by Nora Roberts
Okay, Sybill, she thought and took a deep breath as she carefully swallowed the last of her cone. Now or never.
She stepped inside and found herself momentarily distracted by the look of the place. It was huge, and dusty and bright as a spotlighted stage. The Quinns were hard at work, with Ethan and Cam fitting a long, bent plank into place on what she assumed was a hull in progress. Phillip stood at a big, dangerous-looking power saw, running lumber through it.
She didn’t see Seth.
For a moment she simply watched and wondered if she should slip back out again. If her nephew wasn’t there, it would be more sensible to postpone the visit until she was sure he was.
He might be away for the day with friends. Did he have any friends? Or he could be home. Did he consider it his home?
Before she could decide, the saw switched off, leaving only John Fogerty crooning about a brown-eyed, handsome man. Phillip stepped back, pushed up his safety goggles, turned. And saw her.
His smile of welcome came so quickly, so sincerely, that she had to clamp down on a hard tug of guilt. “I’m interrupting.” She raised her voice to compete with the music.
“Thank God.” Dusting his hands on his jeans, Phillip started toward her. “I’ve been stuck with looking at these guys all day. You’re a big improvement.”
“I decided to play tourist.” She jiggled the shopping bag she carried. “And I thought I’d take you up on the offer of a tour.”
“I was hoping you would.”
“So . . .” Deliberately, she shifted her gaze to the hull. It was safer, she decided, than looking into those tawny eyes for any length of time. “That’s a boat?”
“It’s a hull. Or will be.” He took her hand, drew her forward. “It’s going to be a sport’s fisher.”
“Which is?”
“One of those fancy boats men like to go out on to act manly, fish for marlin, and drink beer.”
“Hey, Sybill.” Cam shot her a grin. “Want a job?”
She looked at the tools, the sharp edges, the heavy lumber. “I don’t think so.” It was easy to smile back, to look over at Ethan. “It looks like the three of you know what you’re doing.”
“We know what we’re doing.” Cam wiggled his thumb between himself and Ethan. “We keep Phillip around for entertainment.”
“I’m not appreciated around here.”
She laughed and began to circle the hull. She could understand the basic shape but not the process. “I assume this is upside down.”
“Good eye.” Phillip only grinned when she cocked an eye brow. “After she’s planked, we’ll turn her and start on the decking.”
“Are your parents boatbuilders?”
“No, my mother was a doctor, my father a college professor. But we grew up around boats.”
She heard it in his voice, the affection, the not-quite-settled grief. And hated herself. She’d intended to ask him more about his parents in some detail, but couldn’t. “I’ve never been on a boat.”
“Ever?”
“I imagine there are several million people in the world who haven’t.”
“Want to?”
“Maybe. I’ve enjoyed watching the boats from my hotel window.” As she studied it, the hull became a puzzle she needed to solve. “How do you know where to begin to build this? I assume you work from a design, blueprints or schematics or whatever you call it.”
“Ethan’s been doing the bulk of the design work. Cam fiddles with it. Seth draws it up.”
“Seth.” Her fingers tightened on the strap of her purse. Props, she thought again. “Didn’t you say he was in middle school?”
“That’s right. The kid’s got a real talent for drawing. Check these out.”
Now she heard pride and it flustered her. Struggling for composure, she followed him to a far wall, where drawings of boats were roughly framed in raw wood. They were good— very, very good. Clever sketches done with pencil and care and talent.
“He . . . A young boy drew these?”
“Yes. Pretty great, huh? This is the one we just finished.” He tapped a hand on the glass. “And this one’s what we’re working on now.”
“He’s very talented,” she murmured around the lump in her throat. “He has excellent perspective.”
“Do you draw?”
“A little, now and then. Just a hobby.” She had to turn away to settle herself. “It relaxes me, and it helps in my work.” Determined to smile again, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and aimed a bright, easy one at Phillip. “So, where’s the artist today?”
