“So what would be the point? It’s a waste of time. Don’t you have any zinc oxide?”
Loralee sighed inwardly, wondering whether David had ever complained that much to Michelangelo while he was being sculpted. “I have a wonderful foundation that’s moisturizer and sunscreen. You’ll need sunscreen to go out on the boat.” She glanced down at Merritt’s pale legs and arms. “Actually, we’ll need to stop by a drugstore to get you some pretty strong SPF for your body. And probably a hat. Have you ever been in the sun before?”
Merritt crossed her arms and looked so much like her little brother that Loralee almost laughed. “I’m from Maine. My sun exposure was . . . limited.”
“That’s why your skin looks like porcelain, and I’m trying to keep it that way by using the right products.”
Merritt stood and crossed the room toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To my room so I can change.”
“Don’t be silly,” Loralee said. “It’ll be quicker if you do it here. I promise I won’t look.”
Merritt seemed to consider it for a moment before heading toward the closet and pulling open the door so she could stand behind it. First a skirt was thrown out from behind the door, and then the hateful beige blouse. “I don’t know what game you and Gibbes are playing by dragging me out on a boat. You both know I’m afraid of water, and I suspect you know why.”
Loralee straightened, dumping several tubes and bottles on the dressing table. “I would never make anybody do something I thought wasn’t the right thing to do. Besides, you could have said no.”
It was silent behind the closet door, and Loralee could picture Robert’s stubborn jaw in his daughter’s face jutting out to show how riled up she was. They were so much alike that it shouldn’t have been a surprise to anybody who knew them how they could have remained estranged for so many years. If Loralee had known it then, she would have dared Robert to never see Merritt again and they would most likely have been on the next flight to Maine.
Merritt came out from behind the door, pulling and tugging at her clothes like they were covered in fleas. “I don’t think this fits.”
The sleeveless top was in a soft sky blue that looked lovely against Merritt’s dark hair. The smooth knit skimmed over her slim body, hugging where it was supposed to. The shorts were the most conservative ones Loralee owned, purchased for Boy Scout events, where the other mothers didn’t seem to appreciate any other clothing choices Loralee had previously worn. They were navy blue and cuffed at the hem, hitting midthigh and showing off Merritt’s long, slender—and appallingly white—legs.
“It fits you just fine. Now come over here so I can put something on your face so you don’t get sunburned.”
Merritt crossed her arms. “No. I’ll stop by a drugstore and get a hat and a high-SPF lotion I can put on my face and body. That’s all I need.”
Loralee didn’t smile with relief at the discovery that the girl with opinions Robert had told her about was still inside Merritt somewhere. Instead she just nodded, then led the way to the door.
“Won’t I need a sweater out on the water? This shirt doesn’t have any sleeves.”
Loralee didn’t even pause. “I promise you that you won’t need a sweater. Not until October, most likely.”
Loralee kept walking, knowing that Merritt would follow her, just as she knew Owen would figure out how a LEGO model was put together no matter how many times he threw it against the floor because it was wrong.
The children were in the front yard when they came down, and Gibbes was in the foyer with his head bent over his cell phone, typing a message. He glanced up and his eyes got that look Loralee remembered from her flying days, when she brought a scotch and soda to a first-class passenger without being asked. “Oh,” he said.
Merritt plucked at her blouse. “Loralee says I won’t need a sweater.”
“No.”
Merritt didn’t seem to notice that Gibbes was acting like he’d fallen out of the stupid tree, hitting every branch on the way down, and Loralee figured it was probably a good thing. Merritt had enough on her mind right then.
“I’ll get the picnic basket,” Merritt said, her voice hopeful, like she was looking forward to carrying the basket in front of her as some kind of barrier.
Gibbes cleared his throat. “It’s already in my truck.” He moved to the door and held it open while Merritt grabbed her pocketbook from the hall table.