"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?"