Rising Tides
Page 33
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He smiled slowly. "I suppose you could."
"I feel guilty about it. Grace has this place so spotless."
"Why don't you come over here. We'll work on that guilt."
"Why don't I?" She tossed the shoe over her shoulder and, with a laugh, jumped him.
"she's coming along."
Cam studied the boat. It was barely seven in the morning, but his internal clock was still set to Rome. Since he'd awakened early, he hadn't seen the point in letting his brothers sleep the day away. So the Quinns stood, under the hard, bright lights of the boatyard, contemplating the job at hand. Seth mimicked their stance—hands in pockets, legs spread and braced, face sober. It would be the first time the four of them had worked on the boat together; He was wildly thrilled.
"I figured you could start belowdecks," Ethan began.
"Phillip estimates four hundred hours to finish the cabin." Cam snorted. "I can do it in less."
"Doing it right," Phillip put in, "is more important than doing it fast."
"I can do it fastand right. The client'll have this baby under sail and the galley stocked with champagne and caviar in less than four hundred hours."
Ethan nodded. Since Cam had come through with another client, who wanted a sport fishing boat, he dearly hoped that was true. "Then let's get to work."
And work kept his mind off things his mind had no business being on. The brain had to be focused to use the lathe—if you were fond of your hands. Ethan turned the wood slowly, carefully, forming the mast. Ear protectors turned the hum of the motor and the hot rock blasting from the radio into a muffled echo. He imagined there was conversation going on behind him, too. And the occasional ripe curse. He could smell the sweet scent of wood, the sting of epoxy, the stench of tar used to coat bolts. Years ago, the three of them had built his workboat. She wasn't fancy, and he couldn't claim she had a pretty face, but she was sound and she was game. They'd built his skipjack as well because he'd been determined to dredge oysters in the traditional craft. Now the oysters were nearly gone, and his boat joined the other handful in the Bay, pulling in extra money during the summer by giving tours. He rented it to Jim's brother during tourist season, because it helped them both and was the practical thing to do. But it bothered him some to see the fine old vessel used that way. Just as it bothered him some to know other people lived and slept in the house that was his. But when push came to shove, money mattered. Seth's laugh snuck through his ear protectors and reminded him why it mattered now more than ever.
When his hands cramped from the work, he turned off the lathe to give them a rest. Noise filled his ears when he took off the protectors.
He could hear the pounding of Cam's hammer echoing from belowdecks. Seth was coating the centerboard with Rust-Oleum so the steel plate gleamed with wet. Phillip had the nastier job of soaking the inside of the centerboard case with creosote. It was good old-growth red cedar, which should discourage any marine borers, but they'd decided not to take chances.
A boat by Quinn was built to last.
He felt a stir of pride watching them and could almost imagine his father standing beside him, big hands fisted on his hips, a wide grin on his face.
"It makes a picture," Ray said. "The kind your mother and I loved to study. We had plenty of them put aside, to take out and look over again once you all grew up and went off your own ways. We never really had the chance because she left first."
"I still miss her."
"I know you do. She was the glue that kept us all together. But she did a good job of it, Ethan. You're still stuck."
"I guess I'd have died without her, without you. Without them."
"No." Ray laid a hand on Ethan's shoulder, shook his head. "You were always strong, heart and mind. You came out the other side of hell as much because of what's inside you as what we did. You should remember that more often. Just look at Seth. He handles things differently than you did, but he's got a lot of the same qualities inside him. He cares, deeper than he wants to. He thinks deeper than he lets on. And his wants go deeper than he'll admit even to himself."
"I see you in him." It was the first time Ethan had allowed himself to say it, even to himself. "I don't know how to feel about it."
"Funny, I see each one of you in him. The eye of the beholder, Ethan." Then he gave Ethan a quick slap on the back. "That's a damn fine boat coming along there. Your mother would have gotten a kick out of this."
"Quinns build to last," Ethan murmured.
"Who're you talking to?" Seth demanded.
Ethan blinked, felt his head go light, filled with thoughts thin as strands of cotton. "What?" He pushed a hand up his forehead, into his hair, knocking his cap back. "What?"
"Man, you look weird." Seth cocked his head, fascinated. "How come you're standing here talking to yourself?"
"I was…" Asleep on my feet? he wondered. "Thinking," he said. "Just thinking out loud." Suddenly the noise and smells seemed to roar into his dizzy brain. "I need some air," he muttered and hurried out through the cargo doors.
"Weird," Seth said again. He started to say something to Phillip, then was distracted as Anna came through the front door carrying an enormous hamper.
"Anybody interested in lunch?"
"Yeah!" Always interested, Seth made a beeline. "Did you bring the chicken?"
"What's left of it," she told him. "And ham sandwiches thick as bricks. There's a cooler of iced tea in the car. Why don't you go haul it in?"
"My hero," Phillip said, wiping his hands on his jeans before relieving her of the hamper. "Hey, Cam!
There's a gorgeous woman out here with food."
The hammering stopped instantly. Seconds later, Cam's head popped up through the cabin roof. "My woman. I get first dibs on the food."
"There's plenty to go around. Grace isn't the only one who can put meals together for a bunch of hungry men. Though her fried chicken's a gift from the gods."
"She's got a way with it." Phillip agreed. He set the hamper down on a makeshift table fashioned of a sheet of plywood laid over two sawhorses. "She cooked for Ethan regularly when you two were away." He dug out a ham sandwich. "I get the feeling something's happening there."
