He looked out at the water, nodding. “You. Up all night screamin’ like a banshee. Sleepin’ like a lamb all day. Put yore mama through the ringer. Fair mommucked every mornin’, she was.”
Laire chuckled softly. Her father didn’t speak of their mother much, so it was music to her ears to hear this little piece of information.
“I miss her,” she said.
He nodded. “Aye-up. She was a good’un.”
For several moments they sat in silence before her father spoke again. “Brodie Walsh come into Triton today. Had some early yellowfin. Nice.” Laire clenched her jaw hard, staring down at her knees. Her father cleared his throat. “You ever think you might like a li’l’un like Issy’s got?”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “Not with Brodie Walsh.”
Her father looked at her askance. “Been some talk about you and him this summer.”
“Lies,” she said firmly.
“Maybe,” said her father, sighing. “Heard you told him off at Kyrstin’s weddin’.”
“I did. And he admitted he lied about me.”
Her father puffed on his pipe. “Still and all, talk is talk. Yore name be wrapped up w’ his now, Laire.”
“I don’t want Brodie Walsh. He’s full of himself. He lies. He’s immature. He drinks. He’s not . . .” Erik.
“Just wants a nice gal like you to make his life sweet.”
He wasn’t hearing her at all.
Staring straight ahead, at the Sound, her eyes burned with frustration and injustice, with longing for Erik, hatred for Brodie, and a sharp desperation for the mother who might have understood her better.
“You got yore nice fashions. Done a little waitressin’. Time to think about settlin’ in, li’l Laire. Find a nice boy. Let him court you for a spell.”
She felt bile rising in her throat.
“I’m mommucked, Daddy,” she said, standing up. “Think I’ll go to bed.”
She reached for the door when his voice stopped her.
“Oh, Laire! One other thing. Me and yore uncle’s headed out tomorrow afternoon to Harkers Island. Crabbin’s strong down there this year. We’ll stay the night on the boat and be back Friday afternoon.”
Wait! “W-what?”
“No need to make my dinner for tomorrow. Nor breakfast for Friday.”
“You’ll be . . .” She cleared her throat and tried desperately to remove any blatant enthusiasm from her voice. “You’ll be gone until Friday afternoon?”
He shrugged. “Might be back afore you head out to work Friday, might not. Hopin’ for a decent haul.”
Standing behind him, Laire clenched her fists by her sides as a wave of pure, unbridled, unadulterated joy swept through her. She was free. For a whole night. She could have a whole night with Erik.
“Yes, sir,” she said softly as tears of happiness pricked her eyes. “Take care now.”
“Aye-up,” he said. “Night, Laire. Consider what I said. ’Bout Brodie Walsh and you.”
“Yes, sir,” she murmured, letting the door shut behind her as she raced into her room, her cheeks wet from tears of silent celebration.
***
Laire was as mad as Erik had ever seen her when they parted ways yesterday.
They’d been cuddling on the Adirondack chairs—she was sitting cradled in his lap—when he asked her if there was any way she could spend the night with him tonight. He knew it was a bold request, but damn, he just wanted the time with her, and he’d been quick to add that sex was definitely off the table. He wasn’t looking for that. He just wanted hours and hours with her.
Suffice it to say, it hadn’t gone well at all. With a mix of anger and frustration, she’d leaped off his lap and stared down at him, hands on her hips, lecturing him about how staying overnight wasn’t an option and how could he—knowing her precarious situation—ask it of her? He’d tried to calm her down before she left, and they’d kissed and hugged good night, but he could tell she was still upset.
And now? As he zoomed over to the Pamlico House at six o’clock, he wondered if he’d pushed her too hard last night, and his heart clutched with misgivings. He felt like he’d fucking die if she was still mad and wouldn’t come over at all tonight, when it was their last, best chance to be alone before he had to go back to school.