The Final Victim(2)

"I figured y'all were back for your sister's wedding yesterday," Mimi says at last.

The beautiful Phyllida Remington might be living among the movie stars in California's Beverly Hills-with hopes of becoming one herself-but she chose to marry at the family's nineteenth-century mansion right here in the Low Country. The wedding was the social event of the summer for the hundreds who were invited.

Mimi was not among them. She doubts she'd have been welcome even if she was still dating Gib. He never did bring her home to meet his family.

"I'm only here till tomorrow. I'm flying back up to Boston first thing in the morning," Gib informs her importantly. 'The fall semester starts Wednesday."

Law school. Some fancy one in New England, maybe Ivy League. She doesn't know for certain, and she doesn't care.

"What about yours?" Gib asks.

"My what?" She skims the whitecaps for the pale head of a surfer who just took a harrowing tumble off his board. It's one of the Tinkston brothers, probably Kevin, the youngest of the four notorious local hell-raisers. Down at the water's edge, two fellow lifeguards stand at the ready with orange rescue tubes.

"Your fall semester."

Yeah, right.

Once upon a time, her future was promising. She had been a full-scholarship student at Telfair Academy-live out, of course-and followed up her high school career with another free ride at Georgia Southern. She was working on a degree in international studies, dreaming of one day moving abroad.

But that was before Daddy, a fisherman and heavy smoker, was diagnosed with lung disease.

Now, as beach season draws to a close and her pals prepare to head back to dormitories and lecture halls, she'll be peddling her meager resume around Savannah. She has to get a regular job and help her parents make ends meet-never an easy task for them, but nearly impossible now.

"Let's hook up tonight and catch up," Gib suggests, undaunted by her failure to respond to his last question. "What time are you off duty?"

Ignoring that as well, Mimi watches the Tinkston boy resurface among the breakers and promptly paddle back out with his board in tow, resilient, she thinks, as her ex-boyfriend here at the base of the lifeguard tower. Gib seems to have forgotten that the last time they saw each other she informed him she never wanted to see him again.

Technically, she still hasn't. Seen him, that is.

But curiosity gets the best of her now. She flicks her gaze downward to catch a glimpse of him.

Big mistake.

Law school obviously agrees with Gilbert Xavier Remington IV.

So does yet another summer spent in New England as a lifeguard on a coastal island presumably worlds away from this one.

Deeply tanned, clad only in red and white hibiscus-print board shorts and sunglasses, Gib is all abs and biceps. His hair is longer than it was when he lived under his father's roof. The sea breeze whips the sun-streaked locks back from his face to reveal a familiar jawline Mimi often traced with her fingertips, and the full lips that have been kissing other girls-countless other girls, she's sure.

She shouldn't have looked at him, damn it.

Now it's almost impossible to drag her eyes away and focus them back on the water, where they belong.

She's already got a boyfriend: Jed Johnston, whom she's known her whole life. His family lives a few doors down from hers in Tidewater Meadow, a low-income island housing development. The two of them were inseparable until Mimi went to prestigious Telfair Academy and Jed to tiny Achoco Public.

It isn't that she turned her back on her old friend-just that they moved in different circles. Especially in high school.

Especially when Mimi fell hard for Gilbert Xavier Remington IV.

Now, when Gib persists in asking what time she gets off, it's almost impossible to emit a casual laugh and say, "You're kidding, right?"

But she does manage to say it, and is rewarded by a moment's silence from below.

Then, his voice laced with incredulity, Gib responds, "You're still not over it."

"It" being the most traumatic event of her teenaged life, Mimi ignores the comment and watches a young mother in the water. Pale-skinned, obviously a tourist, the woman is wading knee-deep, stooped over and clutching both of her wriggling toddler's hands tightly as an incoming wave washes over them.

"You know, I said you were all grown up and gorgeous," Gib comments, "but I guess I was only half-right. You're just gorgeous."

Mimi thrusts her silver whistle between her lips to keep from responding, unsure, even as she does so, what she would say.

Part of her-the giddy, girly part-is flattered that Gib is still attracted to her. That part longs to take him up on his offer to get together later.

But another part of her-the mature adult part-is so dismayed she's still attracted to him that she wants to lash out, tell him to get lost.

Then a huge wave breaks. She cups her whistle and blasts it abruptly, standing to motion the clueless tourist mom to bring her toddler closer to shore. The tide is coming in and the water is too rough; the child could easily be swept from her hands.

The woman obliges and begins to move toward the beach.

Mimi removes the whistle from her mouth and sits again to resume her vigil while pondering whether she might accept Gib's invitation after all.

Maybe she should. Just to show him that she's over "It." Over him. Just to prove she's both grown up and gorgeous.