"I feel guilty about it. Grace has this place so spotless."
"Why don't you come over here. We'll work on that guilt."
"Why don't I?" She tossed the shoe over her shoulder and, with a laugh, jumped him.
"she's coming along."
Cam studied the boat. It was barely seven in the morning, but his internal clock was still set to Rome. Since he'd awakened early, he hadn't seen the point in letting his brothers sleep the day away. So the Quinns stood, under the hard, bright lights of the boatyard, contemplating the job at hand. Seth mimicked their stance—hands in pockets, legs spread and braced, face sober. It would be the first time the four of them had worked on the boat together; He was wildly thrilled.
"I figured you could start belowdecks," Ethan began.
"Phillip estimates four hundred hours to finish the cabin." Cam snorted. "I can do it in less."
"Doing it right," Phillip put in, "is more important than doing it fast."
"I can do it fastand right. The client'll have this baby under sail and the galley stocked with champagne and caviar in less than four hundred hours."
Ethan nodded. Since Cam had come through with another client, who wanted a sport fishing boat, he dearly hoped that was true. "Then let's get to work."
And work kept his mind off things his mind had no business being on. The brain had to be focused to use the lathe—if you were fond of your hands. Ethan turned the wood slowly, carefully, forming the mast. Ear protectors turned the hum of the motor and the hot rock blasting from the radio into a muffled echo. He imagined there was conversation going on behind him, too. And the occasional ripe curse. He could smell the sweet scent of wood, the sting of epoxy, the stench of tar used to coat bolts. Years ago, the three of them had built his workboat. She wasn't fancy, and he couldn't claim she had a pretty face, but she was sound and she was game. They'd built his skipjack as well because he'd been determined to dredge oysters in the traditional craft. Now the oysters were nearly gone, and his boat joined the other handful in the Bay, pulling in extra money during the summer by giving tours. He rented it to Jim's brother during tourist season, because it helped them both and was the practical thing to do. But it bothered him some to see the fine old vessel used that way. Just as it bothered him some to know other people lived and slept in the house that was his. But when push came to shove, money mattered. Seth's laugh snuck through his ear protectors and reminded him why it mattered now more than ever.
When his hands cramped from the work, he turned off the lathe to give them a rest. Noise filled his ears when he took off the protectors.
He could hear the pounding of Cam's hammer echoing from belowdecks. Seth was coating the centerboard with Rust-Oleum so the steel plate gleamed with wet. Phillip had the nastier job of soaking the inside of the centerboard case with creosote. It was good old-growth red cedar, which should discourage any marine borers, but they'd decided not to take chances.
A boat by Quinn was built to last.
He felt a stir of pride watching them and could almost imagine his father standing beside him, big hands fisted on his hips, a wide grin on his face.
"It makes a picture," Ray said. "The kind your mother and I loved to study. We had plenty of them put aside, to take out and look over again once you all grew up and went off your own ways. We never really had the chance because she left first."
"I still miss her."
"I know you do. She was the glue that kept us all together. But she did a good job of it, Ethan. You're still stuck."
"I guess I'd have died without her, without you. Without them."
"No." Ray laid a hand on Ethan's shoulder, shook his head. "You were always strong, heart and mind. You came out the other side of hell as much because of what's inside you as what we did. You should remember that more often. Just look at Seth. He handles things differently than you did, but he's got a lot of the same qualities inside him. He cares, deeper than he wants to. He thinks deeper than he lets on. And his wants go deeper than he'll admit even to himself."
"I see you in him." It was the first time Ethan had allowed himself to say it, even to himself. "I don't know how to feel about it."
"Funny, I see each one of you in him. The eye of the beholder, Ethan." Then he gave Ethan a quick slap on the back. "That's a damn fine boat coming along there. Your mother would have gotten a kick out of this."
"Quinns build to last," Ethan murmured.
"Who're you talking to?" Seth demanded.
Ethan blinked, felt his head go light, filled with thoughts thin as strands of cotton. "What?" He pushed a hand up his forehead, into his hair, knocking his cap back. "What?"
"Man, you look weird." Seth cocked his head, fascinated. "How come you're standing here talking to yourself?"
"I was…" Asleep on my feet? he wondered. "Thinking," he said. "Just thinking out loud." Suddenly the noise and smells seemed to roar into his dizzy brain. "I need some air," he muttered and hurried out through the cargo doors.
"Weird," Seth said again. He started to say something to Phillip, then was distracted as Anna came through the front door carrying an enormous hamper.
"Anybody interested in lunch?"
"Yeah!" Always interested, Seth made a beeline. "Did you bring the chicken?"
"What's left of it," she told him. "And ham sandwiches thick as bricks. There's a cooler of iced tea in the car. Why don't you go haul it in?"
"My hero," Phillip said, wiping his hands on his jeans before relieving her of the hamper. "Hey, Cam!
There's a gorgeous woman out here with food."
The hammering stopped instantly. Seconds later, Cam's head popped up through the cabin roof. "My woman. I get first dibs on the food."
"There's plenty to go around. Grace isn't the only one who can put meals together for a bunch of hungry men. Though her fried chicken's a gift from the gods."
"She's got a way with it." Phillip agreed. He set the hamper down on a makeshift table fashioned of a sheet of plywood laid over two sawhorses. "She cooked for Ethan regularly when you two were away." He dug out a ham sandwich. "I get the feeling something's happening there."