“Oh, he’s—”
He broke off as two dogs raced into the building. Sybill took an instinctive step back as the smaller of the two made a beeline in her direction. She made some strangled sound of distress just as Phillip jabbed out a finger and issued a sharp command.
“Hold it, you idiot. No jumping. No jumping,” he repeated, but Foolish’s forward motion proved too much for all of them. He was already up, already had his paws planted just under Sybill’s breasts. She staggered a bit, seeing only big, sharp teeth bared in what she took for fierceness rather than a sloppy doggie grin.
“Nice dog,” she managed in a stutter. “Good dog.”
“Stupid dog,” Phillip corrected and hauled Foolish down by the collar. “No manners. Sit. Sorry,” he said to Sybill when the dog obligingly plopped down and offered his paw. “He’s Foolish.”
“Well, he’s enthusiastic.”
“No, Foolish is his name—and his personality. He’ll stay like that until you shake his paw.”
“Oh. Hmm.” Gingerly she took the paw with two fingers.
“He won’t bite.” Phillip angled his head, noting there was a good deal more distress than irritation in her eyes. “Sorry— are you afraid of dogs?”
“I . . . maybe a little—of large, strange dogs.”
“He’s strange, all right. The other one’s Simon, and he’s considerably more polite.” Phillip scratched Simon’s ears as the dog sat calmly studying Sybill. “He’s Ethan’s. The idiot belongs to Seth.”
“I see.” Seth had a dog, was all she could think as Foolish offered his paw yet again, eyeing her with what appeared abject adoration. “I don’t know very much about dogs, I’m afraid.”
“These are Chesapeake Bay retrievers—or Foolish mostly is. We’re not sure what else he is. Seth, call off your dog before he slobbers all over the lady’s shoes.”
Sybill lifted her head quickly and saw the boy just inside the doorway. The sun was streaming at his back, and it cast his face into shadows. She saw only a tall, slightly built boy carrying a large brown bag and wearing a black-and-orange ball cap.
“He doesn’t slobber much. Hey, Foolish!”
Instantly, both dogs scrambled to their feet and raced across the room. Seth waded through them, carrying the bag to a makeshift table fashioned from a sheet of plywood laid over two sawhorses.
“I don’t know why I have to always go up for lunch and stuff,” he complained.
“Because we’re bigger than you,” Cam told him and dived into the bag. “You get me the cold-cut sub loaded?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Where’s my change?”
Seth pulled a liter of Pepsi out of the bag, cracked the top and guzzled straight from the bottle. Then he grinned. “What change?”
“Look, you little thief, I’ve got at least two bucks coming back.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about. You must’ve forgotten to add on the carrying charges again.”
Cam made a grab for him, and Seth danced agilely away, hooting with laughter.
“Brotherly love,” Phillip said easily. “That’s why I make sure I only give the kid the right change. You never see a nickel back otherwise. Want some lunch?”
“No, I . . .” She couldn’t take her eyes off Seth, knew she had to. He was talking with Ethan now, making wide, exaggerated gestures with his free hand while his dog took quick, playful leaps at his fingers
. “I had something already. But you go ahead.”
“A drink, then. Did you get my water, kid?”
“Yeah, fancy water. Waste of money. Man, Crawford’s was packed.”
Crawford’s. With a sensation she couldn’t quite define, Sybill realized they might have been in the store at the same time. Might have walked right by each other. She would have passed him on the street without a clue.
Seth glanced from Phillip to Sybill, studied her with mild interest. “You buying a boat?”
“No.” He didn’t recognize her, she thought. Of course he wouldn’t. He’d been hardly more than a baby the only time they’d seen each other. There was no stunned familial awareness in his eyes, any more than there would have been in hers. But she knew. “I’m just looking around.”
“That’s cool.” He went back to the bag and pulled out his own sandwich.
“Ah . . .” Talk to him, she ordered herself. Say something. Anything. “Phillip was just showing me your drawings. They’re wonderful.”
