"This is one of the best places," Brad tells me, "for shallow-water snorkeling. Do you want to try that?"

"Sure."

We are anchored near the edge of the sandbar, and have spent the past thirty minutes or so wading and enjoying the view. There are a few other boats here, but not as many as I would have expected. Brad explained that Bear Cut Sandbar is kind of a hidden gem for locals, with most tourists gravitating toward the areas more geared toward partying, and therefore more crowded like Haulover or Nixon Beach Sandbar. Or Whale Harbor Sandbar, where he says people often set up early in the morning to guarantee the best spot.

Bear Cut is much more low-key, and suits my mood exactly for a relaxing day.

"This was the perfect choice," I tell Brad as he pulls snorkel masks and fins out of the storage area on the boat.

"I'm glad," he says. "Have you done this before?"

"Snorkeling? Not since I was a kid."

"I just took it up recently, and I have to admit, I'm addicted."

When he strips off his t-shirt, I can't help but notice that all that time he spends in the gym has results. He has a definite six pack. For a guy who described himself as kind of nerdy during our dinner date, he has a nice build. I'd definitely be feeling physically attracted under different circumstances. Like, if I wasn't trying so hard to get over Max and automatically compare everything else to the irresistible chemistry I have with him.

Brad goes over the basics with me, and then we move into the water, just floating on top on our stomachs and looking down, since most of the area is less than six feet deep. We see all kinds of fish, many of which I can't identify. I definitely see a school of parrotfish and several pufferfish, inflating themselves to spiky balls three times their normal size when they sense danger.

Brad gestures and I follow him to a shallow coral reef, and a whole new world of color and exotic species opens up. We drift, moving ourselves slightly forward with our fins and holding hands so we don't separate. I squeeze his hand and point when I spot a large sea turtle to my left, swimming slowly past us, as graceful in the water as it is awkward on land.

Right here and now, in this underwater paradise, it's almost possible to forget about my worries and all the disturbing events of the past week. It seems like a whole different world from the one where dangerous men had a shoot-out with Max and me in a high speed car chase, and someone in my own law firm is plotting to undermine me and delete confidential client files.

We have our picnic right on the boat, with the food spread out between us on a wakeboard Brad uses as an impromptu table. Everything looks amazing, and once we start eating I realize how hungry I was.

"I thought we brought too much food," I say to Brad between bites of my sub, "but now I'm rethinking that."

"The sun, the water, the snorkeling - guaranteed to give you an appetite," Brad says. He pulls a couple cans of the fruit-infused sparkling water out of the ice chest and hands one to me. "Biggest mistake I made when I started boating was not remembering to stay hydrated."

"At the gym and on the water," I say, and he smiles back at me.

He has a really nice smile.

"I want to see you again, Hadley." He runs his hand through his light brown wavy hair. It's starting to dry in the sun, and I notice there are gold flecks, probably from all the time he's been spending outdoors and on the water. "Let's just get that out of the way now instead of waiting until the end of the day."

"Brad," I start, but he interrupts me.

"I know you want to take it slow and that's fine. I'm not looking for something too serious right away." He takes a long drink and the condensation runs in slow drops down the can, catching the sunlight.

"But I do want the potential for something down the road."

"That's fair," I say, setting my plate aside for the moment. "I told you I just went through a breakup. It was hard. It's going to take me awhile to really open myself up to another person. I feel like I need to be honest and not mislead you. I'm not okay yet."

"I went through a difficult breakup myself," he tells me, and a cloud seems to pass over his face. It occurs to me that I'm not the only one hurting here.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shrugs. "There's not much to say. Ashley and I were together for almost three years."

"What happened? If you don't mind me asking."

Brad seems like a great guy and I'm curious what caused someone to break it off after almost three years, because I'm getting the vibe that the breakup wasn't his idea.

"It was my job," he says.

"She broke up with you because you're a ghostwriter?"

That gets a hint of a smile.

"Both my ghostwriting and my travel writing mean I'm away a lot. She had - has - a job that didn't lend itself to dropping everything and going with me for weeks at a time. And she didn't like the long absences."

He looks off at the horizon, past the other boaters and sun bathers who he doesn't seem to see at all.

