"We got fresh fish tonight—I caught it, you cook it. I want a shower." Cam rolled his shoulders. "Miz Spinelli's coming to dinner tomorrow."
"Uh-huh, well, you—what?" Phillip whirled as Cam started out of the room. "You asked the social worker to dinner? Here?"
"That's right. Told you I like her looks."
Phillip could only close his eyes. "For God's sake, you're hitting on the social worker."
"She's hitting on me, too." Cam flashed a grin. "I like it."
"Cam, not to put down your warped idea of romance, but use your head. We've got this problem with the insurance company. And we've got a problem with Seth at school. How's that's going to play to Social Services?"
"We don't tell them about the first, and we give them the straight story on the second. I think that's going to go over just fine with Miz Spinelli. She's going to love it that the three of us went in to stand for Seth." Phillip opened his mouth, reconsidered, and nodded. "You're right. That's good." Then as new thoughts began to play, he angled his head. "Maybe you could use your… influence on her to get her to move this case study along, get the system out of our hair."
Cam said nothing for a moment, surprised at how angry even the suggestion of it made him. So his voice was quiet.
"I'm not using anything on her, and it's going to stay that way. One situation has nothing to do with the other. That's staying that way too."
When Cam strode off, Phillip pursed his lips. Well, he thought, wasn't that interesting?
as ethan guided hisboat toward the dock, he spotted Seth in the yard. Beside Ethan, Simon gave a high, happy bark. Ethan ruffled his fur. "Yeah, fella, almost home now." While he worked the sails, Ethan watched the boy toss sticks for the pup. There had always been a dog in this yard to chase sticks or balls, to wrestle in the grass with. He remembered Dumbo, the sweet-faced retriever he'd fallen madly in love with when he'd come to the Quinns.
He'd been the first dog to play with, to be comforted by, in Ethan's life. From Dumbo he'd learned the meaning of unconditional love, had certainly trusted the dog long before he'd trusted Ray and Stella Quinn or the boys who would become his brothers.
He imagined Seth felt much the same. You could always depend on your dog.
When he'd come here all those years ago, damaged in body and soul, he had no hope that his life would really change. Promises, reassurances, decent meals and decent people meant nothing to him. So he'd considered ending that life.
The water had drawn him even then. He imagined himself walking out into it, drifting out until it was over his head. He didn't know how to swim then, so it would have been simple. Just sinking down and down and down until there was nothing.
But the night he'd slipped out to do it, the dog had come with him. Licking his hand, pressing that warm, furry body against his legs. And Dumbo had brought him a stick, tail wagging, big brown eyes hopeful. The first time, Ethan threw the stick high and far and in fury. But Dumbo chased it happily and brought it back. Tail wagging.
He threw it again, then again, then dozens of times. Then he simply sat down on the grass, and in the moonlight cried his heart out, clutching the dog like a lifeline.
The need to end it had passed.
A dog, Ethan thought now as he rubbed a hand over Simon's head, could be a glorious thing. He saw Seth turn, catch sight of the boat. There was the briefest of hesitations, then the boy lifted a hand in greeting and with the pup raced to the dock.
"Secure the lines, mate."
"Aye, aye." Seth handled the lines Ethan tossed out competently enough, slipping the loop over the post.
"Cam said how you'd be bringing crabs tomorrow."
"Did he?" Ethan smiled a little, pushed back his fielder's cap. Thick brown hair tickled the collar of his work-stained shirt. "Go on, boy," he murmured to the dog, who was sitting, vibrating in place as he waited for the command to abandon ship. With a celebrational bark, Simon leaped into the water and swam to shore. "As it turns out, he's right. Winter wasn't too hard and the water's warming up. We'll pull in plenty. Should be a good day."
Leaning over the side, he pulled up a crab pot that dangled from the dock. "No winter hair."
"Hair, why would there be hair in an old chicken wire box?"
"Pot. It's a crab pot. If I pulled this up and it was hairy—full of blond seaweed—it'd mean the water was too cold yet for crabs. Seen them that way, nearly into May, if there's been a bad winter. That kind of spring, it's hard to make a living on the water."
"But not this spring, because the water's warm enough for crabs."
"Seems to be. You can bait this pot later—chicken necks or fish parts do the job fine—and in the morning we may just find us a couple of crabs sulking inside. They fall for it every time." Seth knelt down, wanting a closer look. "That's pretty stupid. They look like big ugly bugs, so I guess they're bug-dumb."
"Just more hungry than smart, I'd say."
"And Cam says you boil them alive. No way I'm eating those."
"Suit yourself. Me, I figure on going through about two dozen come tomorrow night." He let the pot slip back into the water, then leaped expertly from boat to dock.
"Grace was here. She cleaned the house and stuff."
"Yeah?" He imagined the house would smell lightly of lemon. Grace's house always did.
"Cam kissed her, right on the mouth."
Ethan stopped walking, looked down at Seth's face. "What?"
"Smackaroo. It made her laugh. It was like a joke, I guess."
"Like a joke, sure." He shrugged and ignored the hard, sick ball in his gut. None of his business who Grace kissed. Nothing to do with him. But he found his jaw clenched when Cam, hair dripping, stepped out on the back porch.
"How's the crab business looking?"
"It'll do," Ethan said shortly.
Cam lifted his brows at the tone. "What, did one crawl out of the pot early and up your butt?''
"I want a shower and a beer." Ethan moved past him and into the house.
"Woman's coming for dinner tomorrow."
