§ § § - January 9, 2000

"Hey, this really looks like a high-class place," said Spencer appreciatively, following Leslie into the casino on Sunday morning. "I bet you get dozens of high rollers in here."

"Yeah, we do have a lot of wealthy people," said Leslie. "They lose bigger than most people can dream of, and it's quite a source of revenue. It's helped keep the bungalows in top repair over the years. What's your weakness?"

"Oh, I stick with the slots," Spencer said. "There's a new Indian casino that's gone up in eastern Connecticut, actually, about an hour from home—it's called Foxwoods, and I've been there a couple times. I've won a little on the slots there but lost on everything else, so I guess the slots are my thing. You've got some here, I hope?"

"Follow me," Leslie said with a smile, and Spencer trailed her into a separate room whose walls reverberated with electronic glissandos and fanfares from several dozen slot machines. "Go to it. Since I'm an island employee I can't play, but I can watch you."

"Oh…so this place is for the guests only," Spencer remarked, finding an unattended machine and taking a seat. "Maybe that's as well. After all is said and done, gambling isn't the best way to entertain yourself. But I figure once in a blue moon can't hurt, as long as you have some common sense about it."

Leslie grinned and said, "My common sense tells me I'll lose if I bother, so that's the other thing that keeps me from gambling. Go ahead, and good luck."

After about an hour, when Spencer had won around fifty dollars, he decided he was better off quitting while he was ahead; so he cashed out, and he and Leslie made their way to the pool at their leisure. It was still early enough that it wasn't very crowded yet, and they easily found an unoccupied table. "Anything to drink?"

"Just some juice," said Leslie. "It's too early, and I'm working."

"Good Lord, girl, you're all business, aren't you?" Spencer teased. She chuckled, and he got up and headed for the bar. Leslie settled back in her seat and swept a quick glance around the pool area. Things were quiet at the moment; a few people were in the pool, and some others lay sunbathing or reading books. In just a minute or so, Spencer came back and set a glass in front of Leslie. "Hope you like pineapple juice."

"Sure," she said and took a sip while Spencer sat down.

Spencer fell quiet, looking a little contemplative while he nursed his glass; eventually he looked up at Leslie. "Were you really in love with your husband?"

Surprised by the question, Leslie said slowly, "Yes, I was. We were young—I was barely 20, and we married after only two weeks of knowing each other—but sometimes you just know when it's right. And it was right."

"Listen, tell me to shut up if you think I'm being nosy. But I was wondering how he got killed, and how you felt about it, and if you ever got over it."

"Oh, it's a long, stupid story, and you'd never believe it," Leslie said. "As to whether I got over it? Well, yes, I did. It took me a couple of years or so to really recover, but now I can look back and just think of the good times. He's buried here on the island, you know. It was his last request." That had been technically true, she reflected with inward amusement. "Teppo was the first guy I ever truly fell in love with, but when I think back on it, I'm sometimes surprised our marriage was as happy as it was. As I said, we were so young, and I was having a hard time fitting into his world and his culture. Sooner or later I have a feeling we'd have split up, because of that at least."

"No kids? Did you want any?" Spencer asked.

"We tried and tried, but for some reason I couldn't conceive," Leslie told him. "When he was killed, it was an advantage after all, because if I'd had a child, his family probably would have used the baby to keep me in Finland. In fact I think they were just as happy to see me go. So tell me, why the curiosity?"

Spencer settled back in his chair and released a long breath. "I've been debating this with myself all weekend, but I finally made up my mind that I might regret it if I don't try. Leslie, did you ever even suspect that ever since second grade, I've had a crush on you?"

Leslie's mouth fell open, but nothing came out. Her expression made Spencer grin wryly. "I guess not. Well, it's true. For a while, when I fell in love with Donna, my feelings for you were kind of wiped out. But then after the divorce…well, hey. Sometimes old flames turn into new ones, huh?"

"Sometimes," said Leslie softly, still dazed by this revelation. "You were always my friend, Spence. Don't tell me you don't remember how many times I yelled back at girls who kept taunting me that you were my boyfriend, telling them you weren't."

"Oh, I remember all right," Spencer said, watching her intently, "and to tell you the truth, I used to wish like hell that you'd stop doing that."

"Spence, we were little kids," Leslie protested.

