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"Mmm, I smell coffee," Murphy said, his rheumy eyes lighting on the coffeepot. Clint's father was a stooped, spare man with few words and a passion for collecting baseball cards. He rarely appeared when Eva stopped by, but Clint professed he ate every crumb of her desserts.
"Who's that?" Charlie asked, pointing his finger at Murphy.
"Don't point. It's rude," Eva said, folding her brother's finger down.
Clint's father narrowed his eyes at Charlie. "Who are you?"
"I'm Charlie."
Murphy raised his eyebrows and did something unexpected-he smiled. Well, at least Eva thought it was a smile.
"Well, then, Charlie, I'm Murphy Cochran. I'm Clint's father, and this is my house."
Clint 's face tightened at that declaration. Eva knew it was a sticking point for her friend. Ever since the Cochrans moved from the Victorian house with its narrow halls and steep stairs to the handicap friendly one-story lake house, Clint had been try ing to find a way to break out. At first he'd stayed because his mother had wanted to take care of him. Now he stayed because, though he and his father didn't get along, he worried about his father living alone. It was a catch-22.
"Oh," Charlie said, shimmying down from the stool. "Can I go outside?"
"Sure," Eva said, pouring coffee into a mug and passing it to Murphy before pouring herself one. "Don't go near the water."
Charlie slammed out the door.
"Did you hear me?" she called.
The kid gave her a thumbs-up and then clapped his hands so Biscuit, the yellow Lab who lolled in the sun, came running after him.
"Cute kid," Murphy said, looking out at the boy running across the lawn."Who does he belong to?"
"For the time being, me." Eva slid onto the stool Charlie had abandoned. "He's my half brother, and his mother is in rehab."
Murphy lifted bis bushy brows. "That's tough."
She wasn't sure if he meant on her, Charlie, or Claren. Maybe all three.
"You're doing good, Eva," Clint said, rolling beside her, brushing her arm with his hand. It was a soft caress that on the surface seemed friendly, but when she looked into Clint's eyes, she wanted to mutter ''uh-oh."
"Thanks. I'm doing my best."
Murphy turned the conversation to the upcoming hunting season and then to baseball playoffs. Before the accident Clint had been a pitcher for the University of Arkansas. There had been talk of his being drafted and playing in the minor leagues. Murphy Cochran had never gotten over the fact that his son had a career erased that night years ago. Bitter, he still stewed over what might have been, taking his anger out on Clint. Clint said Murphy hadn't said five words to Jake since that night. After another cup of coffee, Eva said her goodbyes.
Clint put his hand on her elbow as she turned to step out onto the porch. "Hey, think about the festival. It would be fun to get out of Magnolia Bend for the day."
"I will," she said, placing her hand over his and giving it a squeeze before pulling away.
"Is something wrong?" Clint asked.
''No. Why?"
''Nothing," he said, following her outside.
Charlie ran over, the dog behind him. Both his jeans and the dog's paws were wet.
"Did you go in the water?" Eva asked. The look on Charlie's face said it all.
"Charlie, I told you to stay away from the lake. You are never to go near water without an adult. Why did you disobey me?”
"Well, Biscuit wanted to fetch the stick, and I didn't know I could throw it that far."
"That explains why Biscuit is wet, not why you're wet."
