Marshall met his gaze. “You just might want to consider that maybe their plan for their retirement never included raising a grandson who goes out of his way to make them suffer, just because he’s hurting and doesn’t want to be here.”
Christopher didn’t appear to have a response to that. He only stared straight ahead.
Aware he may have just screwed up any chance of building something with his son, Marshall turned back to the parade. A moment later, he felt a hand squeeze his arm through his coat. He glanced down and found Andie looking at him, her features soft with sympathy and, he was quite certain, glowing approval.
He felt that weird tug of tenderness again and fought the urge to reach for her hand. Knowing the foolishness of that, he turned back to Christopher and decided to work at unraveling one tangled complication in his life at a time.
“That wooden boat right there with the big Christmas tree on it is an early model Kilpatrick. That’s a beautiful boat, with a ride so smooth a guy in the passenger seat could shave with a straight razor and not end up with a single nick.”
Christopher didn’t answer for a long moment, until Marshall thought maybe he was going to ignore him. Finally he spoke. “Why would any idiot be stupid enough to shave while he’s on a boat?”
Marshall let out his breath and managed a smile. “That’s what you call hyperbole. I just meant it’s easy sailing, no matter the conditions out on the water. The Killies are legendary in these parts. They were built right here on the lake by Ben Kilpatrick’s family, up until about five or six years ago when Ben closed up shop. That particular boat probably goes for six figures, easy.”
“No way.”
“True story. They’re highly prized by collectors. One went up for auction back East a few months ago and sold for nearly half a million dollars.”
“For a boat?” Christopher did a double take. “I could see paying that for a yacht or something, but that’s just a glorified dinghy. For that kind of money, you could buy a freaking Lamborghini and have change left over!”
When the weather warmed up, he ought to see if Ben would take them out on his beautiful restored Delphine. It was a nice thought—until he remembered he didn’t have the right to take Christopher anywhere.
“I’ve been lucky enough to drive both, and I can tell you with complete honesty, a Killy is more fun—but just by a hair.”
“Right. You want me to believe a cop in the middle of frigging nowhere Idaho drives a Lamborghini?”
He shrugged. “I never said I drive one on a regular basis. But when I was a rookie deputy just out of the Marines and back from Iraq, I worked undercover on a drug case. As part of my cover, I drove a Lamborghini Gallardo that had been confiscated from another case.”
“No shit?” As soon as he swore, Christopher sent a guilty look in the direction of his grandmother, who didn’t seem to be paying them any attention.
“True story. It was only a weeklong operation, but it was absolutely unforgettable. When you drive a Lambo, you can feel the engine rumbling in your bones. When you accelerate, you’re sucked into the back of your seat and you feel like you own the world.”
If he wasn’t mistaken, Christopher seemed to look at him with awe and respect, all annoyance forgotten. Apparently fast cars were the way to his son’s heart.
“What color was it?” he asked.
“Ice blue.”
“Sweet.”
He had pictures somewhere of him behind the wheel. He’d have to dig them out for the kid so he could prove it.
“Look, Mama,” Will suddenly exclaimed, breaking into the conversation. “There he is! Look! Santa’s riding on a boat!”
“I see it. Isn’t it wonderful?”
In that moment, the whole evening felt wonderful, even with the throbbing of his leg. Marshall wouldn’t have traded it for anything.
“I never went to a parade at night before. That was fun,” Chloe declared when all they could see was the long line of lights heading toward Shelter Springs with the Santa Claus boat in the rear.
“The best parade I ever went to,” Will agreed.
“I agree.” Andrea smiled at her children.
As everyone stood up and started gathering up their belongings, a couple of boys around Christopher’s age approached their group. Marshall recognized one as being the son of a friend of his who owned one of several art galleries in Haven Point. He didn’t know the other one.
Christopher headed over to talk to them, with much gesturing and pointing. Marshall couldn’t hear the conversation, but he did hear when Christopher approached his grandparents.
“Can I go with Cody and Jonas? They want to walk around and look at stuff.”