When Coleen got up, Clay didn't stand or act like he noticed. He didn't walk her to the door.

She stopped to kiss her mother's cheek, as Mama beat potatoes vigorously with her whisk.

"Nice seeing you, Mother Dear," she said, and she was gone.

Her leaving meant Clay wouldn't get indigestion at dinner, but the air Coleen left behind was heavy with discontent.

Clay didn't know what was said between Mama and her daughter before he arrived on the scene, but if he was waiting for her to talk about it, he was wasting his time.

Mama wouldn't criticize one of her own, no matter how off base she was. Whatever had been said drove Mama into silence.

Coleen left without consolation she thought she'd find here. The frigid air left behind by her visit hung heavy in the Conservancy house. Clay stayed close to his mother in case she needed to talk. She tended to her dinner with the resolve of a saint.

Clay was happy he didn't need to endure a meal with his big sister, and Mamma thought it best to allow Coleen to depart without being fed at her table. Mama fed everyone.

Perhaps it had to do with Pop's health. Subjecting him to her daughter's contempt for him served no purpose. He'd already had one heart attack. If anyone could bring on a stroke, his sister could.

Dinner was a quiet affair. With three people eating at a table set up for six dinners, made the dining room feel airy. Each sound of utensils against plates gave off a ring.

Mama was distant. Pop was engaged with his wife's wonderful food preparation that added a welcome dimension to his day. Clay wanted to say something, but he had nothing to say. The pork chops, green beans, summer squash, and stuffing filled the table, leaving the plate of biscuits pushed between the peas and over whipped potatoes.

A table once full of energy coming from the diners felt empty. It was Pop who decided to break the silence.

"Pass me the gravy, Clayton," Pop said. "Were you expecting people who foolishly didn't come to share our feast, Mother?"

"You know how many I usually cook for, Father. I wasn't thinking. I just got carried away. I miss Dylan. Lucy will be home in a couple of days. Ivan, Lord knows what he's up to."

"Peas are a bit mushy tonight, Mama," Clay said.

"I was whipping potatoes. Forgot to lower the heat. They taste fine," Mama said. "Didn't ruin them. Just overcooked a bit."

"They taste fine, Mother, but I don't think I can eat enough to put a dent in all this food. The pork chops are special. I do love your pork chops, and the stuffing is the perfect touch with your gravy," John said, buttering his third biscuit.

Pop did love Mama's cooking.

It wasn't like his mother to forget to mention something like his long lost daughter coming to call. When Coleen left, she burned that bridge to the ground. She told her father what she thought of him pulling her up by her roots.

Even at fourteen, Clay saw how she hurt his father. Pop was doing the best he could. He was swindled by his friend and business partner because he was an honest man. He couldn't conceive of anyone doing such a thing. He didn't do it to upset Coleen.

It didn't hurt Clay at all. Clay wasn't really alive until they moved to Florida. His identity, everything he had and loved, came to him by virtue of the move to Florida. It was a good move for him.

Clay stayed to help Mama clear the table. She didn't ask why he stayed close to her that evening. Clay was the son who was closest to her. He was the youngest boy, and he was concerned for his mother.

"Fix a plate. I'll run it down to Taggart. He probably hasn't eaten. He'll enjoy a nice home cooked meal, Mama."

"Good idea. Thank you, Clayton," she said.

"No point in wasting food, Mama."

"Not that. For not mentioning your sister to your father."

"I really don't have anything to say about her. You'd think, after all these years, she'd have lightened up a little."

"She's made her life hard. It doesn't need to be hard. You going to Ivan's, after you take Tag dinner?"

"No, Mama, I took some film I want to look at on Dylan's editor. I'll stay in my own bed tonight. I'll be gone early," he said.

"I'll have coffee ready. You come down before you leave."

"That's an offer I'll be happy to take you up on, Mama," Clay said, taking the plastic container she'd loaded up with food.

Taggart hadn't been to JK's and Clay left him smiling with a pork chop in one hand and an orange soda in the other.

Clay went up to the third floor by way of the outside stairs. He didn't like going through the house after his father was in bed.

