Page 16 of Until We Break

“I landed on my ass, okay? Like I said, it has not been an easy morning.”

He put his hands up in protest. “No judgment here. But, no, you don’t have to sell the Blue Heron. You can keep it. Fight off dump truck drivers and drunk boaters all day, every day.”

“Is there a third option I don’t know about?”

“If I find it, I’ll let you know.”

I moved the frozen peas and carrots to my neck. It had to be ninety degrees in the kitchen without AC. Dean’s eyes seemed to follow my every move.

“Thanks. I haven’t made up my mind. Just in case that’s why you stopped by.”

“It’s not.” He was quick to answer. Maybe too quick.

“You didn’t want to drop another legal bomb on me?”

He laughed. “You’re funny, Margot.”

I wasn’t funny. I hadn’t been fun in a long time either. What I was was broken. Alone. Ruined. I questioned everything about Dean because he couldn’t see what was standing in front of him. A shipwreck as sunk as the shrimp boat in the creek.

“You’re really thinking about running the Blue Heron?” His eyebrows rose.

“I don’t know. I need to figure out how I’m going to pay for any of this. I almost had an entire load of dirt and gravel to deal with and I panicked,” I groaned. “I wonder what else was ordered I don’t know about.”

We looked up at the sound of a horn blaring outside. I ventured out, Dean following right behind me.

A man was backing his boat trailer down the ramp while his wife screamed at him to turn the wheel. Every time she yelled, he laid on the horn so he couldn’t hear her. I couldn’t help the giggle that came out.

Dean laughed too. “How long do you think they’ve been doing this?”

“Either twenty years or today is the first time.”

We watched the boat finally launch as he dragged the trailer up the incline, and parked in the empty lot.

“I think that’s your first customer, Margot.”

“What?”

He nudged me toward the man. “He has to pay to use the put-in.”

I shook my head. I had no idea what the rates were or how to collect money. I’d been at the Blue Heron less than twenty-fourhours. While I stood paralyzed, the man approached me and put a five-dollar bill in my palm.

“I guess you’re the new owner?”

I nodded. “I am. Thank you.”

“Sorry about Walt. He was a good guy. Quiet, but a good guy.”

“Thank you. He was my uncle.” I didn’t know why I felt the need to explain our connection.

He walked toward his boat where his wife was waiting for him. I noticed how she checked their fishing poles. She asked if he had remembered to get more ice. He grumbled he had forgotten it. I looked around for an ice machine or a big cooler with bags of ice. The docks were mostly bare.

“I wonder how hard it would be to sell ice,” I mused.

Dean cocked his head. “So you are thinking about this.”

“No,” I snapped. “Just thought ice would sell here. They could use some.”

He didn’t try to hide the smile on his face.

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