Chapter 23: Sunday

Declan was on the marina dock at ten to seven, and the first Sunday was set for nine.

I knew because I'd come early too, with a thermos, a folding chair and my daughter's good mood.

His truck was parked at the end of the lot, and he walked over holding out his phone.

"Rule is, it goes in your car," he said. "I'd rather you had it than I didn't."

I put it in the cup holder and said nothing.

He looked terrible and calm.

He had rented a small blue skiff with an outboard.

It knocked gently against the pier posts.

Hazel walked down the dock in her life jacket, with her inhaler on its lanyard and her arms crossed.

She looked at the boat.

Then she looked at the engine.

"Did you check the fuel line?" she said.

Declan opened his mouth.

"Let me guess," said Hazel. "You checked it three times."

"Four."

"Do it a fifth. I'll watch."

I covered my smile with my coffee cup.

Declan got down on his knees on the pier and checked the fuel line.

Hazel crouched next to him and told him which way to hold the clamp.

When it was done, she gave a single nod.

"Okay. You can take me out. We're going to the little island, and then we're going to skip stones."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you don't talk about Felicity, or Anders, or being sorry."

"Understood."

"Unless I ask."

"Unless you ask," he agreed.

I sat in the folding chair on the dock where I could see every wave.

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