He sat at the editor, running and rerunning the whale footage. The pictures gave him a warm feeling. When he was done, he'd add the footage to Dylan's files so he would see it as soon as he got home.

He stayed at the editor for a long time. His mind was on Dylan, Ivan, and how far away from him they were. Clay understood that Popov was in Cambodia by now. He didn't know how he felt. Did men going to rescue Ivan put him in more danger?

They wouldn't do anything right away. Bob Alexander appeared to be a careful man. He'd want care taken with the rescue. If everything went well, how long was it before Ivan came home?

The phone rang and Clay's father picked up.

"Mother, for you. It's Lucy," he said, and Clay got up from the editor and went to the railing to listen.

"Oh, Luce, I was hoping you'd call. How are you? Did you have a good supper? You're getting enough sleep, aren't you?"

Clay smiled.

The good daughter, he thought, glad she called.

She'd rest easier hearing Lucy talking excitedly about what she was getting done for women everywhere. Lucy was in Tallahassee for some meetings with state legislators. She was a hero and an alumnus of the state legislature. Lucy never stopped going back to encourage the new class of women who decided to make a difference.

Clay went back into the bedroom and sat on Dylan's bed. His eyes went to the giant Teddy bear leaning against the wall at the foot of the bed. He reached for it and hugged it. It smelled like Dylan. He laid back on the bed, holding the Teddy bear in the air.

"You miss him too, don't you? No one to hold you at night," Clay said, and he hugged the bear to his chest.

"Mother, would you warm me some milk. I need some warm milk," John Olson said to his wife.

"Give me a minute," she said, still sitting next to the phone.

"The lights on in Dylan's room, Mother. Clayton must have forgotten to turn it off. I'll go up. Don't want it burning all night."

"He was using the editor," Mama said. "Must have left it on."

John Olson went up to the third floor. When he got to the door to Dylan's room, he saw his son with that giant Teddy bear in his arms. He was sound asleep on Dylan's bed.

John felt a chill and he thought a storm was brewing. He went to the foot of the bed and unfolded the sheet up over his son.

He went to the door and reached for the light. He hesitated, going back over to the bed. He leaned and kissed his son's forehead.

"Sleep tight, Son," he said.

He turned off the light, closing the door behind him.

Clay had coffee with Mama before parking behind the Dive Shop and going to Sea Lab. He heard the trash buggy as he fired up Sea Lab and eased out of the mouth of the cove and into the Gulf.

Clay smiled as he moved down in the water. The sun had just begun to shine brightly and he had a freighter to see. At first, he approached this spot with reverence for the men who died here. Above all, the freighter was the grave of the ship's crew.

The monument was a coral reef that took over the sunken ship.

The life was quickly evident and the beauty apparent to a busy marine biologist documenting the life of the coral reef.

Clay never approached the freighter from the same direction twice. Many times, he went to the sea floor before approaching, and once he settled on the floor, he didn't move for a long time. The only sign of life was the air bubbles coming from his SCUBA tanks.

By staying still for several minutes, the sea life forgot he had dropped in on them, and once he started moving, most sea creatures were back to business as usual, darting in and out ... up and down.

It was only after he reached the freighter that he decided which way to go this time. He never saw the same scene, and it was new each time he went there. This had become his favorite reef to dive on.

If he'd known how difficult it would be to be away from Dylan, he'd have gone with him on the summer's research trip. Harry could fire him for all he cared. He could live without Harry McCallister.

If it wasn't for his work, he'd have gone bat shit crazy by that time. As he floated down in the water and settled beside what appeared to be an ordinary coral reef in the shape of a ship, Clay felt more alive than usual.

It was alive with sea life he could see from a distance. He approached slowly. Some colorful fish came to meet him, as curious about him as he was about them. He'd stop, wait, see them in the water around him, and move on to see what else he could see. He tried not to disturb the business of those darting fish.

This is where Clay loved to go. Down here he was able to set aside his loneliness and worry. Becoming lost in his work took his mind off everything but the beauty in the underwater world.

He followed the activities of one fish being dazzled by its incredible colors. The motion of another fish got his attention. He found himself in a sea of living things. The water was filled with life.

