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“I did.” Beau lifted an exhausted hand toward Cal and Mackey, who roamed cheerfully around the boat, chatting with excitement, taking pictures of pelicans, and watching dolphins play nearby. “The boys had a fantastic time, too. I’d say we all did.”
Even Royal and Nate had relaxed in the pilothouse, Nate sipping a beer and Royal enjoying a smoke as he navigated the boat back to Hope Creek.
“It was a nice day,” Viv said quietly, leaning back against the same bulkhead that was supporting Beau. She tugged her cap lower on her head and looked at Kit. “Was it as good a day as you remembered?”
Kit’s expression dimmed, but she smiled. “Not exactly as I remembered, but close.”
Beau hesitated, glancing from Kit to Viv as they avoided each other’s eyes. “Did y’all do this a lot in the past?”
They both remained silent for a moment. Then Kit said, “I did. But Viv stopped coming out with me and Dad when we hit our teens. When we were kids, our mom used to work with us when our dad took us shrimping. Viv always came then.”
Viv rolled her head to the side and met Beau’s eyes. “Kit asked if we could set aside our differences and try spending a day on the water together like we used to.”
Beau smiled. “It seems to have worked.” He glanced at Kit. “You two worked well together.”
“Just for today,” Viv said softly, her gaze moving from Beau to Kit and back. “But no matter what we do, nothing will ever be the same.”
CHAPTER10
Kit hefted a large bucket filled with freshly caught shrimp off the work deck of Royal’s boat, propped it on one hip, and carried it off the boat and onto the dock. “You coming or what?”
Viv, who was standing on the work deck, lifted her cap and dragged the back of her hand over her sweaty forehead. Her lips twitched. “You rushing me or what?”
Kit smiled. In spite of Viv’s initially cool reception, the day on the shrimp boat had gone well. They’d worked together, dropping trawl nets, hauling them up, dumping the catch, and sorting out shrimp. The longer they’d worked, the more Viv had relaxed, the tight set of her shoulders easing and the anger in her eyes fading. She had laughed several times and had even indulged in a playful water fight with Cal and Mackey when they’d begun hosing the work deck down after returning to Teague Cottage and tying up the boat at the dock.
“All those hours hunting down and handling wild shrimp ran you down while it gave me a second wind, that’s what.” Kit lifted her bucket briefly in the direction of the work deck, where Cal and Mackey still tussled good-naturedly over a long hose, stealing it from each other and spraying water over each other’s legs, arms, and chests.
Viv dodged the spray of water, a small grin fighting its way to her mouth. She walked onto the dock, lugging the bucket with her. “The harvesting part of oyster farming isn’t all that different from shrimping. We pull our catch out of the water, dump it out, and sort it, just like Dad does his. It’s just that he uses nets to chase them down, while we pull them out of cages.”
Viv’s step slowed as her grin faded. A haunted look entered her eyes.
Heart breaking at the pain in Viv’s eyes, Kit reached for her, but the weight of the bucket in her grip halted her movements, and loud bursts of laughter from Cal and Mackey as they horse played on the work deck reminded her this wasn’t an ideal time to delve into the pain Viv had experienced from discovering Sylvie on the water. And . . . the brief glimpses of joy she’d seen in Viv’s expression made her long to help Viv hold on to whatever happiness remained in the day.
“You impressed him,” Kit said, smiling. “He’s missed you. It’s the main reason he swallowed his pride and invited the Suttons over today. It was so he could spend more time with you.”
Viv blinked, and her expression cleared. “Dad, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
“He said that?” Viv asked. “That . . . I impressed him? And that he wanted to spend more time with me?”
“He didn’t have to,” Kit said softly. “It was plain on his face.”
One corner of Viv’s mouth lifted. “His shaved face.” She laughed. “I still can’t believe he shaved that forest off his chin. He’s been hanging on to that beard for years.”
Kit laughed with her. “I know. I couldn’t help staring when I saw it. I was glad to see him finally loosen up a little bit, decide to leave the house and soak up the sun without me having to shove him out the door.”
Viv nodded. “It hurt him—” Voice breaking, she looked away, and her gaze fixed on the water rippling by the dock. “Ihurt him when I moved out a couple years ago. I didn’t think he’d ever forgive me for it, but yesterday, when he said he was proud of me . . .” She met Kit’s eyes and shrugged. “Well, it was nice to hear.”
Kit glanced down at the bucket in her hands and eyed the shrimp, weighing her words. “You must have been relieved that he’s forgiven you.” She waited, feeling the weight of Viv’s gaze on her, then motioned toward the small shed in the backyard that served as Royal’s fish house. “We better take these in and ice them down.”
The fish house, small though it was, had served Royal well over the years, and as she entered it, Kit couldn’t help but smile. Everything was just as she remembered: a floor-to-ceiling storage cabinet—one her dad had constructed from scraps of driftwood they’d collected over the years—still stood against one wall, probably still stuffed to the brim with fishing tackle he’d carefully organized. Buckets, baskets, and pots of various sizes were stacked to one side of the storage cabinet; fishing rods were lined up in a neat row and leaned against the wall; and a large freezer, stocked full of ice, hummed low with electric current in its position flush against the back wall. Fluorescent lights overhead and two large, uncovered windows brightened the small workspace.
The room was immaculate, had always been so, and had served as Royal’s private refuge during Sylvie’s roughest spells for as long as Kit could remember. Often as a child, Kit had followed him from the house to the shed, his drawn expression and moist eyelashes urging her to comfort him. He had never spoken during those moments; he’d just paused and held the fish house door open with one hand long enough for her to catch up to him and slip inside. Then he’d open the doors of the storage cabinet and take each piece of tackle out, inspect it for damage, and reorganize it all neatly in the cabinet.
After that, he’d stared out the window and smoked his cigar, the only sign he still remembered her presence being when he curled his hand around hers as she leaned against his side.
“That the last of ’em?” Royal, standing at a large wooden table that served as a culling and deveining surface, gestured toward the buckets in Kit’s and Viv’s arms.
