Chapter 8: The Kitchen

Vicky's POV

Gabe had not answered my question, and I took the silence for a yes.

If my father knew, he had said nothing, and I was done waiting for him to speak first.

My father had a heart appointment in Sandusky on Thursday morning.

He left at eight in his good jacket and told me he'd be back by noon.

At eight-fifteen I called the yard office and asked for Gabe.

"There's a leak under my father's kitchen sink," I said. "I can't find the shutoff."

"Ask one of the crew."

"They're all out on the jack stands. You're the only one who knows this house."

A silence.

"I'll be there in ten minutes," he said.

I waited at the kitchen table in my mother's old robe, with two cups out and the coffee already poured.

I had mopped the floor under the sink with a wet rag to make it look true.

He came in through the back door with a wrench in one hand and stopped on the mat.

He looked at the cups.

He looked at the robe.

"Vic."

"The sink's over there."

"There's no leak."

"There's a little leak."

He put the wrench down on the table very carefully.

"Rule one," he said. "Nothing in your father's house."

"You made that rule on a boat. In the dark. With your hand in my hair."

"I made it on purpose."

"And you came anyway."

"I came to fix a sink."

"Then fix it."

He looked at the cabinet.

He looked at me.

Then he crossed the kitchen in three steps, took my face in both hands and kissed me so hard the chair slid back.

I stood up into it.

He backed me against the counter and I felt the edge hit my hips.

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