He had work to do as he floated free. He could only float, become part of the scenery for a little while, until it was time to do the work he was there to do.

Collecting a piece of the reef, some odd appearing vegetation he didn't recognize, or watch a tiny darting fish he wanted a closer look at. Frequently stopping to watch, he was fascinated by one or another of these denizens of the deep. He almost felt like he was one of them.

The motion of one fish leading him to see the motion of another fish as they darted in and out. In that placid place life abounded, invisible to all but a few who knew the wreckage was here and had become a monument to the men who sailed her. No one had a more beautiful monument that grew on this watery grave.

Clay took time doing the simple tasks marine biologists do. He was even more aware of himself and his place in a fragile ecosystem. If everyone got to see the things he saw, they'd never dump garbage, soda cans, or refrigerators into the sea. It was not a garbage can.

Suspended in the water as he moved from one place to another, Clay picked spots he hadn't looked at closely before. He'd used half his air and hadn't done much. There were scientific reasons for him to be there, and so he did a little work to fulfill his duty to his job.

Observations were work. He'd write a report. That was work. There was no way not to learn something each time he took a dive. You never could see it all, discover everything, learn the secrets hidden in so many extraordinary life forms.

Even while going down the ladder, he knew where he'd be the last fifteen minutes of this dive. He couldn't plan it all or know what he might encounter when he went into the sea, but he knew where he'd end up on each dive to the freighter.

He maneuvered to where he could see the break in the reef where the reef hadn't gained a foothold, as of yet. He stood under that spot before allowing himself to rise up to deck level. His head and face mask saw the deck first. Once he was completely oriented, he allowed the rest of his body to rise to where he could rest on the deck facing the mother octopus.

He moved so slowly that the mother did not sense his presence. The air would give him away eventually. It only created a small disturbance in the water, but the octopus would eventually open the one large eye facing where Clay rested, watching.

It was always a surprise when that eye blinked open and saw the odd creature twenty feet away. Clay had been there a half a dozen times now. The octopus didn't give him much notice before the eye blinked closed. She'd seen him enough to know he was of no consequence. She didn't fear him or sense danger in his presence. She continued doing what she came there to do. Sit on her eggs.

Clay took pictures on one dive. The click the camera produced was annoying to the mother. Clay took the pictures he needed, but he didn't bring the Nikon down with him again. When Dylan came back, if she was still there, Dylan would film her from a distance that would not disturb her, and those pictures would be priceless.

Clay never used the underwater 16mm camera. This was a business that required a professional approach. Dylan had that approach, and Clay couldn't do justice to the art involved. He only took still pictures from time to time, because Dylan wasn't there.

The next time the octopus eye opened, the odd looking creature staring at her was gone. Clay eased over the side of the freighter to float down to the floor of the Gulf before he got ready to surface.

It was another perfect day in paradise. The sun was getting high in the eastern sky as Clay started back for the cove. He didn't plan to dive Friday morning. After seeing the whales on Thursday, he didn't know if he'd ever dive again. It was as moving as his world got.

He couldn't have predicted that the amazing discovery that morning could lead to the disruption that took place that afternoon. There was no way to regroup. Harsh reality bothered Clay. He saw beauty, lived with and in the sea, where nothing interrupted his flow.

There was ugliness in the world. He avoided ugliness, because he didn't like how ugly the ugly could become. Mostly the ugliest things were people. The world could flow in wonderfully pleasant ways, until someone decided to force their ugliness on others.

Clay woke up needing to dive on Friday. He needed to be in the Gulf where he intended to reset his resolve. The universe was out of balance. Sailing back into the cove Friday morning, balance was possible on another perfect day in paradise. Clay would see to it.

Backing the Sea Lab into her slip, he collected his gear and walked down the pier. The bell tinkled as he entered the shop. Tag looked up from the counter, and watched Clay take his tanks back to the compressor to set them down.

"I'll make a fresh pot of coffee," he said.

"Yes, I could use a fresh cup," Tag said.

Clay's cutoffs were clean. His white tee shirt was white, and he seemed to be in good humor that morning.

Tag went back to his reading.

