“I’m sorry April. The secrecy is my fault. I didn’t want you to know we were seeing each other because nothing’s been decided.”
So now what?
Walt was scowling, his customary expression. But when Claire caught his eye and smiled, April saw her father melt—which completely defused her anger despite what her mother had just said.
“Want to join us for breakfast?” Claire asked.
April looked from her mother to her father. “No, I had breakfast with Gunner. And I think you two could use the time alone. Just don’t—” she took a deep breath “—just be patient with each other, okay?”
G UNNER SAT ON HIS BED long after he’d hung up with his father, staring into space. Quincy Senior had talked to him for almost thirty minutes, but he hadn’t really said anything. He’d gone on and on about how the Murray town council was considering naming the new park after Gunner, and mentioned that they were thinking of putting up a statue of him—as if Gunner cared about that sort of thing. Then his father had talked about going ice fishing when Gunner came to visit and how he’d found the perfect fishing hole.
Gunner had done his best to act interested, but he wasn’t sure how he’d get through the week he’d promised to spend with his father when he returned to New York.
The telephone rang again, and this time Gunner welcomed the interruption. He didn’t want to thinkabout his father, didn’t want to acknowledge that Quincy Senior had been trying for years now and Gunner was the one holding out…. “Hello?”
“It’s me.”
April. She wasn’t much easier to deal with than his father. Why couldn’t she simply fall into his bed and put an end to the desire that licked through his veins every time he saw her? She said she wasn’t cut out for casual relationships. Well, he wasn’t cut out for any other kind. He was good at fast and fleeting. He’d had lots of practice.
“You all set for deep-sea fishing?” he asked.
“Just about. How did it go with your father?”
“Fine.”
“When you were talking to him, you seemed a little tense.”
He opened his mouth to dismiss his feelings, as he always did. He was mildly surprised she’d noticed the strain. But he shouldn’t have been. April was more sensitive than many other people and he knew he had to respect that by being honest with her, even when it was painful.
“We’ve had some trouble connecting,” he admitted. “Especially since my mother died.”
“She passed away just before you retired from racing, didn’t she?”
He didn’t say anything.
“Is that the reason?”
His throat began to burn, but for the second time he fought the impulse to dodge her. “Yes. At that point, racing didn’t hold the same appeal for me.” But he hadn’t known where to focus his attention after that and it felt like he’d been wandering around lost ever since.
“I’m sorry, Gunner.” April’s voice was soft and warm, completely sincere. “I can tell you were very close to her.”
“She was—” Suddenly he wanted to talk but found it difficult to get the words out. He rarely spoke of his mother, hadn’t allowed himself to cry over her death. He didn’t feel he had any right to self-pity when his life had been so good. But now the loss felt new and raw, like a giant hole blown through his chest, and he couldn’t fight the tears that blurred his vision. “She was a good woman.”
“She’ll never really be gone, Gunner, you know that, don’t you? Not as long as you carry her in your heart.”
He closed his eyes, almost certain April had found her way into his heart, too. “I know.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t go fishing today,” she said. “I’ll say I’m not feeling well, and we can lie around the beach for hours and make out. I’m pretty sure I need a refresher course.”
He chuckled, feeling strange, different…more atpeace somehow. “Don’t cancel the fishing. I’m fine.”
“Want me to come to your room so
So now what?
Walt was scowling, his customary expression. But when Claire caught his eye and smiled, April saw her father melt—which completely defused her anger despite what her mother had just said.
“Want to join us for breakfast?” Claire asked.
April looked from her mother to her father. “No, I had breakfast with Gunner. And I think you two could use the time alone. Just don’t—” she took a deep breath “—just be patient with each other, okay?”
G UNNER SAT ON HIS BED long after he’d hung up with his father, staring into space. Quincy Senior had talked to him for almost thirty minutes, but he hadn’t really said anything. He’d gone on and on about how the Murray town council was considering naming the new park after Gunner, and mentioned that they were thinking of putting up a statue of him—as if Gunner cared about that sort of thing. Then his father had talked about going ice fishing when Gunner came to visit and how he’d found the perfect fishing hole.
Gunner had done his best to act interested, but he wasn’t sure how he’d get through the week he’d promised to spend with his father when he returned to New York.
The telephone rang again, and this time Gunner welcomed the interruption. He didn’t want to thinkabout his father, didn’t want to acknowledge that Quincy Senior had been trying for years now and Gunner was the one holding out…. “Hello?”
“It’s me.”
April. She wasn’t much easier to deal with than his father. Why couldn’t she simply fall into his bed and put an end to the desire that licked through his veins every time he saw her? She said she wasn’t cut out for casual relationships. Well, he wasn’t cut out for any other kind. He was good at fast and fleeting. He’d had lots of practice.
“You all set for deep-sea fishing?” he asked.
“Just about. How did it go with your father?”
“Fine.”
“When you were talking to him, you seemed a little tense.”
He opened his mouth to dismiss his feelings, as he always did. He was mildly surprised she’d noticed the strain. But he shouldn’t have been. April was more sensitive than many other people and he knew he had to respect that by being honest with her, even when it was painful.
“We’ve had some trouble connecting,” he admitted. “Especially since my mother died.”
“She passed away just before you retired from racing, didn’t she?”
He didn’t say anything.
“Is that the reason?”
His throat began to burn, but for the second time he fought the impulse to dodge her. “Yes. At that point, racing didn’t hold the same appeal for me.” But he hadn’t known where to focus his attention after that and it felt like he’d been wandering around lost ever since.
“I’m sorry, Gunner.” April’s voice was soft and warm, completely sincere. “I can tell you were very close to her.”
“She was—” Suddenly he wanted to talk but found it difficult to get the words out. He rarely spoke of his mother, hadn’t allowed himself to cry over her death. He didn’t feel he had any right to self-pity when his life had been so good. But now the loss felt new and raw, like a giant hole blown through his chest, and he couldn’t fight the tears that blurred his vision. “She was a good woman.”
“She’ll never really be gone, Gunner, you know that, don’t you? Not as long as you carry her in your heart.”
He closed his eyes, almost certain April had found her way into his heart, too. “I know.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t go fishing today,” she said. “I’ll say I’m not feeling well, and we can lie around the beach for hours and make out. I’m pretty sure I need a refresher course.”
He chuckled, feeling strange, different…more atpeace somehow. “Don’t cancel the fishing. I’m fine.”
“Want me to come to your room so
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