"She wanted kids. A family. And she didn't want to do it alone while I traveled around the world writing travel books or shadowing my celebrity clients."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too." He glances over at me. "Sometimes love isn't enough to make it work."

* * *

Brad's words are still haunting me the next day when I'm sitting on the terrace with my grandmother drinking tall glasses of iced tea and making plans to plant a small butterfly garden. She may not remember the plans tomorrow, but for today it all seems real.

What he said is true, unfortunately. Sometimes love isn't enough to make it work. It isn't enough for Max and me.

"So, what do you think -" I start, but then I see my grandmother's face.

"Oh, Laura, I don't know what to do." Her eyes have filled with tears. It takes me a moment to realize she's not talking about what flowers are most likely to attract what species of butterfly.

I reach over and take her frail hand in mine.

"It's going to be okay," I tell her.

"He can't do this. You have to stop him. You have to stop Brandon."

My father. What is she talking about? What was my father threatening to do?

"Mama, Brandon would never . . ." I let my voice trail off, hoping she'll fill in the blanks.

"He would. He said he would. You heard him last night, screaming at your father."

My gentle pacifist dad was screaming at my grandfather? It just doesn't compute.

"No," I say, "it's okay. It's going to be alright."

But she's getting more and more agitated. She pulls free from my grasp and stands up, starts pacing back and forth, wringing her hands together.

"Andy? Andy!" Her voice is rising, and I feel helpless.

"Mama, it's okay. It's okay. I'll stop him. Don't worry."

But she's crying now, too far gone into her own mind to hear me. The only thing I can think of is just to pull her into my arms.

As I move toward her I hear the door, then my grandfather's voice.

"Tricia, I'm right here," he says, then to me, "It's fine, I've got her."

"Andy!" she says and runs to him, reaching as if for a lifeline. "Oh, Andy."

He's the one who pulls her into his arms, rubs her back gently while she sobs.

"What are we going to do, Andy?"

"Shhhh. It's fine. I took care of it."

She tilts her head against his chest to look up into his face. "You talked to Brandon?"

"Yes. It's all better now. He understands."

"Really?"

Her voice is so sweet, so full of hope it brings tears to my own eyes.

"Yes," my grandfather says. "Everything is okay now. Let's go upstairs and lie down a bit." He's gently leading her back inside.

"I'm so tired," she says.

"We'll just rest now," my grandfather says as they cross the terrace and go in through the door to the breakfast area and kitchen. "Everything's fine."

I hear his voice, so gentle, calming her until they disappear into the house.

I don't want her upset, I don't want her to suffer. But I wish she had said more before my grandfather came out.

I examine what I know so far about the secrets of the past, rolling it around in my brain as if the pieces will sudden fall together and connect, like a jigsaw puzzle. My grandfather and Max's dad having some kind of a major fallout that involved Gino when Max was five. If Max was five, my mother would have been around 21 then, and my father was a few years older. So this has to be around the same time he dropped out of law school.

Is it connected? I don't know. I remember the night my grandmother wandered off and Max helped in the search and brought her back. I remember her being so afraid that someone - presumably Max's father - was "going to kill us all." Which obviously didn't happen. But how does it all tie together? Or does it? Are these just three separate incidents from the past, or all they all part of a larger pattern?

Would Max's father really have threatened to wipe out my entire family over the deal with Gino? What I saw in my grandmother's eyes that night was pure terror mixed with despair.

I sit on the terrace for a long time, sipping my tea and trying to make sense of it all, and I just can't.

I'm interrupted finally with a text from Brad.

I had a great time yesterday.

I smile and text back. So did I.

Why can't everything in my life be as uncomplicated right now as the few dates with Brad? I'd forgotten what it felt like to go out with someone and not have the constant undercurrent of danger and secrets.

Brad texts back: I'm out of town next weekend, but how about the Saturday after? Bring your friend Martina and we'll go wakeboarding.

I respond: I'm free - I'll ask her.

She's welcome to bring a date along. Either way is fine.

I stare at the innocuous words, thinking. Should I invite Martina and tell her to bring Gabe if he's free? Or am I asking for trouble? I'm not sure having Brad meet Max's best friend is a good idea.

Well, not sure, I text back. She's dating a guy who is friends with my ex.

There are little bubbles on my screen indicating Brad is texting back. I'm wondering what his response to this will be.