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“Don’t want to.”
“But I’d like you to.”
“Don’t care what you like.”
“Mackey.” Kit firmed her voice and tugged at the spatula in his fist. “You can’t live off just dog cheese. You need to eat something healthier and get some exercise for a change. You’re getting on the boat, eating a nutritious lunch, then cutting the grass with me, and that’s that.”
An hour later, after two rounds of spatula wrestling with Mackey and one more argument with Royal, Kit boarded the boat with both men . . . though they made it clear they weren’t excited about the arrangement.
Mackey sat on the bench seat beside Royal and glared at Kit as she sat at the helm. “How long you staying?”
Royal guffawed and slung an arm around Mackey’s shoulders. “You tell her, son. She ought not be messing with our routine, had she?”
“Yes, I should,” Kit said, glancing over her shoulder. “Especially when the routine isn’t doing either of you any good.”
Smile vanishing, Royal looked down as Mackey snuggled against his side, then laid his cheek on top of Mackey’s head, hugged him closer, and closed his eyes.
Kit, blinking back tears, faced forward, started the engine, and eased the hybrid bay boat out into the creek. As they passed the Sutton dock, Beau, Viv, and Cal were in the process of boarding one of the Suttons’ large hybrid boats.
The passage of Royal’s smaller boat caught Beau’s eye, and he looked up, smiled, and waved one hand in the air. Cal followed suit, though somewhat hesitantly. Viv, however, froze, one leg propped on the edge of Beau’s boat and one on the dock, and stared.
Kit stared back, her breath catching at the restrained fury in Viv’s expression. It was, at least, nice to see some fire in her eyes rather than the dull numbness that had resided there when she’d first arrived home yesterday morning.
“Viv!” Mackey shouted from the bench seat. “I didn’t let Kit in. She broke in. She a burglar. Make her go.”
Cheeks heating, Kit tossed a stern look his way.
Mackey stuck out his tongue and burrowed deeper into Royal’s side. Royal, glowering in Viv’s direction, turned away from the Suttons’ dock and stared straight ahead as the creek curved around a thick mound of cordgrass.
The wind picked up as the boat rounded the bend, and salty air ruffled Kit’s hair, lifting it off her shoulders and slapping it against her back in a rhythmic motion. Soon, the creek widened, seagulls’ cries filled the air, and floating cages emerged.
Kit swallowed hard, tightened her grip on the steering wheel until her nails bit into her palms. She glanced at Royal. His shoulders sagged and his cheeks paled as his gaze fixed on the cages.
“We’ll move past them soon,” Kit called over her shoulder, seeking solace in the words. Trying hard to believe them. “Then it’s clear open water.”
Kit drove on for several more miles, then slowed as a patch of mud emerged near the creek’s shore. Dense clusters of jagged shells jutted up, their damp edges glistening amid the rippling sunlit waters. The sight of the oyster beds perked Mackey right up.
“Oysters!” Mackey sprang out of Royal’s arms and off the bench seat and rubbed his hands together briskly. “I get the first one, huh, Kit? I want to get the first one.”
“Oh, so you forgive me now?” She glanced over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “For dragging you out of the house and being a burglar and all?”
Mackey thought it over, his brow furrowing as he studied her, then the oyster bed. He bit his nail. “Yes. I forgive you.”
“Then it’s all yours, bud.” She slowed the boat, cut the engine, and tossed Mackey a pair of gloves. “Mackey and I are gonna grab lunch. You feel like wading out with us, Dad?”
Royal didn’t respond. Instead, he tried—and failed—to give them a small smile.
Kit walked to the back of the boat and knelt in front of him. “I know this is hard. But I promise, the scariest part is here”—she touched the center of Royal’s chest gently—“not on this creek.” She looked up and studied the sorrow-filled lines of his expression. “Do you remember the first time you brought me out here?”
His gaze fixed on Mackey, who leapt off the boat, landed on his hands and knees in the mud, and squealed with glee.
“Come on, Dad!” Mackey laughed as he sank, the sticky pluff mud oozing up over his knees and elbows. “Get the oysters.”
Kit smiled. “I don’t remember much about the first time you brought me out here—I was so young—but I remember everything looked so big to me,” she continued. “So huge. The sky . . . the creek . . . the oyster beds. I remember leaning over the boat and asking you how deep Hope Creek was. Do you remember what you told me?” She leaned closer. Cupped his cheek. “You said Hope runs deep. Deeper than—”
“The lowest you could ever go,” he finished for her softly. His dark gaze shifted, meeting hers, and his chin trembled.
Kit smiled gently, then stood and tugged on one glove after the other. “You don’t have to move a finger. You can sit right here and watch me and Mackey, but I want you talking while we work. I want you to tell me every single thing you know about Pearl Tide Oyster Company and Beau Sutton. Where all he’s growing, where he plans to expand, what he’s shifting locally, and how much he’s making. And then I want you to tell me Viv’s role in it. Every detail, no matter how small.”
