She was not going to sit up front with James Summerlin. She never felt comfortable there. Besides, Father Al believed James was going to become a priest. It might disillusion him if he had a girl at his side.

  And the priest already knew she wasn’t one of his sisters. If Jam wanted to come back and sit next to her, that was up to him. There he was. She’d beat him to church this morning. Jelly was with him. Now that was a surprise. Or even a shock! Joey hadn’t thought she ever attended mass. Nor even got up this early.

  Father Al pounced on Jam immediately. He must need a server again. That answered the seating question for another Sunday, as Jelly settled into a pew on the other side of the nave.

  Joey felt her mind wandering as mass began. Pay attention! For a minute or two, she managed it. Then came memories of the beach and the sun and her conversation with Kris. Sex and all those things that were less than actually having sex. Those were ways to sidetrack overly insistent boys. She hadn’t been about to lose her virginity to any of the guys she dated. Lose? That was altogether the wrong word. You didn’t lose your virginity any more than you lost a gift you gave someone. Joey intended to be very careful to whom she gave this gift.

  She shouldn’t be thinking about that in church. Her attention turned back to the altar. Jam sat upright, eyes straight ahead, in one of the chairs fnking the altar, as Father Al prepared to deliver his sermon. It would probably be brief. Oral sex wouldn’t break a priest’s vow of celibacy, would it? Not strictly speaking. A vow of chastity would be another matter. Celibacy was an either-or thing but chastity was something of a moving target. She had definitely missed that target a few times.

  No matter. Joey wasn’t about to see any of it as much of a sin. He was done talking already? The service moved on into the offertory. She couldn’t be bmed if her mind drifted again as she sat there. At least she didn’t fall asleep; this early, people sometimes did.

  Joey had devoured The Worm Ouroboros and then borrowed Mistress of Mistresses. She was inclined to agree with Ronnie that it was the better book. Such gorgeous nguage! And most of it so superfluous. She would rather write like Hemingway. Or maybe Katherine Mansfield. Did her attempts at writing sound imitative? Lin hadn’t said anything like that. She really hadn’t said much of anything at all.

  She wasn’t sure Lin even knew much about literature. At the end of mass, she thought she would just sit there and wait for Jam. But Jelly nodded toward the door as she passed by in the main aisle, so she followed her and everyone else outside. “What do you think?” asked the girl, with a grandiose sweep of her arm toward a shiny motor scooter.

  “It’s red,” said Joey.

  “Oh, you noticed!” The scooter was chained to one of the benches beneath the ficus trees. They’d gotten rge, hadn’t they? She remembered climbing in them when she was little. They’d seemed big to her then, too. “It’s a Vespa,” announced Jelly. “Here comes my errant brother. Ready to ride home?”

  “I”m going to walk, if Joey is willing to come over for breakfast with me.”

  “You’ll have to fix me some too, this time!” Jelly opened up the throttle and rode across the wn and into the street. The grass would recover from being torn up just a bit, Joey felt.

  “Let me get my bike,” she told Jam. Herself she told, no way am I pushing it all the way to his house this time. I’ll just ride slow. Or ride circles around him if he dawdles. “You should have brought your own bike.”

  “I didn’t want to disappoint Angelica the first time she offered me a ride. There will be opportunities for that ter.”

  There might not be more offers. “She should wear a helmet.”

  “Maybe you should too. I’ve seen bicyclists in helmets.”

  Joey hadn’t. It did sound sort of sensible, not that she would give up having the wind and sun in her hair. A few minutes ter they were in the Summerlin kitchen.

  “Pan perdu, garcon,” ordered Jelly, already waiting at the table.

  Joey was baffled. “What’s that?”

  “French toast. That’s what we sophisty-kates call it.”

  “Oh, I want to be a sophisty-kate! Gimme some pan-pertooty, too. That’s French, right?” she asked Angelica, taking a seat. “I don’t know any French. We did have a pretty good Spanish teacher at Naples High.” Which was no guarantee she could communicate with a native Spanish speaker.

  “I speak Spanish and French. Better than my brother, too.”

  “Ah, but you can’t speak Latin,” Jam countered. “Much less Greek.” He busied himself with eggs and milk and butter and thick slices of French bread. Joey considered getting up and helping but decided against it.

  “Would anyone like to go on a surfing trip?” she asked. “An invited Ronnie but she wants moral support, even if it is just a one day thing. She asked me to go along.”

  “Does An know that?” wondered Jelly.

  “Maybe not. We could surprise him.”

  “I might be up for it,” said Jam.

  Jelly gnced up at her brother. “And for Miami?”

  Joey felt left out of the conversation again. Maybe this was something else sophisty-kates knew about. “Miami?”

  “The Republican convention. I’m still thinking of going over and helping to raise a ruckus.”

  “So am I,” said Jelly. “Our parents would be more likely to let Jam go.”

  “Not that we aren’t both—aren’t all—” he asserted, giving Joey a nod. “Old enough to decide on our own.”

  “I prefer to choose my battles and that one isn’t worth fighting,” was what Jelly had to say about it. “That’s not to say I wouldn’t go too, if Mom and Dad don’t object.”

  Joey could not see herself going to Miami and demonstrating in the streets. She could see herself going and writing about it though, couldn’t she?

  “Okay, make yourself useful, you two,” ordered Jam. “Joey, ptes and forks. Jell, find us some drinks. The first of these will be ready shortly.”

  They already smelled great. Too bad, thought Joey, as she set the table, he’s going to be a priest. He’d make some girl a great husband. And she’d never have to cook.