Chapter 10: Four Terms

Della's POV

Colt did not pick up the ring.

He stood looking at it on the rail, and the sun made a small white spot on the gold.

Camille had gone quiet at the foot of the gangway.

"Della," she began.

"Not now," I said, and she stopped.

I handed the ledger, the checkbook and Dean's note to my father, who tucked them all under his arm.

"Get her off my dock," Gene said, without raising his voice.

Camille looked at Colt.

Colt looked at the planks.

She picked up her pie box and walked back up the dock in her flat sandals.

She drove away without looking back.

That left my husband and me and the ring.

"I'll go," Colt said.

"Take it with you."

"It's yours."

"Then leave it there," I said. "Somebody will pick it up. Maybe a gull."

He nearly smiled, and then he did not.

He went up the ramp very slowly, and I listened to his truck until I couldn't hear it.

I spent the afternoon at the dock office with the case open in front of me.

I read the ledger twice, line by line, with a pencil.

The numbers did not change.

My father made me eat a sandwich, and Junie sat on the floor and gummed a wooden spoon.

"You want to hear what I think?" Gene said.

"No."

"Good. I'll say it anyway."

He leaned in the doorway with his arms folded.

"He's a fool. He thinks love means doing the carrying himself."

"That's not an excuse."

"No. It's a diagnosis."

He looked at the baby.

"Be as angry as you like. You'd still better figure out what you want."

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