Chapter 19: The Boathouse

Gus found him on Wednesday night, and drove me there without asking if I wanted to go.

It was a boathouse on the Back River, at the end of a gravel road with no lights.

It had belonged to his father, and nobody but Cain had opened it since the funeral.

"He comes here when it's bad," Gus said, and cut the engine. "I'll wait. Go on."

"I'm not his therapist."

"No. You're the one he reads."

I walked down to the water.

The door of the boathouse stood open, and a work lamp burned inside.

Cain sat on an overturned hull with his sleeves rolled and his collar open.

He had not shaved in three days. There was a bottle of water on the floor next to him, unopened.

"Mr. Rourke."

"Go home, Ms. Bell."

"Gus gave me a ride."

"Gus is fired."

"He's been fired six times this year. He keeps a list."

He didn't smile.

I came in and stood a few feet away, with my hands in my jacket pockets.

The boathouse smelled of cold water and old rope.

A wooden skiff hung from the rafters, with DR painted on its bow.

"She told you," he said.

"She told me first. I made her tell you."

His head came up.

"You knew."

"For four days. I told her to tell you, and I should have told you myself."

"Why didn't you?"

"It wasn't mine to say."

He laughed, short and bitter.

"Not in the contract."

"No."

"You're good at that," he said. "Keeping everything out of the contract, so you never carry any of it."

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