Ronnie did read a lot. So did she, for that matter. Pay attention, Joey scolded herself. She could think about that after mass.

  She liked coming to this earliest of services, riding her bicycle through the still-dark streets. That hadn’t been possible the st few months. Her job had gotten in the way. No more. Joey usually attended alone; Mom had become reticent about going to mass since her divorce and remarriage. But Joey came. Oh, now and then she ended up at the beach instead of Saint Ann’s, but no one was perfect. That’s why they had church, right?

  She knew she couldn’t use Ronnie’s discount at the book store forever. Or past the end of this summer. The Sanctus. Holy, holy, holy. Time to kneel. Everything was in English now. Joey had grown up with Latin in church, had learned to sing the Latin mass when she went to school at Saint Ann Elementary, catty-cornered and up half a block or so from the church. Four years only.

  She’d missed going to school with her best friends during those years. Mom and Dad—her birth dad, not Wayne—thought it would be good for her. Mom had kept her enrolled after the divorce. She’d needed her friends even more then. Joey joined the line for communion. A short line.

  A short service too. It never took more than half an hour at the early morning mass. Father Al might have come close to making it twenty minutes now and again. He almost always said this mass.

  Her blue bicycle was chained behind the church. The chain probably wasn’t necessary but there was no reason to tempt either people or fate. She would hurry right out and ride down to the pier. There might still be overnight fishermen leaving with their catches. The final blessing and—here we go. She followed the others out into the dawn.

  At least there would still be the library. Her friends were leaving but that refuge remained. There would be the library at Edison College too. Losing her job—okay, quitting her job—had convinced her the junior college in Fort Myers was her best choice now. It was cheap and she could live at home and there was even a free bus to take her there.

  The bike’s metal and seat were wet from the dew. She folded the beach towel she carried and sat on that as she peddled toward the pier. Too bad she couldn’t peddle somewhere far away. There was a tiny bit of wobble in the rear, wasn’t there? She’d have to check it when she got home. Probably the nut just needed tightening. It was a good bike, a dependable single-speed with twenty-six inch wheels to go with her long legs.

  Joey had attached commodious baskets in the rear so she could do the grocery shopping. The Sunshine was a just a little way down the highway from their house. When she was little she could see the Trail—Highway Forty-one, that was—from the yard, with only vacant sand spur-filled lots between, but construction since had hidden it.

  She stopped in the shadows of the huge banyan tree a block east of the pier. A favorite hangout of kids as far back as she could remember. Probably before that! Its roots had buckled the sidewalk, stained brown from the rains that had dripped through its branches longer than Joey had lived.

  Ronnie loved that banyan. It was like the epitome of that old Naples she was always going on about. Joey peddled on to the pier but only went around the circle at the entry and headed back east. She wasn’t going to walk out there this morning. She felt like riding. She felt like pushing herself. The damp beach towel went into one of the baskets and she started pumping.

  Maybe she’d buzz by Kris’s home. The Greenes lived south of the pier, but close to it. Close to the city docks, too, which was good since her dad had a very nice boat. Kris should invite them to go out on it more often. A right, a left a couple blocks up. Joey felt like peddling all the way to Gordon Pass and back. Maybe up and down the streets of Port Royal too! Nah, she wouldn’t go that far.

  Nothing was doing at the Greenes’ house. Even Kris’s little brother wasn’t up or at least not outside. Lazy bunch. She drove herself on, peddling hard, down past the docks. There were early risers here. Early enough. Boats were already out, surely.

  Yeah, two years at Edison and then what? She had no clear idea of a ‘career,’ as she was ever being advised to strive toward. Everything suggested sounded tedious. Joey wanted to write. How did one go about that?

  Maybe she shouldn’t go to college at all. That thought had swirled around in her head more than once but it couldn’t be flushed all the way down. She should have a career. Something to depend on, right? She sure couldn’t depend on anyone else.

  Except Mom to have breakfast ready by the time she’d peddled home. She could hang out at the docks some other day.