away when her sister grabbed her shirt and yanked her sideways. “Look out, stupid!” Crystal had warned.
Startled, she’d stared down at what she’d nearly stepped on. In the flattened grass lay the crushed and mutilated remains of a nest of newly hatched mallard ducklings. Later, when older heads and harder hands had separated them, Jack and Sonny had each blamed the other for the atrocity, but she had been too ashamed to pay much attention to the outcome of the fight. In full view of the jeering onlookers, she’d crouched in the gravel beside the weathered building and vomited up the moon pie and the grape soft drink she’d had for lunch.
Liz still couldn’t abide the smell or taste of grape soda.
“Go ahead. Say it.”
Jack’s words jerked her back to the present. “What?” she asked.
“Say what you’re thinking.”
“I . . . wasn’t,” she stammered. “Not what you . . .”
“No?” His eyes narrowed. “You weren’t going to remind me that I just spent over three years in jail for assault and attempted murder? That I tried to kill Randy and Daryll Hurd and damn near succeeded?”
“No, I wasn’t going to say that,” she insisted. “You’ve got the Rafferty temper, but I don’t think you’re a murderer.” She shook her head. “But it wouldn’t be the first time you decided to take justice into your own hands.”
“Defender of stray pups and wronged women, that’s me.”
“Cut it out,” she said. “We’ve known each other too long to play games.”
“Have we? Games are what people do, aren’t they? At least, most men and women.”
“Take me home.”
“All right.”
Jack steered the boat in silence for a quarter of an hour before saying, “I heard Tracy’s funeral is Saturday. What time?”
“When did you start attending funerals?”
“Some things have changed in twenty-odd years. You were away a long time, Lizzy. I’d given up expecting you to come back.”
“Don’t call me that,” she said. “It’s Liz now. Or Elizabeth.”
“Or Doctor Clarke.”
“Don’t, Jack. We don’t need to fight.”
“We didn’t part on the best of terms.”
“That was a long time ago. I’m not the same person I was then,” she said. “I don’t want to be.”
“No more Donald Clarke’s girl?”
“Or Crystal Clarke’s sister. I’ve worked hard for what I have, for what I’ve made of myself. For the life I’ve made for my daughter.”
“And I haven’t?”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Believe what you want. I had nothing to do with George’s business. He knew how I felt, and he made sure that . . .” Jack exhaled softly. “Hell. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I had my suspicions. But George is my brother, and Raffertys—”
“Stick together?” she offered. “Did your father know?”
“Pop?” He shook his head. “If George was running whiskey, Pop would have laughed and told tales about the old days. Not drugs. Pop’s old school. George was lucky that it was the Feds that caught him. Pop would have put a bullet through his head if he’d caught him running that shit on one of our boats.”
“You lost the boat, didn’t you?”
“The boat. Not the bank note. Pop had to sell off the
Nellie IV
to make up the difference while I was upstate. We’ve got seven boats left. Two crabbers, one still commercial fishing. Pop runs the
Sea Sprite
as a headboat, and the rest I manage as charters. We hire captains and crews for the other boats.”
“I know the fishing is much worse than it used to be. It’s not easy for a waterman to make a living today.”
“When was it? In your dad’s time?” He scoffed. “You’ll have to come see sometime. I live on the
Dolphin III
. It’s corporate office and home sweet home all wrapped up in one. We’ve gone high tech, state-of-the-art computers.”
She looked at his scarred hands. “It’s hard to imagine you at a keyboard.”
“I told you I put in a couple of years at Del State, and they have quite
Startled, she’d stared down at what she’d nearly stepped on. In the flattened grass lay the crushed and mutilated remains of a nest of newly hatched mallard ducklings. Later, when older heads and harder hands had separated them, Jack and Sonny had each blamed the other for the atrocity, but she had been too ashamed to pay much attention to the outcome of the fight. In full view of the jeering onlookers, she’d crouched in the gravel beside the weathered building and vomited up the moon pie and the grape soft drink she’d had for lunch.
Liz still couldn’t abide the smell or taste of grape soda.
“Go ahead. Say it.”
Jack’s words jerked her back to the present. “What?” she asked.
“Say what you’re thinking.”
“I . . . wasn’t,” she stammered. “Not what you . . .”
“No?” His eyes narrowed. “You weren’t going to remind me that I just spent over three years in jail for assault and attempted murder? That I tried to kill Randy and Daryll Hurd and damn near succeeded?”
“No, I wasn’t going to say that,” she insisted. “You’ve got the Rafferty temper, but I don’t think you’re a murderer.” She shook her head. “But it wouldn’t be the first time you decided to take justice into your own hands.”
“Defender of stray pups and wronged women, that’s me.”
“Cut it out,” she said. “We’ve known each other too long to play games.”
“Have we? Games are what people do, aren’t they? At least, most men and women.”
“Take me home.”
“All right.”
Jack steered the boat in silence for a quarter of an hour before saying, “I heard Tracy’s funeral is Saturday. What time?”
“When did you start attending funerals?”
“Some things have changed in twenty-odd years. You were away a long time, Lizzy. I’d given up expecting you to come back.”
“Don’t call me that,” she said. “It’s Liz now. Or Elizabeth.”
“Or Doctor Clarke.”
“Don’t, Jack. We don’t need to fight.”
“We didn’t part on the best of terms.”
“That was a long time ago. I’m not the same person I was then,” she said. “I don’t want to be.”
“No more Donald Clarke’s girl?”
“Or Crystal Clarke’s sister. I’ve worked hard for what I have, for what I’ve made of myself. For the life I’ve made for my daughter.”
“And I haven’t?”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Believe what you want. I had nothing to do with George’s business. He knew how I felt, and he made sure that . . .” Jack exhaled softly. “Hell. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I had my suspicions. But George is my brother, and Raffertys—”
“Stick together?” she offered. “Did your father know?”
“Pop?” He shook his head. “If George was running whiskey, Pop would have laughed and told tales about the old days. Not drugs. Pop’s old school. George was lucky that it was the Feds that caught him. Pop would have put a bullet through his head if he’d caught him running that shit on one of our boats.”
“You lost the boat, didn’t you?”
“The boat. Not the bank note. Pop had to sell off the
Nellie IV
to make up the difference while I was upstate. We’ve got seven boats left. Two crabbers, one still commercial fishing. Pop runs the
Sea Sprite
as a headboat, and the rest I manage as charters. We hire captains and crews for the other boats.”
“I know the fishing is much worse than it used to be. It’s not easy for a waterman to make a living today.”
“When was it? In your dad’s time?” He scoffed. “You’ll have to come see sometime. I live on the
Dolphin III
. It’s corporate office and home sweet home all wrapped up in one. We’ve gone high tech, state-of-the-art computers.”
She looked at his scarred hands. “It’s hard to imagine you at a keyboard.”
“I told you I put in a couple of years at Del State, and they have quite
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