playhouse—our intended trysting place. Where we’d never actually trysted.
Sonny lit a lantern and we spread out to look around. The house was tiny, a small front room and bunkroom. I wondered why all three of us had come. But who would have agreed to stay behind? I hated to admit it, but I was there because I worried Chris and Sonny’s unwavering belief in Cabe’s innocence might lead them to destroy anything suspicious they found. Sonny believed in Cabe because he knew him, as I did. Chris didn’t know Cabe well, but Chris always stood firmly on the side of the underdog. There was nothing that would move Chris more than the plight of a young man without resources, wanted by the police.
“Nothing here,” Sonny called from the bunkroom.
“Here, either.” Chris and I had searched the cupboards in the sideboard and under the cushions on the settee. There really weren’t many places to look.
“That’s a relief,” Sonny said. “At least I haven’t kept anything from Binder and Flynn they’d think was useful.”
“But don’t you see?” I protested. “There’s nothing here.”
“Exactly.” Sonny was losing patience with me.
“But Cabe must have had some things here. He owned more than one shirt, more than one pair of underwear. If there’s nothing here, it means that after the Founder’s Weekend celebration, he had no intention of coming back.”
“Crap.” Sonny said it, but we all thought it.
Chapter 17
Chris took me back to the harbor on his dinghy. We didn’t attempt to talk over the noise of its little motor and the sea. We were both shaken by what we’d seen—or hadn’t seen—at the playhouse. The word premeditation came to mind, though my brain was still unwilling to link the words Cabe and murder .
Chris tied the dinghy up behind the Dark Lady . To make ends meet, he rented out the cabin on a lake he’d bought from his parents and moved onto his boat for the summer. We climbed onto the deck. He kissed me hard, and then, without words, we headed to his cabin below.
Afterward, we lay in his spacious bunk. I loved the way the shape of the Dark Lady’ s bow brought our heads together in the dark. I shifted my position and lay my head on his breastbone, that indentation between the pectoral muscles that is one of the sexiest parts of a man.
“How come you never left town?” I asked. Most young people left. Jobs were hard to come by, especially in the off-season. And most of the jobs that did exist, didn’t pay well. Chris strung together landscaping, cab driving, and bouncing—and living on his boat in the summer so he could rent his house.
“I wasn’t going to college. You know that.” When he spoke, I could feel the hum of his diaphragm, like the bass of a sound system turned all the way up.
“That’s not true. You played football—”
“Played football and raised hell.” He laughed. “If you think I was college material, you can go over to the high school and ask my old guidance counselor. He still works there. He’ll set you straight.”
“So you just stayed? Because you had no options?” I sat up on the bunk, facing him, grateful for the dark.
“Jesus, Julia. I’m not pathetic. Is that what you think of me?” I started to protest, but he kept talking. “Of course I had options. The service. A lot of kids joined. Or just leave town to look for work. It’s a big world out there. I didn’t go because I love it here. That’s why I bought my parents house when they went south. I can’t imagine not smelling the ocean everyday. I can’t imagine being happy where the land is flat, or where the winters are warm. This harbor is my place. I’m dug deep.”
I wasn’t surprised by what he’d said. I hadn’t pictured some Crocodile Dundee future where he followed me to Manhattan. Being with Chris was a lifelong dream, but I had to accept it for what it was, the world’s most wonderful summer romance.
“Come here.” He reached out for me in the darkness
Sonny lit a lantern and we spread out to look around. The house was tiny, a small front room and bunkroom. I wondered why all three of us had come. But who would have agreed to stay behind? I hated to admit it, but I was there because I worried Chris and Sonny’s unwavering belief in Cabe’s innocence might lead them to destroy anything suspicious they found. Sonny believed in Cabe because he knew him, as I did. Chris didn’t know Cabe well, but Chris always stood firmly on the side of the underdog. There was nothing that would move Chris more than the plight of a young man without resources, wanted by the police.
“Nothing here,” Sonny called from the bunkroom.
“Here, either.” Chris and I had searched the cupboards in the sideboard and under the cushions on the settee. There really weren’t many places to look.
“That’s a relief,” Sonny said. “At least I haven’t kept anything from Binder and Flynn they’d think was useful.”
“But don’t you see?” I protested. “There’s nothing here.”
“Exactly.” Sonny was losing patience with me.
“But Cabe must have had some things here. He owned more than one shirt, more than one pair of underwear. If there’s nothing here, it means that after the Founder’s Weekend celebration, he had no intention of coming back.”
“Crap.” Sonny said it, but we all thought it.
Chapter 17
Chris took me back to the harbor on his dinghy. We didn’t attempt to talk over the noise of its little motor and the sea. We were both shaken by what we’d seen—or hadn’t seen—at the playhouse. The word premeditation came to mind, though my brain was still unwilling to link the words Cabe and murder .
Chris tied the dinghy up behind the Dark Lady . To make ends meet, he rented out the cabin on a lake he’d bought from his parents and moved onto his boat for the summer. We climbed onto the deck. He kissed me hard, and then, without words, we headed to his cabin below.
Afterward, we lay in his spacious bunk. I loved the way the shape of the Dark Lady’ s bow brought our heads together in the dark. I shifted my position and lay my head on his breastbone, that indentation between the pectoral muscles that is one of the sexiest parts of a man.
“How come you never left town?” I asked. Most young people left. Jobs were hard to come by, especially in the off-season. And most of the jobs that did exist, didn’t pay well. Chris strung together landscaping, cab driving, and bouncing—and living on his boat in the summer so he could rent his house.
“I wasn’t going to college. You know that.” When he spoke, I could feel the hum of his diaphragm, like the bass of a sound system turned all the way up.
“That’s not true. You played football—”
“Played football and raised hell.” He laughed. “If you think I was college material, you can go over to the high school and ask my old guidance counselor. He still works there. He’ll set you straight.”
“So you just stayed? Because you had no options?” I sat up on the bunk, facing him, grateful for the dark.
“Jesus, Julia. I’m not pathetic. Is that what you think of me?” I started to protest, but he kept talking. “Of course I had options. The service. A lot of kids joined. Or just leave town to look for work. It’s a big world out there. I didn’t go because I love it here. That’s why I bought my parents house when they went south. I can’t imagine not smelling the ocean everyday. I can’t imagine being happy where the land is flat, or where the winters are warm. This harbor is my place. I’m dug deep.”
I wasn’t surprised by what he’d said. I hadn’t pictured some Crocodile Dundee future where he followed me to Manhattan. Being with Chris was a lifelong dream, but I had to accept it for what it was, the world’s most wonderful summer romance.
“Come here.” He reached out for me in the darkness
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