Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“I actually think I’m all set.” He stands and wipes imaginary dust off his knees. “I only have one more area to sort through, and Aaron’s about to start priming Grandpa’s room.”
I follow his lead by standing and straightening my clothes. “If he needs help painting, I’m all in.”
“I’ll let him know. Though he’ll likely turn you down like he did me. I have a feeling Aaron is pretty meticulous.”
I smirk. “You’d be right. Ask Jack how much he was allowed to help with other projects.”
“Even the space Jack bought in town?” he muses.
“No clue.” I raise my hands. “And I’m certainly not stepping in the middle of that discussion.”
He snickers. “You’ll have to send me a photo when it’s all finished.”
My gut churns. “Will do.”
“So, um, I was thinking of taking the boat out for a couple of hours.” Micah chews the inside of his cheek. “Want to join me?”
My instinct is to decline, not only because I’m not a big fan of boats but because the more time we spend together before he leaves, the worse it’ll be when he finally does. But I can’t seem to help myself. Besides, I trust Micah, and I know he won’t go too far out. “Only if you can get me back in time to open the bar.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
We say our goodbyes to Aaron as we head out the door.
Once on the dock, Micah stops in his tracks in front of the bait shop. Following his gaze, I spot a young adult, possibly in her twenties, behind the counter.
“Must be his granddaughter,” he mutters and opens the door. “I see Cap agreed to get some help.”
She frowns and shifts uncomfortably. “My grandpa had a stroke.”
His face falls. “I’m sorry to hear that. How is he doing?”
Another woman exits the back room, and I can see the likeness, so I can only assume she’s Cap’s daughter. “The doctors say it’ll be a while before he’s on his feet again. In the meantime, we’re helping out around here.”
“Please send him my regards.”
“Poor Cap,” I say as we head down the dock to the boat. “Sounds like you and he have been getting on?”
Micah nods. “Since I first showed up here. He didn’t give me any attitude about what happened back then, and I’m pretty sure he’s told the old-timers to leave me be about it too.”
“Glad to hear it.”
We work quietly together, steering the boat out of the harbor and onto the water. It reminds me of the good old days when it was only the two of us in the early morning hours, sometimes before school, but mostly on the weekends. That must be the reason I can’t tear my eyes from him. Micah looks so damned peaceful out here. Confident too. His composure is different from the one he displayed during the audition process, but it’s unfair to compare the two. One has high stakes, the other is only a hobby. A hobby his grandfather made into a career.
No doubt Micah recognizes the gravity of this place and the boat being linked to his grandfather. There’s history here, and though he won’t readily admit it, it might prove hard for him to leave it behind.
We drop anchor and fish for the better part of two hours, just talking and enjoying each other’s company. Not that I’m truly fishing, only indulging him. And he throws back every catch anyway.
I watch as he closes the tackle box and stores our rods. “Maybe you should’ve saved some cod for my fish fry.”
He straightens. “You think?”
“Uh-huh. Would be awesome.”
“Next time out, I’ll keep that in mind.”
As we head inland, I point toward the pier in Sunrise Bay that leads to the high school. “Let’s dock and go ashore. See what’s what.”
I can see the glint in his eye. “Are you serious?”
“Why not?”
Once there, I help him tie the bow line around a cleat while he handles the spring line near the stern. With the boat secured, we step onto the dock and shake out our sea legs, then head toward the high school, identifying landmarks from our younger days, like the gymnasium and the flagpole where we’d meet each morning.
“Outside of the newer benches,” I observe, “it looks about the same.”
“But smaller,” Micah points out.
“Isn’t that always the case?” I muse.
“Well, except when it comes to Grandpa’s house.” A bewildered look crosses his features. “Somehow, it seems bigger.”
I don’t draw attention to the fact that he lives in a bedroom in someone else’s apartment. But that’s not at the heart of his comment. It’s more that inheriting the house is overwhelming and sobering for a kid who essentially came from nothing. I want to beg him to embrace the history of the Malone family in Aqua Vista, but it would undoubtedly fall on deaf ears. Micah’s got to feel he’s part of his heritage to believe it, instead of an abused child pawned off on his grandfather.