Going Overboard by Vicki Lewis Thompson

gave them to her.”
    “I do love them.” Andi settled back in her chair and raised her beer can to her full lips. “Hey, everybody, sunset alert. The sky’s on fire.”
    “Wow,” Nicole said. “Id forgotten how spectacular the sunsets are around here.”
    Chance sipped his beer and listened to the sound of steel drums coming from the tape deck. Red and gold unfurled in the sky, spilling over the mountains and into the water.
    “It’s like looking through rose-colored glasses, isn’t it?” Andi said in a voice so soft only he would have been able to hear.
    He glanced over at Bowie and Nicole. They were holding hands and leaning close, caught up in their own private love fest. “It’s also like watching a giant fingerpainting being made,” he said.
    “I like that,” Andi said, giving him a smile. “I used to love fingerpaints.”
    “Me, too.”
    She was silent for a while as the colors slowly faded to brick and a few stars winked on. “When was the last time you fingerpainted?” she asked finally.
    “Thirty years ago.” Funny how he could still rememberthe claylike scent of the paint and the cool squish of the colors beneath his hands. He’d used his palms, his knuckles, even his wrists to make designs.
    “I wish I’d bought some to bring on this trip.”
    “I think our niece is still a little young, don’t you?” He’d meant it as a joke, but the minute he said the our niece part he got a tingle of awareness. Uncle Chance. Aunt Andi. They’d be linked together even more closely once this child was born. He felt himself sinking deeper into inevitability.
    “I meant fingerpaints for us,” Andi said. “It would’ve been a fun thing to do this week.”
    “Yeah, I can picture you and Bowie getting into that.”
    “I wasn’t picturing Bowie. I was picturing you.”
    He grew uneasy. “Oh, yeah, right,” he said sarcastically.
    “Why not?”
    “Because it’s too childish for me now.” He winced at how crude his response had sounded. “Sorry. That didn’t come out right. I meant that—”
    “You meant exactly what you said. But the thing is, I’m not insulted at all. As a matter of fact, I feel sorry for you.”
    That brought him out of his chair. “ Sorry for me?” He faced her. “What in hell do you mean by that crack?”
    “Chance, watch out,” she said.
    “Ah, the peaceful tranquillity of twilight,” Bowie said. “The call of a nightbird. The indignant shout of my brother.”
    “She feels sorry for me because I don’t want to fingerpaint!” Chance said, backing up.
    Andi started to get out of her chair. “Chance, don’t—” Her skirt caught on the arm of her chair, pulling the chair over and knocking her off balance, toward him.
    As he stumbled backward in the process of trying to catch her and stay upright at the same time, he tripped over some rocks and figured they’d both land on the ground. Miracle of miracles, he staggered but stayed vertical, and so did she. Maybe his luck was changing. He released her with a sigh of relief at another disaster averted. “She feels sorry for me,” he said to Bowie and Nicole. “Can you beat that?”
    “Sure,” Bowie said, standing. “I feel sorry for all of us. You just backed into the grill. Our steaks are in the coals.”
    “Oh, hell.” Chance turned to the fire. Instinctively he reached to grab a sizzling piece of meat and singed his fingers. “Dammit!” He stuck his fingers in his mouth. So much for changed luck.
    “Here’s a barbecue fork,” Andi said, waving the pronged instrument dangerously close to him.
    “Keep your distance, woman!” Chance held up both hands. “Next thing I know, I’ll be impaled on that thing.”
    “I was trying to warn you about the fire! Do you need first aid?”
    “Mustard’s the best thing to put on it,” Nicole said, getting out of her chair with a small groan. “I’ll—”
    “No, I’ll get it,” Bowie said. “After two beers I’d need a crane to help me hoist you