“They’re okay.” He jerked a shoulder, but she thought she saw a faint flush of pleasure on his cheeks. “I could do better, but they’re always rushing me.”
Casually—she hoped it was casually—she crossed to him. She could see him clearly now. His eyes were blue, but a deeper, darker blue than hers or her sister’s. His hair was a darker blond than the little boy’s in the picture she carried. He’d been nearly a towhead at four, and now his hair was a richer blond and very straight.
The mouth, she thought. Wasn’t there some resemblance around the mouth and chin?
“Is that what you want to be?” She needed to keep him talking. “An artist?”
“Maybe, but that’s mostly for kicks.” He took a huge bite of his sandwich, then talked through it. “We’re boatbuilders.”
His hands were far from clean, she noted, and his face wasn’t much better. She imagined such niceties as washing up before meals went by the wayside in a household of males. “Maybe you’ll go into design work.”
“Seth, this is Dr. Sybill Griffin.” Phillip offered Sybill a plastic cup of bubbling water over ice. “She writes books.”
“Like stories?”
“Not exactly,” she told him. “Like observations. Right now I’m spending some time in the area, observing.”
He wiped his mouth with a swipe from the back of his hand. The hand Foolish had enthusiastically licked, before and after, Sybill noted with an inward wince.
“You going to do a book about boats?” he asked her.
“No, about people. People who live in small towns, and right now people who live in small towns by the water. How do you like it—living here, I mean?”
“I like it okay. Living in the city sucks.” He picked up the soft drink bottle, glugged again. “People who live there are nuts.” He grinned. “Like Phil.”
“You’re a peasant, Seth. I worry about you.”
With a snort, Seth bit into his sandwich again. “I’m going out on the dock. We got some ducks hanging out.”
He bounced out, dogs trailing behind him.
“Seth’s got very definite opinions,” Phillip said dryly. “I guess the world’s pretty black and white when you’re ten.”
“He doesn’t care for the urban experience.” Nerves, she noted, had been drowned out by sheer curiosity. “Has he spent time with you in Baltimore?”
“No. He lived there for a while with his mother.” His tone had darkened, making Sybill raise an eyebrow. “Part of that long story I mentioned.”
“I believe I mentioned I’d enjoy hearing it.”
“Then have dinner with me tonight, and we’ll exchange those life stories.”
She looked toward the cargo doors. Seth had gone out through them, very much at home. She needed to spend more time with him. Observing. And, she decided, she needed to hear what the Quinns had to say about the situation. Why not start with Phillip?
“All right. I’d like that.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
She shook her head. He seemed perfectly safe, perfectly fine, but she knew better than to take chances. “No, I’ll meet you there. Where’s the restaurant?”
“I’ll write it down for you. We can start the tour in my office.”
IT WAS EASY ENOUGH, AND she had to admit it was interesting. The tour itself didn’t take long. Other than the huge work area, there was little to the boatyard—just Phillip’s closet-size office, a small bathroom, and a dark, dingy storeroom.
It was obvious even to the untrained eye that the work center of the operation was its heart and soul.
It was Ethan who patiently instructed her on smooth-lap planking, about waterlines and bow shapes. She thought he would have made an excellent teacher, with his clear, simple phrasing and willingness to answer what must have been very basic questions.
She watched, genuinely fascinated, as the men held timber in a box and pumped out steam until the plank bowed into the shape they desired. Cam demonstrated how the ends were rabbeted together to form the smooth joints.
Watching Cam with Seth, she was forced to admit there was a definite bond between them. If she had come across them knowing nothing, she would have assumed they were brothers, or perhaps father and son. It was all in the attitude, she decided.
Then again, they had an audience, she mused, and were likely on their best behavior.
She would see how they acted once they became used to her.
CAM LET OUT A LONG, LOW whistle when Sybill left the building. He wiggled his eyebrows meaningfully at Phillip. “Very nice, bro. Very nice, indeed.”