"Busy?" Clay asked.

"About usual. The soda man hasn't come. I'm going to be up to my ears in campers by this afternoon if I don't have cold sodas."

"I can go to Piggly Wiggly," Clay said.

"Might need you to do that. Don't want to lose sales."

"Soda will cost more retail at Piggly Wiggly," Clay said.

"Better to have the sodas when people want them. If I'm out, they stop buying sodas here. We can afford to pay a little more."

Clay poured Tag's cup full and sat down in his usual spot.

"Ivan knows Popov is with him by now," Clay said.

"How do you know that?"

"I know. I can feel it. There's a ripple in the force."

Tag laughed.

"Mother Octopus?"

"Still there," Clay said.

"Tell your Mama the pork chops were delicious," Tag said.

"I will," Clay said, sipping his coffee, looking out at the cove.

*****

I stood on the bridge next to Captain Hertzog as he guided the Horizon into the harbor at Guam. Right after dropping anchor, he radioed for a taxi to pick up the men and crew who wanted to go ashore for the day.

I stuck with Logan as we took the trip to shore. I knew where I was going, and Logan went with me. It was the same restaurant where Dad and I ate last summer. It was good Pacific Island food, and while it couldn't hold a candle to Greeks feasts, it was quite good, and a change of pace, which I was looking forward to. Anything away from the Horizon would have been good.

When we left the restaurant we walked along the street where the harbor shops were. I enjoyed the ground not moving under me.

We stopped to get ice cream, which wouldn't last long in the noonday sun. It hit the spot and I had an excuse to eat it fast.

I remembered the phone booth when we reached it. Dad used that phone to call Daddy-O the summer before. I hadn't seen Dad for over a month. I hadn't seen Daddy-O for even longer. I had no idea where Daddy-O was, but I knew where dad was.

"Let's stop here," I said. "I want to call my dad."

"Tell him I said hello," Logan said, sitting on a nearby bench.

I still felt the same tinge of homesickness I'd been dealing with for the last week. I didn't know what I was going to say. I didn't know what I was going to do.

The Guam operator asked me to hold while she contacted an operator in the States. That operator would get Florida on the line. It felt familiar, but it was different. I was with my dad when I experienced it the summer before. He placed the call.

I needed to talk to my father. If I talked to my father, the homesickness could subside. If it didn't, he intended to ask for a plane ticket home.

Waiting for the connection to finally be made, I could feel the heat of the day creeping up on me. I didn't want to be a wuss. I was unhappy and I wanted to go home. I was sorry I left the cove.

It was no faster than the year before, but I remember how long it took to get connected to an American operator, and then she still had to contact a Florida operator.

After ten minutes, the operator said, 'Go ahead, Guam. Your party has accepted your call."

"Is this Peg," I tried.

"Yes, your father isn't in Dylan. He went out for a morning dive. Is there a number where he can reach you? He'll be back any time."

"No, thank you. Tell him I called. I'm in Guam."

"Is everything OK in the Pacific Ocean, Dylan?"

"Yeah, I photographed something we can't identify. The captain is convinced it's a prehistoric dinosaur."

"Oh, how exciting," Peg said. "Enjoy yourself. Bye."

It took another ten minutes to call the Dive Shop, but if Dad wasn't at work, he'd was most likely to be there.

"Tag!" I said excitedly as soon as I heard my friend's voice.

"Dylan, how are you? I miss you."

"I'm OK. I photographed something no one can identify. The captain thinks it might be a tyrannosaurus."

"Oh my god, Dylan. A dinosaur under water? Be careful."

"We don't know what it is. It's in the shadows but the captain is convinced it's an underwater T-Rex. I think it got to him a little. Thinking that thing was a few dozen yards under his ship."

"Oh my god," Tag said again. "Look, your father is about to run me over if I don't hand him the phone. Nice talking to you. When will you be home?" Tag asked.

"I don't know. By the time school starts maybe. The professor has school too," Dylan said.

"Dylan, how are you," Clay said excited to hear his son's voice.

"I'm in our phone booth from last summer."

"You're in Guam all ready? What did you find? Did you film it? Are you OK, Dylan?"

