Chapter 11: The Man on the Dock

Kate drove me to Alum Creek on Tuesday in the flower van.

The custody petition rode on the dashboard between us, Exhibit A stapled to the back.

"You're sure you want to start with him?" Kate said. "Before the lawyer?"

"Judith put a video of me in a court file. I want one person on my side who is not paid to be."

She parked at the end of the gravel road and kept the engine running.

"I'll be right here," she said. "If he's a creep, honk."

"I'll honk."

"If he's not a creep, also honk. I'll want to meet him."

I carried June down to the dock in her carrier, with a blanket tucked around her and her striped cap on.

The lake was flat and pewter gray. Most of the canoes were gone from the racks.

A tall man in a canvas jacket sat on an overturned bucket at the end of the dock, carving something small with a pocketknife.

He saw us coming and stood up so fast the bucket rolled.

"Mrs. Ferris," he said.

"Quinn," I said. "Lydia. I'm sorry to come without calling."

"No. No, I'm..." He wiped the knife on his jeans and folded it. "I'm glad. Daniel said you might not."

"He didn't send me. I wanted to see for myself."

"That's fair."

He stood there, six feet of weathered man with his hands hanging at his sides, and he didn't ask to hold her.

I noticed that.

I took off June's cap.

The wind moved over her head, and the copper hair stirred.

Rory Maddox made a small sound and sat down on the bucket again.

"May I?" he said, in a rough voice.

I put her in his arms.

He held her carefully, in both hands.

He sat very still and looked down at her face for a long time.

"She has my mother's hair," he said.

"My grandmother had it too."