That stopped Ethan again, and he turned, keeping the screen door between them. "Who?"
"Uh-huh, well, you—what?" Phillip whirled as Cam started out of the room. "You asked the social worker to dinner? Here?"
"That's right. Told you I like her looks."
Phillip could only close his eyes. "For God's sake, you're hitting on the social worker."
"She's hitting on me, too." Cam flashed a grin. "I like it."
"Cam, not to put down your warped idea of romance, but use your head. We've got this problem with the insurance company. And we've got a problem with Seth at school. How's that's going to play to Social Services?"
"We don't tell them about the first, and we give them the straight story on the second. I think that's going to go over just fine with Miz Spinelli. She's going to love it that the three of us went in to stand for Seth." Phillip opened his mouth, reconsidered, and nodded. "You're right. That's good." Then as new thoughts began to play, he angled his head. "Maybe you could use your… influence on her to get her to move this case study along, get the system out of our hair."
Cam said nothing for a moment, surprised at how angry even the suggestion of it made him. So his voice was quiet.
"I'm not using anything on her, and it's going to stay that way. One situation has nothing to do with the other. That's staying that way too."
When Cam strode off, Phillip pursed his lips. Well, he thought, wasn't that interesting?
as ethan guided hisboat toward the dock, he spotted Seth in the yard. Beside Ethan, Simon gave a high, happy bark. Ethan ruffled his fur. "Yeah, fella, almost home now." While he worked the sails, Ethan watched the boy toss sticks for the pup. There had always been a dog in this yard to chase sticks or balls, to wrestle in the grass with. He remembered Dumbo, the sweet-faced retriever he'd fallen madly in love with when he'd come to the Quinns.
He'd been the first dog to play with, to be comforted by, in Ethan's life. From Dumbo he'd learned the meaning of unconditional love, had certainly trusted the dog long before he'd trusted Ray and Stella Quinn or the boys who would become his brothers.
He imagined Seth felt much the same. You could always depend on your dog.
When he'd come here all those years ago, damaged in body and soul, he had no hope that his life would really change. Promises, reassurances, decent meals and decent people meant nothing to him. So he'd considered ending that life.
The water had drawn him even then. He imagined himself walking out into it, drifting out until it was over his head. He didn't know how to swim then, so it would have been simple. Just sinking down and down and down until there was nothing.
But the night he'd slipped out to do it, the dog had come with him. Licking his hand, pressing that warm, furry body against his legs. And Dumbo had brought him a stick, tail wagging, big brown eyes hopeful. The first time, Ethan threw the stick high and far and in fury. But Dumbo chased it happily and brought it back. Tail wagging.
He threw it again, then again, then dozens of times. Then he simply sat down on the grass, and in the moonlight cried his heart out, clutching the dog like a lifeline.
The need to end it had passed.
A dog, Ethan thought now as he rubbed a hand over Simon's head, could be a glorious thing. He saw Seth turn, catch sight of the boat. There was the briefest of hesitations, then the boy lifted a hand in greeting and with the pup raced to the dock.
"Secure the lines, mate."
"Aye, aye." Seth handled the lines Ethan tossed out competently enough, slipping the loop over the post.
"Cam said how you'd be bringing crabs tomorrow."
"Did he?" Ethan smiled a little, pushed back his fielder's cap. Thick brown hair tickled the collar of his work-stained shirt. "Go on, boy," he murmured to the dog, who was sitting, vibrating in place as he waited for the command to abandon ship. With a celebrational bark, Simon leaped into the water and swam to shore. "As it turns out, he's right. Winter wasn't too hard and the water's warming up. We'll pull in plenty. Should be a good day."
Leaning over the side, he pulled up a crab pot that dangled from the dock. "No winter hair."
"Hair, why would there be hair in an old chicken wire box?"
"Pot. It's a crab pot. If I pulled this up and it was hairy—full of blond seaweed—it'd mean the water was too cold yet for crabs. Seen them that way, nearly into May, if there's been a bad winter. That kind of spring, it's hard to make a living on the water."
"But not this spring, because the water's warm enough for crabs."
"Seems to be. You can bait this pot later—chicken necks or fish parts do the job fine—and in the morning we may just find us a couple of crabs sulking inside. They fall for it every time." Seth knelt down, wanting a closer look. "That's pretty stupid. They look like big ugly bugs, so I guess they're bug-dumb."
"Just more hungry than smart, I'd say."
"And Cam says you boil them alive. No way I'm eating those."
"Suit yourself. Me, I figure on going through about two dozen come tomorrow night." He let the pot slip back into the water, then leaped expertly from boat to dock.
"Grace was here. She cleaned the house and stuff."
"Yeah?" He imagined the house would smell lightly of lemon. Grace's house always did.
"Cam kissed her, right on the mouth."
Ethan stopped walking, looked down at Seth's face. "What?"
"Smackaroo. It made her laugh. It was like a joke, I guess."
"Like a joke, sure." He shrugged and ignored the hard, sick ball in his gut. None of his business who Grace kissed. Nothing to do with him. But he found his jaw clenched when Cam, hair dripping, stepped out on the back porch.
"How's the crab business looking?"
"It'll do," Ethan said shortly.
Cam lifted his brows at the tone. "What, did one crawl out of the pot early and up your butt?''
"I want a shower and a beer." Ethan moved past him and into the house.
"Woman's coming for dinner tomorrow."
That stopped Ethan again, and he turned, keeping the screen door between them. "Who?"
