Chapter 4: The Check

Clarissa Braddock did not get out of the white car until her driver had opened her door and held it.

She stood at the yard gate in a cream suit and low heels.

She was sixty-two, and her silver bob had not moved in the wind off the bay.

The gravel was wet with fog, and she looked down at her shoes and frowned.

I came down the dock in yesterday's blue dress with Ruel's navy jacket over my shoulders.

I had not thought about the jacket until I saw her eyes go to it.

"Filipa," Clarissa said.

"Clarissa."

"You'll find that this is generous." She held out a long envelope between two fingers. "A cashier's check for four hundred thousand dollars."

"For what?"

"Your father's three boats, at scrap value, and your signature on a release."

I did not take the envelope.

"The Santa Rita carried ships for forty years," I said. "She isn't scrap."

"She's a forty-year-old tug in a yard I could close next month." Clarissa's voice stayed pleasant.

"You are a smart girl, dear. You'll see what it costs to keep shouting."

"Is that what I did yesterday?" I asked. "Shout?"

"You held up a ship in front of a television camera."

"Your son held up a divorce in front of the same camera."

For the first time, something flickered at the corner of her mouth.

"Wendell is engaged," she said. "He is marrying a woman who understands money, and who won't waste it on tugs."

"Does she have a name?"

"She flies in from Houston on Friday. You will meet her in good time."

She said it kindly, and that was the cruelest part.

I heard footsteps on the planks behind me.

Ruel came up the dock with his shirt buttoned wrong and his boots in his hand, and he stopped a pace behind my shoulder.

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