Inner Harbor

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Authors: Nora Roberts
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have dragged Ethan along, but once they’d hounded him into it, Ethan would have held up his end.
    The Quinn boys hadn’t spent many Friday nights snoozing.
    These days, he thought as he climbed out of the Jeep, Cam would be upstairs cozied up to his wife and Ethan would be tucked into Grace’s little house. Undoubtedly they both had smiles on their faces.
    Lucky bastards.
    Knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep, he skirted the house and walked to where the edge of the trees met the edge of the water.
    The moon was a fat ball riding the night sky. It shed its soft white light over the dark water, wet eelgrass, and thick leaves.
    Cicadas were singing in their high, monotonous voices, and deep in those thick woods, an owl called out in tireless two-toned notes.
    Perhaps he preferred the sounds of the city, voices and traffic muffled through glass. But he never failed to find this spot appealing. Though he missed the city’s pace, the theater and museums, the eclectic mix of food and people, he could appreciate the peace and the stability found right here day after day. Year after year.
    Without it, he had no doubt he would have found his way back to the gutter. And died there.
    â€œYou always wanted more for yourself than that.”
    The chill washed through him, from gut to fingertips. Where he had been standing, staring out at the moonlight showering through the trees, he was now staring at his father. The father he’d buried six months before.
    â€œI only had one beer,” he heard himself say.
    â€œYou’re not drunk, son.” Ray stepped forward so that the moonlight shimmered over his dramatic mane of silver hair and into the brilliant blue eyes that were bright with humor. “You’re going to want to breathe now, before you pass out.”
    Phillip let out his breath in a whoosh , but his ears continued to ring. “I’m going to sit down now.” He did, slowly, like a creaky old man, easing himself down onto the grass. “I don’t believe in ghosts,” he said to the water, “or reincarnation, the afterlife, visitations, or any form of psychic phenomenon.”
    â€œYou always were the most pragmatic of the lot. Nothing was real unless you could see it, touch it, smell it.”
    Ray sat beside him with a contented sigh and stretched out long legs clad in frayed jeans. He crossed his ankles, and on his feet were the well-worn Dock-Sides that Phillip himself had packed into a box for the Salvation Army nearly six months before.
    â€œWell,” Ray said cheerfully, “you’re seeing me, aren’t you?”
    â€œNo. I’m having an episode most likely resulting from sexual deprivation and overwork.”
    â€œI won’t argue with you. It’s too pretty a night.”
    â€œI haven’t reached closure yet,” Phillip said to himself. “I’m still angry over the way he died, and why, and all the unanswered questions. So I’m projecting.”
    â€œI figured you’d be the toughest nut of the three. Always had an answer for everything. I know you’ve got questions, too. And I know you’ve got anger. You’re entitled. You’ve had to change your life and take on responsibilities that shouldn’t have been yours. But you did it, and I’m grateful.”
    â€œI don’t have time for therapy right now. There’s no place on the schedule to fit sessions in.”
    Ray let out a hoot of laughter. “Boy, you’re not drunk, and you’re not crazy either. You’re just stubborn. Why don’t you use that flexible mind of yours, Phillip, and consider a possibility?”
    Bracing himself, Phillip turned his head. It was his father’s face, wide and lined with life and filled with humor. Those bright-blue eyes were dancing, the silver hair ruffling in the night air. “This is an impossibility.”
    â€œSome people said when your mother and I took you and your

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