"You think that kind of feeling can't survive childhood?" Spencer asked humorously. "Well, in my case, it did. Look, Leslie, you don't have to say anything right now. Just think about it for awhile, okay? You can let me know later on. All I ask is that you tell me before I leave here, just so I know I haven't destroyed our friendship at the very least."

Leslie laughed reluctantly. "Aw, you could never do that. Okay, give me some time, but Spence, please, don't set your hopes too high. The last thing I want to do is hurt a friend. I'm a little surprised Father didn't tell you anything."

"I'd rather hear it from you," Spencer said. "Okay, okay, we'll drop it for now. I feel like a swim. Where's a good beach?"

‡ ‡ ‡

Over a late lunch that afternoon around one-thirty, Roarke studied his silent daughter, taking in her troubled mien. "I think," he said, "before you forget to eat and incur Mariki's ire yet again, you'd better talk to me."

His humorous delivery made her smile, and she sighed. "Well, to be honest, it'd feel a lot better to talk about it. Father, Spencer told me a couple hours ago or so that he's had a crush on me since we were seven years old."

"I suspected as much," Roarke said. "What about you?"

Leslie shook her head regretfully. "No, he was always just my childhood best friend. It was like that from the start. Remember yesterday at the plane dock, when I mentioned I was always telling girls he wasn't my boyfriend? It was true. He was my best friend, and when the fire happened and we moved to Susanville, I missed him the way the twins missed his sister—the prospect of leaving old friends behind and having to make new ones. You know how it is. And when he came here yesterday morning, I was thrilled to death to connect with a friend again. But that's all."

Roarke nodded and said, "I understand, believe me. Have you told him?"

"No…I mean, I really wanted to reciprocate, that's the craziest thing. Spence is such a terrific guy—I think his ex-wife must be some kind of imbecile to give him up. Maybe if the timing had been different…" Leslie shrugged and gave him a defeated look. "But it's been only a week since Christian broke things off, and frankly, it's impossible for me to just turn off my emotions like I would a faucet. I'm still in love with Christian, and I have a feeling I always will be. I'm sure you think that's ridiculous, but…"

"Oh, not necessarily," said Roarke. "However, you're perfectly justified, child. I do think having Spencer here has been good for you; your spirits have risen greatly, and I'm much less worried about you as long as you're in Spencer's company. That doesn't mean, of course, that you're obligated to fall in love with him. Even if it were possible to force such emotions, I personally feel it's not a very wise thing to do."

Leslie nodded, taking in his words, and stared out over the duck pond for a moment before saying softly, "I guess I'd better tell him the truth. And that probably means I'll have to explain about Christian."

"I think he'll understand," Roarke said. "As long as you are honest with him, Leslie, that's all that matters. You're much better off being up-front with him."

"Yeah, I think so too." Through another sigh Leslie said gratefully, "Thanks, Father. I actually do feel better. I mean, I'm dreading letting poor Spence down, but at least now I know what I need to do."

§ § § - January 9, 2000 – Lilla Jordsö

"Please, Christian, noooooooo!"

Jolted awake by the sound of Leslie's plaintive cry in his dream, Christian convulsed so sharply that the whole bed rocked. He lifted his head, dripping with sweat, panting as if he'd just run a marathon, eyes huge and wild. It was just the latest of an entire string of dreams he'd had that week that had ended the same way—with the last words he'd heard from Leslie.

Sleep would be impossible for some time, he knew, so he got up and wandered into the living room, where he paced frenetically back and forth, burning off nervous energy. After a while he began to consider sending an e-mail. Should he, shouldn't he? Most of an hour passed before he finally made the decision to give it a try. The worst that could happen was that it would bounce back to him, he thought, if Leslie had gone so far as to block his messages from coming into her inbox. He drew in a deep fortifying breath and took his seat in front of the computer, booting it up, signing into his e-mail account and pulling up a new message. Then he froze: he could feel himself chickening out.

Before he completely lost his nerve, he typed Roarke's e-mail address into the top bar, then carefully composed his missive, hoping he sounded sufficiently diffident. Probably not: Mr. Roarke sees through everything. But it's worth a shot, he thought.

Hello, Mr. Roarke:

I hope everything is well with the computers. Have there been any glitches or problems in the wake of the Y2K phenomenon? Admittedly, it turned out to be mostly a huge false alarm, but one can never be too careful. If you need any assistance, I'll be more than glad to help.

Sincerely, Christian

P.S. By the way, how is Leslie?

He clicked the send button and then slumped back in his seat, wondering what kind of results he would get. At least he had tried…