“Is that what scares you? That Matt might finally step up?”
“No. What terrifies me is that he’ll be mediocre and it’ll still be enough. Because he’s their father. And mediocre from your father still beats exceptional from your neighbor.”
Justin is quiet for a long time. A boat engine rumbles somewhere in the harbor. The breeze shifts, carrying the smell of salt and diesel.
“Holly was sick for two years,” he says. “And every day of those two years, you showed up. You held her hand in waiting rooms. You learned to cook because she couldn’t stand anymore. You read to her when the medication made her eyes blur. You did all of that because you loved her, and you did it knowing you were going to lose her.”
“Justin —”
“I’m making a point. You know how to love people,Paul. You’ve always known. You just stopped doing it because it hurt too much the last time. But jumping into the water for that elephant—that wasn’t a decision. That was who you are when you’re not hiding.”
I pick up the wrench. Put it down. Pick it up again.
“When did you get so smart?” I ask.
“Always have been. You’re just not usually paying attention.”
Lottieand the boys arrive at ten.
The three of them come barreling down the dock—Olson first, Mitch with a bucket, Aidan trailing with his fishing net and a sketchpad. Lottie follows with a coffee.
“Mr. Paul! We’re on a scientific expedition!”
“Stay away from the yacht,” Justin says without looking up.
“We’re not going near it,” Olson says. “This isscience.We’re cataloging marine life along the shoreline.”
“Steer clear of my rig too.”
“Your rig smells like shrimp,” Mitch says cheerfully.
Justin’s jaw tightens. Lottie catches it and puts a hand on Mitch’s shoulder.
“What do we say about other people’s belongings?”
“That they’re none of our business.”
“Correct. Go catalog.” She gives the boys a gentle push toward the water’s edge, then turns to us. “Sorry. They have opinions about everything.”
“They get it from somewhere,” Justin mutters.
Lottie’s chin lifts. She holds his gaze for exactly two seconds—long enough to communicate that she heard him, registered it, and chose not to escalate—then walks after her boys.
Justin watches her go. Just for a beat. Then his attention snaps back to the hardware like nothing happened.
I don’t say a word. I don’t have to.
Aidan finds me after lunch.
I’m in the dock office eating a sandwich when he appears in the doorway with a folded piece of notebook paper and the expression of a kid who needs something from a grownup but isn’t sure which grownupto ask.
“Mr. Paul?”
“Hey, bud. What’s up?”
He unfolds the paper. It’s creased from being folded and refolded a dozen times, the edges soft, the pencil smudged in places. He holds it out.
“Can you look at this? I need to know if it’s realistic.”
