Where the Stars Still Shine(59)

The tops of my feet are splotched pink from the sun by the time we reach the next bridge, the one crossing over onto Anna Maria Island. Traffic slows to a stop as a pair of red-and-white gates block the road.

“Is that a drawbridge?” I climb back out the window, sitting on the door frame, to watch as the deck slowly tilts up to allow a tall white-masted sailboat to pass through. The driver of the car behind us revs the engine impatiently, as if it will somehow speed the boat’s progress. The sea breeze carries the scent of the tide and exhaust, and seagulls glide on invisible currents overhead. I take pictures of the drawbridge, a waterfront oyster bar at the side of the road, and Alex, laughing at me through the windshield.

“That was so cool,” I say, when the bridge is back in place and we’re bumper-to-bumpering our way forward with the rest of the tourists.

“You kill me,” Alex says.

The wheels of the truck rumble over the mesh grating of the drawbridge deck as we cross. I take a picture of the little blue bridge-tender building. “I’ve never seen a drawbridge before.”

“It’s just—you’re making me see through different eyes today,” he says. “It’s like everything is interesting to you.”

“Everything is interesting to me.”

“Then you”—he slides his arm along the bench seat behind me—“you’re going to love snorkeling.”

Alex parks in front of a dive shop just off Gulf Drive, the road that runs the length of the island. The glass front door is pasted with flyers for dive trips and upcoming certification courses, and a bumper sticker tells us that “a bad day diving beats a good day at work.” This is the kind of life I think my mom always meant for us to have, and even though my stomach flutters with excitement, I feel a little sad that I’m living it without her. Alex threads his fingers through mine as we go inside, and I push the sadness away.

A guy wearing a faded red T-shirt with the shop logo printed on the back is hanging dive masks on a display in the middle of the shop. He looks up as we come in.

“Hey, Alex!” He tucks a stray lock of long dark hair behind his ear as they shake hands and flashes me a grin. “Long time, bro. Good to see you.”

“You, too.” Alex introduces us. “Callie, this is Dave. He’s one of my dive buddies. Dave, this is Callie. She’s the girl I eat Drumsticks with in the middle of the night.”

“Never heard it called that before.” Dave laughs, making me blush. “Doing the wreck today, or the rocks?”

“Rocks,” Alex says.

“Nice choice. Viz has been about fifteen to twenty feet the last couple days. Should be lots to see. Maybe even some dolphins. Need gear?”

“I brought mine,” Alex says. “But Callie could use some, and maybe a suit if you have a spare.”

Dave sizes me up. “I think my sister’s stuff would probably fit. Hang on.” He crosses to a wooden door covered with white oval-shaped decals from different dive sites around the world. As he disappears behind the door, I wonder if he’s been to all of those places. He emerges with a mesh dive bag. “I’ve got a snorkel, a mask, fins, boots, and a shortie. Need anything else? Got water? Sunscreen?”

Alex nods as he takes the bag. “This’ll do it. Thanks.”

Dave grabs a disposable underwater camera from a counter display and hands it to me. “Take a camera, too. On me.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime. Listen, man, we’re doing a trip to Roatan in February. You in?”

Disappointment washes over Alex’s face, as if it’s seeping right out of his pores. He shakes his head. “Still working the boat.”

“No worries, bro. There will always be more trips.” Dave slaps his shoulder and turns to shake my hand. “It was great to meet you, Callie.”

“You, too.”

Alex is quiet as he throws the gear in the back of the truck beside his own dive bag and a small red cooler, and we turn back out onto Gulf Drive, heading toward the north end of the island. I wonder if he’s thinking about missed opportunities, too.

“What are the rocks?” I ask.

“The Spanish Rocks,” he says. “It’s a reef made from some limestone ledges along the bottom. Not sure why they call it Spanish Rocks, because it’s neither, but it’s been called that as long as I can remember. Anyway, it’s a good place to learn.”

Alex turns left into a tiny beachfront parking lot where a couple of divers in full wet suits are unloading tanks and fins from the back of their SUV. Something that resembles envy flickers across his face as they carry their gear to the beach, and I worry that he’ll be bored snorkeling on the surface with me when he could be underwater like them. He leans over and kisses me. “Ready?”

“I think so.”

We get out of the truck. While Alex takes the bags and cooler from the bed, I unbutton my shirt. He pauses, watching.

“Do you have to do that?” I ask. “You’ve seen me in my underwear before.”

He laughs. “I’ve seen you out of your underwear, too, but I haven’t seen you in a bikini yet. Consider me curious.”

The bikini is pretty basic—blue-and-white gingham checked with pale-green ties—but Kat declared it The One. The way Alex is looking at me now makes me wonder if she wasn’t right. “Happy now?”