Page 40 of A Line in the Sand
Molly stabbed at the food on her plate with her fork. Did he have to act so surprised? Again, she wasn’t anactualcartoon mermaid. “Yes. Really.”
At long last, her father chimed in. “You might want to let Max handle that, sweetheart. A grant application would have a much better chance if it came from someone with the letters PhD after their name.” He turned toward Max. “Isn’t that right, Dr. Miller?”
Molly’s dad laughed—not just a chuckle, either, but a deep belly laugh that had the flame on his votive candle doing a fiery little dance. Her mother tittered and aimed a look in Molly’s direction that seemed to sayhe’s got a point, honey.
Embarrassment blossomed in Molly’s chest. She felt like she might cry all of a sudden. Why had she agreed to let Max come along on this latest exercise in humiliation? She should have known her father would go there. He didn’t miss a single chance to try to get her to go back to school and follow in his footsteps.
Ursula hopped out of Max’s lap and leapt into Molly’s, a bundle of warm fur and unconditional love. Somehow Molly resisted the urge to bury her face in the puppy’s soft neck. She didn’t dare look at Max. If he so much as snickered, she was going to put an end to this farce and leave. The truth was going to come out eventually.
“Actually, I’m not sure I agree,” Max said quietly. “Molly knows a lot about the aquarium.”
Molly almost fell out of her chair. No one contradicted her father—certainly not on matters of academia.
Her dad sat back in his chair and blinked a few times. “Oh, of course she does. Molly has always been a bright girl, which is just one of the reasons why we’ve been encouraging her to recommit to her schooling and earn a higher degree. She can’t be a mermaid forever.” Dad smiled at her. “Right, sweetheart?”
Beneath the table, Max’s warm hand covered hers. Molly snuck a glance at him and he squeezed her fingertips tight. A lump lodged in her throat, preventing her from answering her father’s question, which was well enough, because what could she possibly say?
Her dad was right. She couldn’t be a mermaid forever. She wasn’t even one now.
“So how long will you two be on the island?” Max asked, deftly putting an end to talk of Molly’s job. Or lack thereof.
Seagulls swooped overhead and water lapped gently against the side of the deck as the conversation moved on to more benign topics, like SandFest and the weekend’s weather forecast.
Stormy, with a one hundred percent chance of awkwardness.
And somehow, Max had become her unlikely shelter from the downpour.
Chapter 11
The following morning, Max showed up at the Salty Dog pier bright and early, as per his Uncle Henry’s instructions.
Given a choice, he would have chosen somewhere more private to share a meal with his uncle and talk about the aquarium, but after a full week on the island, Max had grown tired of waiting for the perfect time and place for a heart-to-heart. If Henry wanted to chat over sunrise pancakes during Turtle Beach’s most crowded weekend, then so be it. Max was prepared.
He parked the Jeep in the Salty Dog’s oyster shell parking lot, tucked the aquarium’s financial ledgers for the last three years under his arm, and headed toward the worn metal gate that led to the pier. Weathered shells crunched under his feet, and in the distance, he could see seagulls diving for fish in the ocean. Waves tumbled onto the shore as the rising sun cast fiery light over the water. The breeze was fresh with the briny scents of Max’s childhood—salt and surf. Wet grass and driftwood. Sun-bleached seashells and fine, sugary sand.
The one thing Maxdidn’tsmell was pancakes. When he reached the top of the wooden steps that led to the pier, he immediately knew why.
“Morning!” Uncle Henry grinned as he walked past Max carrying a jumbo-sized container of pancake mix. “You made it, good, we could really use the help.”
Max looked around. Two parallel rows of long picnic tables stretched all the way to the end of the pier, covered in plastic tablecloths with a sandcastle print. Volunteers who Max recognized as residents of the senior center were busy anchoring the table coverings down with conch shells to prevent them being carried away by the brisk sea wind.
Uncle Henry, Hoyt Hooper, and a man in a cardigan who Max was pretty certain was Mavis Hubbard’s boyfriend stood behind a massive grill near the pier’s tackle shop and convenience store. All three men wielded spatulas and wore matching aprons withI Pancake My Eyes Off Yousplashed across the front.
Max had been duped. Again. “Let me guess. We’re not here to eat breakfast together, are we?”
Henry’s brow furrowed as he handed Max an apron of his own. “Did I say that?”
Yes. Yes, he had. But Max didn’t bother arguing. He just took the apron, pulled it over his head, and tied it in place.
“You know, if you don’t want to talk about the aquarium, you could just say so,” Max said. He dumped the financial ledgers onto a nearby beach chair. Why did he bother to keep dragging those things around?
“I’m not saying I don’t ever want to talk about it.” Henry shrugged. “Although Opal Lewinsky assures me the aquarium will be just fine.”
And how exactly would Opal know about Max’s operating budget?
Max raked a hand through his hair and forbade himself from asking questions that surely had nonsensical answers.
“We can chat about the aquarium when the time is right,” Henry said as he poured an entire gallon of buttermilk into a mixing bowl.
