"Barely. But there aren't too many options here. Boats make me

seasick."

"Me too." He laughed. He wasn't amused, though. The laugh was

meaningless too.

"Nice place you've got here."

I told you I was fabulous at conversation.

More nodding.

I was making all the impact of a spot on the rug. Luckily he didn't

seem to care. I had the feeling that as far as he was concerned, I

We heard footsteps on the stairs. He glanced up at me sharply and for

once his eyes seemed to focus. Ah, a human being standing there.

"Take care of my daughter, Mr. Thomas." "Yes, sir."

The footsteps descended. I saw him staring away from me again, and

this time I followed the sight lines across the room to a small table

cluttered with vase, flowers, ashtray, and a pair of gilt-frame

photographs. One was a few-years-old photo of Casey. A high school

graduation photo, probably. The other was a studio portrait of a young

brown-eyed boy, maybe six or seven years old, smiling in that shy funny

way kids have of smiling without showing you their teeth.

Casey had never mentioned a brother.

I looked at Mr. White. He was staring intently at the photographs.

The high, pale forehead was studded with creases. The flesh gleamed.

I wondered if it was Casey he was staring at or the boy.

"Ready?"

She swung down the stairs and the T-shirt looked painted on. By a very

steady hand. She stood there slightly out of breath, smiling, smelling

very clean and freshly showered.

She moved to her father and pecked him on the cheek. "Bye, Daddy."

He managed to raise a weak smile. I could not see much in the way of

affection between them. "You'll be late?"

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