Phillip flashed a grin, then lifted his bottle of water to his lips. “Can’t complain.”
“She going to be around long enough to, ah . . .”
“If there’s a God.”
Seth laid a plank down by the saw, let out a huff. “Shit, you mean you’re going to start poking at her? Is that all you guys think about?”
“Other than pounding on you?” Phillip whipped off Seth’s hat and bopped the boy over the head with it. “Sure, what else?”
“You guys are always getting married,” Seth said in disgust and tried to grab his hat.
“I don’t want to marry her, I just want to have a nice, civilized dinner with her.”
“Then bounce on her,” Seth finished.
“Christ. He gets that from you,” Phillip accused Cam.
“He came that way.” Cam wrapped an arm around Seth’s neck. “Didn’t you, brat?”
The panic didn’t come now, as it used to whenever Seth was touched or held. Instead he wriggled and grinned. “At least I think of something besides girls all the time. You guys are really lame.”
“Lame?” Phillip put Seth’s hat on his own head to free his hands, then rubbed them together. “Let’s toss this runt fish off the dock.”
“Can you do that later?” Ethan asked while Seth shouted in wild and delighted objection. “Or do I have to build this damn boat by myself?”
“Later, then.” Phillip leaned down until he and Seth were nose to nose. “And you won’t know when, you won’t know where, you won’t know why.”
“Man, I’m shaking now.”
I SAW SETH TODAY.
At her laptop, Sybill gnawed her bottom lip, then deleted the first sentence she’d typed.
I made contact with the subject this afternoon.
Better, she decided. More objective. To approach this situation properly, it would be best if she thought of Seth as the subject.
There was no recognition on either side. This is, of course, as expected. He appears to be healthy. He’s attractive, slimly built yet sturdy. Gloria was always thin, so I suspect he’s inherited her basic body type. He’s blond, as she is—or was when I last saw her.
He seemed to be comfortable with me. I’m aware that some children are shy around strangers. That doesn’t appear to be the case here.
Though he was not at the boatyard when I arrived, he came in shortly after.
He’d been sent to the store for lunch. From the ensuing complaints and conversation, I can assume he is often expected to run errands. This could be construed two ways. One that the Quinns take advantage of having a young boy available and use him accordingly. Or two, that they are instilling a sense of responsibility.
The truth likely resides in the middle.
He has a dog. I believe this to be a usual, even traditional occurrence for a child living in suburban or rural areas.
He also has a talent for drawing. I was somewhat taken by surprise by this. I have some talent for it myself, as does my mother. Gloria, however, never showed any skill or interest in art. This shared interest may be a way to develop a rapport with the boy. It will be necessary to have some time alone with him to assist me in choosing the correct course to take.
The subject is, in my opinion, comfortable with the Quinns. He seems to be content and secure. There is, however, a certain roughness, a mild crudeness in him. Several times during the hour or so I spent with him, I heard him swear. Once or twice he was rather absently corrected, otherwise his language was ignored.
He was not required to wash his hands before eating, nor did any of the Quinns correct him for speaking with his mouth full or for feeding the dogs bits of his lunch. His manners are by no means appalling, but they are far from strictly polite.
He mentioned preferring living here to the city. In fact, he was most disdainful of urban life. I have agreed to have dinner with Phillip Quinn tonight and will urge him to tell me the facts of how Seth came to be with the Quinns.
How those facts agree with, and differ from, the facts I received from Gloria will help me assimilate the situation.
The next step will be to obtain an invitation to the Quinn house. I’m very interested to see where the boy is living, to see him and the Quinns on this stage. And to meet the women who are now a part of his foster family.
I hesitate to contact Social Services and identify myself until I have completed this personal study.
Sybill sat back, tapping her fingers on the desk as she skimmed over her notes. It was so little, really, she thought. And her own fault. She’d thought she was prepared for that first meeting, but she wasn’t.