“My dock is yours to use, kid,” Tom interrupts. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay down here. Alcohol and proximity to water aren’t always a winning combination.” He laughs, then pauses abruptly, when I fight to smile back at him. “Especially when alone…and not feeling our best.”
“I’m okay,” I say, looking toward him. My face, a little numb, struggles to smile the way I usually would. I can tell that’s the case when Tom’s eyes narrow on me, a weary expression that I’ve seen on his daughter. His kind, loyal, compassionate daughter. The daughter that a man like me has no right to talk to let alonetouchor want. “It’s just been one of those days.”
“Yeah,” Tom says, taking a deep breath. “We’ve had one of those too.”
“I should have saved you one,” I say, looking at the cardboard tray of empties. “Prue texted me earlier, it sounds like Mrs. Welch is having a hard time?”
“Nothing she can’t handle,” Tom says, sighing once again. “Prue’s good at that.”
“Mm-hmm,” I agree.
“Has she mentioned our agreement to you?”
“Your ultimatum?”
“Oh, is that what she’s calling it? Okay…” Tom smiles softly, his face pointed down. “Well, yeah, I suppose that’s what it is.”
“Shereallywants things to stay as they are.” It’s not my place to say anything, but the alcohol in my bloodstream doesn’t seem to know that.
“They can’t, unfortunately.”
“So, you’ve already made up your mind?” I whistle, long and low. “You might want to tell your daughter that.”
“I’m hoping she comes to realize on her own just how beautiful her life could be outside of this town.”
“Why?” I ask abruptly, then clear my throat. “Sorry, just, ifsheis content with being here…Wouldn’t you want her here?”
“That”—Tom points my way, laughing dryly—“is an excellent question.”
“Mm-hmm,” I agree absently, watching a storm brew behind Tom’s blue eyes.
“How drunk are you, Milo?”
“Mildly,” I answer. “Why?”
“You and my daughter bothlovethat word,” he mumbles, moving to face his body toward mine. “Because I would like to ask you a favor, and I need to know if you’ll remember what it is.”
I nod, slowly. “I’ll remember.”
“In that case, I’m going to ask that the next part of our conversation stays between us. For now. Until I can tell Prue myself.”
I flip my baseball cap around, then back again. “Okay, yeah…What is it?”
“I need Prue to decide for herself if this is where she wants to be, before that decision is made for her,” Tom says, then swallows. “I told Prue that we have until January because, well, because that is when I have no choice but to start treatment. I’ve put it off as long as I can.”
“Treatment?” I ask, blinking quickly. “What do you mean tr—”
“I’ve got the big C,” Tom jokes wryly. “Hodgkin’s lymphoma. It’s treatable, they caught it early and I’ve got great odds, but the treatment is intense and vigorous and I—” He stops, blowing out a long breath as he tilts his smile up to the sky. “And, according to the doctors, I will not be able to continue to look after my wife or the shop while I sort myself out.”
God,thatis sobering. “Tom, I’m so sorry.”
“Ah, well.”
“And Prue doesn’t know?”
“No, she doesn’t…. And I need to keep it that way…for now.” Tom nods reassuringly, as if he hears how fucked-up that is and is convincing himself otherwise. “If I told Prue, before she’s made up her mind as to whatshewants…the decision would be made for her. I know my daughter. She’d go from my wife’s caregiver to mine—jumping from one sinking ship to another without a second thought. That’s not fair to her.”
I remove my hat and run my hands through my hair. “She should know, Tom. She should have the information she needs to make a decision for herself. You have to—”