"I'm fine. I miss you, Dad. I wish you were here."

"I miss you, Dylan. You'll be home in another month. Are you sure you're OK?"

"I photographed something. No one knows what it is, Dad."

"You went back to those ruins, didn't you? Bill knew I didn't want you to go back there. Is Bill with you? If he is, put him on. I need to talk to him."

"No, Dad. Logan's with me. He says, 'Hi.' You know how I didn't get homesick last summer? Well, maybe I got a little homesick. I really miss you, Dad. I miss the cove and all the people. I'm tired, Dad. I wish I could sleep in my own bed. A bed that doesn't move would be nice for a change."

"I can fly you home today if that's what you want, Dylan. You'd be here by tomorrow afternoon. Say the word."

"I guess I'm still a kid after all, Daddy," Dylan said, leaning his forehead against the cool glass in the phone booth.

"Dylan?"

"Yeah, Dad."

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing ... Bill took the Scorpion into that trench," I said.

"He what?" Dad yelped.

"What I photographed. It followed us out of the trench. Logan says, 't's the Logical reason it showing up when it did."

"I'll wire you a plane ticket. Call me back in two hours. I'll give you the details. You have your ID with you?"

"Yea, but ... , I don't know, Dad. If I quit in the middle. I don't know how I'm going to feel. I need to stick it out. I signed up for it. I need to finish what I started, Dad."

Clay felt his son's pain. He knew that thinking was his doing. You never started something and then walked away. It was always best to make the best of a difficult situation. There was no telling how it might turn out, but if you quit, you didn't know how it would have turned out.

"You'll leave Guam by tomorrow morning. If you change your mind, call the house. I'll be at the house. There's no shame in wanting to come home, Dylan. I couldn't be prouder of you, no matter what you decide to do," Clay said. "Popov went to get Daddy-O."

"Popov?" Dylan said.

"Harry hired some people. They'll bring your father home," Clay explained.

"I don't want to talk about him. He left."

"Dylan, it wasn't Ivan's fault. He didn't do anything."

"He was gone for the first ten years of my life. He was the one who got mixed up with bad people. He did that on his own. I don't want to talk about him."

"OK. Try to have fun, Dylan. We're bankrupting your father's shop with this call. You take care of yourself, and you tell Bill, we're going to have a long talk as soon as he gets back here."

"Dad, he's a scientist. I'm a kid. He didn't think about me being with him when he did that. He was thinking of being a scientist, Dad."

"Just the same, you tell him we need to talk."

"Yes, Sir. See you next month, Dad."

I hung up the phone feeling like I went ten rounds with Ali.

I pulled down on the disconnect bar on the telephone.

"I love you, Dad," Dylan said to himself. "I miss you."

Clay held the dead phone.

"I didn't wish him happy birthday. I've never been away from him on his birthday," Clay said, looking at Taggart.

"Doesn't sound good, does he?" Tag asked.

"He's worried about his father. He shouldn't be away at a time like this, but I thought ... I thought wrong. I thought he'd miss his father less if he wasn't here. Now, I wish he was here, Taggart. He didn't see Ivan leave, but he knows he's gone."

"I wondered about that," Taggart said. "I knew I'd miss him, but he was gone last summer too."

"I should have kept him here and we'd have dealt with Ivan leaving together. Now we're all over the place. None of us have a way to deal with our fear and loss. He'll be OK, but I wish he was here. He has a birthday in a few days."

Clay handed over the phone to Taggart. He got up to stand in front of the shop's huge window.

The cove was empty. The fishing fleet was out. Ivan and Dylan were thousands of miles away. He wondered if he'd ever get both of his men back again. Life wasn't much good without them.

Clay was at a loss to know what to do. He couldn't do anything.

The dye had been cast and Clay could do nothing but wait.

"They'll be fine," Tag said. "They'll be home before you know it."

"I wish I could feel that way too. Without them, I'm no good."

"You're fine," Tag reassured him. "Ivan and Dylan will be home before you know it. Everything will go back to the way it belongs."

Clay heard every word. He wished he was as certain as Tag.