you remember telling me the easiest way to remember Owanu was because it rhymed with dog poo?”

Christy stifled a laugh.

“Oh my gosh!” Nisha exclaimed. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right, and I can’t believe I forgot about that.”

Nisha’s voice floated through the speakerphone as she recited the poem she’d created to describe the name given to someone who was considered an Owanu.

“Hateful and mean, you have no kindness. No heart in your chest is what causes your blindness. You pinch, and you push, you punch and you shove. You will never have an Owani to love.” A beat passed, and she added, “I wrote it to describe a boy named Albert. He used to pick on me before Anthony showed up.”

“Anthony saved you?” Christy asked.

“No,” Anthony interjected. “I didn’t save her. She saved herself that day.”

“Not a bad poem for an eight-year-old,” Nisha added. Her tone sounded lighter as she remembered the happiness Anthony had brought into her life. Remembering the fact that he used to endure the silly game for her sake caused her heart to swell.

“You were always the smartest kid in the class,” he told her. The pride in his voice was easily detected. Anthony could feel his sister’s smile through the phone.

“So, what does Owani mean?” Christy interrupted.

“It means cherished one. Prized above all else.” Nisha’s voice held a dreamy quality.

As if not hearing his sister, and without taking his eyes off Christy, Anthony recited another poem.

“Two hearts connected by strands of gold. My heart you will always hold. Safe by my side, you will always be. My forever love, you belong to me.” He reached for Christy’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Again, not bad for an eight-year-old.” He smiled.

Christy smiled back at him.

Later, Nisha lay in bed and stared at her ceiling. Sleep wouldn’t come as she tried to evaluate why she’d called Alexander an Owani that day. Had she really forgotten its true meaning or was there something in her subconscious that knew he was special? She flipped over onto her stomach and pulled her pillow down tight around her head. No, she told herself. Alexander is someone I care about, but he’s facing life in prison. He can’t be my Owani. That’s not the life I want. I refuse to fall in love with a man I could never be with. She let out a long sigh, and thought, It’s too late, you fool. You’re already in love with him.

As sleep finally began to take hold, her last conscious thought is what consoled her confused and tormented mind.

If Alexander did hear me that day, I’m just grateful he’ll never know what Owani really means.