agree to let Seth camp out with the other boys in their backyard. It
gave Ethan an evening alone--a rarity now--and time to work without
having to tune in to questions and comments.
Not that the boy wasn't entertaining, Ethan mused. The fact was, he was
firmly attached to Seth. Accepting Seth into his life had been natural
because Ray had asked it of him. But the affection, the appreciation,
and the loyalty had grown and solidified until it simply was.
But that didn't mean the kid couldn't wear down his energies.
Ethan kept it to handwork tonight. Even if you felt awake and alert at
midnight, the odds were you'd be a bit sluggish, and he didn't want to
risk losing a finger to the power tools. In any case, it was soothing to
work in the quiet, to hand-sand edges and planes until you felt them go
smooth.
They would be ready to seal the hull before the week was out, and he
could start Seth on sanding the rubrails. If Cam dived right in on
dealing with belowdecks, and if Seth didn't bitch too much about working
with putty and caulk and varnish over the next week or two, they'd do
well enough.
He checked his watch, saw that time was getting away from him, and began
to put away his tools. He swept up, since Seth wasn't there to wield the
broom.
By quarter after one, he was parked outside of the pub. He didn't intend
to go inside anymore than he intended to let Grace walk the mile and a
half home when she clocked out. So he settled back, switched on his dome
light, and passed the time reading his dog-eared copy of Cannery Row.
inside, it was last call. The only thing that would have made Grace
happier would have been if Dave had told her that all she needed to get
her car up and running was some used chewing gum and a rubber band.
Instead he'd told her it would cost the equivalent of three years' worth
of both, and then she'd be lucky if the old bucket ran another five
thousand miles.
It was something she would have to worry about later; at the moment, she
had her hands full dealing with an overly insistent customer who was
stopping off in St. Chris on his way down to Savannah and was sure Grace
would like to be his form of entertainment for the night.
"I got me a hotel room." He winked at her when she stooped to serve his
final drink of the night. "And it's got a big bed and twenty-four-hour
room service. We could have us a hell of a party, honey pie."
"I don't do a lot of partying, but thanks."
He grabbed her hand, pulled it just enough to throw off her balance so
she had to grip his shoulder or tumble into his lap. "Then now's your
chance." He had dark eyes, and he aimed them leeringly at her breasts.
"I got a real fondness for long-legged blondes. Always treat them
special."
He was tiresome, Grace thought as he breathed one more beer into her
face. But she had handled worse. "I appreciate that, but I'm going to
finish up my shift and go home."
"Your place is fine with me."
"Mister--"
"Bob. You just call me Bob, baby."