“Ew,” Ronnie said.
“I know. It’s totally disgusting,” Blaze added. “And you should see some of the people that go for the hourly rates. You could catch a disease just walking into the room.”
Ronnie wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so instead she turned to Marcus. “So what do you do?” she asked.
“Whatever I want,” he answered.
“Which means?” Ronnie challenged.
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” she said, keeping her voice cool. “I was just asking.”
Teddy grabbed the last of the fries from Blaze’s plate. “It means he hangs out at the motel with us. In his room.”
“You have a room at the motel?”
“I live there,” he said.
The obvious question was why, and she waited for more, but Marcus stayed quiet. She suspected he wanted her to attempt to tease the information out of him. Maybe she was reading too much into it, but she had the sudden sense that he wanted her to be interested in him. Wanted her to like him. Even though Blaze was right there.
Her suspicions were confirmed when he reached for a cigarette. After he lit it, he blew the smoke toward Blaze, then turned to Ronnie.
“What are you doing tonight?” he asked.
Ronnie shifted in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable. It seemed like everyone, Blaze included, was waiting for her answer.
“Why?”
“We’re having a little get-together at Bower’s Point. Not just us. A bunch of people. I want you to come. Without the cops this time.”
Blaze studied the tabletop, toying with the pile of salt. When Ronnie didn’t answer, Marcus rose from the table and headed for the door without turning back.
9
Steve
Hey, Dad,” Jonah called out. He was standing behind the piano in the alcove as Steve brought the plates of spaghetti to the table. “Is that a picture of you with Grandma and Grandpa?”
“Yeah, that’s my mom and dad.”
“I don’t remember that picture. From the apartment, I mean.”
“For a long time, it was in my office at school.”
“Oh,” Jonah said. He leaned closer to the photo, studying it. “You kind of look like Grandpa.”
Steve wasn’t sure what to think about that. “Maybe a little.”
“Do you miss him?”
“He was my dad. What do you think?”
“I’d miss you.”
As Jonah came to the table, Steve reflected that it had been a satisfying, if uneventful, day. They’d spent the morning in the shop, where Steve had taught Jonah to cut glass; they’d eaten sandwiches on the porch and collected seashells in the late afternoon. And Steve had promised that as soon as it was dark, he would take Jonah for a walk down the beach with flashlights to watch the hundreds of spider crabs darting in and out of their sand burrows.
Jonah pulled out his chair and plopped down. He took a drink of milk, leaving a white mustache. “Do you think Ronnie’s coming home soon?”
“I hope so.”
Jonah wiped his lip with the back of his hand. “Sometimes she stays out pretty late.”
“I know.”
“Is the police officer going to bring her back home again?”
Steve glanced out the window; dusk was coming, and the water was turning opaque. He wondered where she was and what she was doing.
“No,” he said. “Not tonight.”
After their walk along the beach, Jonah took a shower before crawling into bed. Steve pulled up the covers and kissed him on the cheek.
“Thanks for the great day,” Steve whispered.
“You’re welcome.”
“Good night, Jonah. I love you.”
“Me, too, Dad.”
Steve rose and started for the door.
“Hey, Dad?”
Steve turned. “Yes?”
“Did your dad ever take you out to look for spider crabs?”
“No,” Steve said.
“Why not? That was awesome.”
“He wasn’t that kind of father.”
“What kind was he?”
Steve considered the question. “He was complicated,” he finally said.
At the piano, Steve recalled the afternoon six years earlier when he took his father’s hand for the first time in his life. He had told his father that he knew he’d done the best he could in raising him, that he didn’t blame his father for anything, and that most of all, he loved him.
His father turned toward him. His eyes were focused, and despite the high doses of morphine that he’d been taking, his mind was clear. He stared at Steve for a long time before pulling his hand away.
“You sound like a woman when you talk like that,” he said.
They were in a semiprivate room on the fourth floor of the hospital. His father had been there for three days. IV tubes snaked out of his arms, and he hadn’t eaten solid food in more than a month. His cheeks were sunken, and his skin was translucent. Up close, Steve thought his father’s breath smelled of decay, another sign the cancer was announcing its victory.