Rising Tides
Page 15
There were only two men in her life she had ever really loved. It seemed neither of them could want her as she needed them to want her.
Chapter Four
Ethan didn't mind musicwhen he worked. The fact was, his taste in music was both broad and eclectic—another gift of the Quinns. The house had often been filled with it. His mother had played a fine piano with as much enthusiasm for the works of Chopin as for those of Scott Joplin. His father's musical talent had been the violin, and it was that instrument Ethan had gravitated to. He enjoyed the varying moods of it, and its portability.
Still, he found music a waste of sound whenever he was concentrating on a job, as he usually didn't hear it after ten minutes anyway. Silence suited him best during those times, but Seth liked the radio in the boatyard up, and up loud. So to keep peace, Ethan simply tuned out the head-punching rock and roll. The hull of the boat had been caulked and filled, a labor-intensive and time-consuming task. Seth had been a lot of help there, Ethan admitted, giving him an extra pair of hands and feet when he needed them. Though Christ knew the boy could complain about the job as much as Phillip did. Ethan tuned that out as well—to stay sane.
He hoped to finish leveling off the decking before Phillip arrived for the weekend, planing first on one diagonal, then across the next at a right angle.
With any luck, he could get some solid work done that week and the next on the cabin and cockpit. Seth bitched about being on sanding detail, but he did a decent job of it. Ethan only had to tell him to go back and hit portions of the hull planking again a couple of times. He didn't mind the boy's questions, either. Though he had a million of them once he started.
"What's that piece over there for?"
"The bulkhead for the cockpit."
"Why'd you cut it out already?"
"Because we want to get rid of all the dust before we varnish and seal."
"What's all this other shit?"
Ethan paused in his own work, looking down from his position to where Seth frowned at a stack of precut lumber. "You got the sides and cabin ends, the toerail and drop-boards."
"It seems like an awful lot of pieces for one stupid boat."
"There's going to be a lot more."
"How come this guy doesn't just buy a boat that's already built?"
"Good thing for us he isn't." The client's deep pockets, Ethan mused, were giving Boats by Quinn its foundation. "Because he liked the other boat I built for him—and so he can tell all his big-shot friends he had a boat designed and hand-built for him."
Seth changed his sandpaper and applied himself again. He didn't mind the work, really. And he liked the smells of wood and varnish and that linseed oil, too. But he just didn't get it. "It's taking forever to put it together."
"Been at it less than three months. Lots of people spend a year—even longer—to build a wooden boat." Seth's jaw dropped. "A year! Jesus, Ethan."
The loud, and very normal whine, made Ethan's mouth twitch. "Relax, this isn't going to take us that long. Once Cam gets back and can put in full days on it, we'll move along. And once school's out, you can pick up a lot of the grunt work."
"School is out."
"Hmm?"
"Today was it." Now Seth grinned, wide and bright. "Freedom. It's a done deal."
"Today?" Pausing in his work, Ethan frowned. "I thought you had a couple days yet."
"Nope."
He'd lost track of things somewhere, Ethan supposed. And it wasn't Seth's style—not yet, anyway—to volunteer information. "Did you get a report card?"
"Yeah—I passed."
"Let's see how." Ethan set his tools down, brushed his hands on his jeans. "Where is it?" Seth shrugged his shoulders and kept sanding. "It's in my backpack over there. No big deal."
"Let's see it," Ethan repeated.
Seth did what Ethan considered his usual dance. Rolling his eyes, shrugging his shoulders, adding a long-suffering sigh. Oddly enough, he didn't end with an oath, as he was prone to. He walked over to where he'd dumped his backpack and riffled through it.
Ethan leaned down over the port side to take the paper Seth held up. Noting the mutinous expression on Seth's face, he expected the news would be grim. His stomach did a quick clench and roll. The required lecture, Ethan thought with an inner sigh, was going to be damned uncomfortable for both of them. Ethan studied the thin, computer-generated sheet, pushing back his cap to scratch his head. "AllA's?"
Seth jerked a shoulder again, stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, so?"
"I've never seen a report card with all A's before. Even Phillip used to have some B's, and maybe a C
tossed in."
Embarrassment, and the fear of being called Egghead or something equally hideous rose swiftly. "It's no big deal." He held up a hand for the report card, but Ethan shook his head.
"The hell it's not." But he saw Seth's scowl and thought he understood it. It was always hard to be different from the pack. "You got a good brain and you ought to be proud of it."
"It's just there. It's not like knowing how to pilot a boat or anything."
"You got a good brain and you use it, you'll figure out how to do most anything." Ethan folded the paper carefully and tucked it in his pocket. Damn if he wasn't going to show it off some. "Seems to me we ought to go get a pizza or something."
Puzzled, Seth narrowed his eyes. "You packed those lame sandwiches for dinner."
"Not good enough now. The first time a Quinn gets straight A's ought to rate at least apizza ." He saw Seth's mouth open and shut, watched the staggered delight leap into his eyes before he lowered them.
"Sure, that'd be cool."
"Can you hold off another hour?"
"No problem."
Seth grabbed his sandpaper and began to work furiously. And blindly. His eyes were dazzled, his heart in his throat. It happened whenever one of them referred to him as a Quinn. He knew his name was DeLauter still. He had to put it at the top of every stupid paper he did for school, didn't he? But hearing Ethan call him a Quinn made that little beam of hope that Ray had first ignited in him months before shine just a little brighter.
Chapter Four
Ethan didn't mind musicwhen he worked. The fact was, his taste in music was both broad and eclectic—another gift of the Quinns. The house had often been filled with it. His mother had played a fine piano with as much enthusiasm for the works of Chopin as for those of Scott Joplin. His father's musical talent had been the violin, and it was that instrument Ethan had gravitated to. He enjoyed the varying moods of it, and its portability.
Still, he found music a waste of sound whenever he was concentrating on a job, as he usually didn't hear it after ten minutes anyway. Silence suited him best during those times, but Seth liked the radio in the boatyard up, and up loud. So to keep peace, Ethan simply tuned out the head-punching rock and roll. The hull of the boat had been caulked and filled, a labor-intensive and time-consuming task. Seth had been a lot of help there, Ethan admitted, giving him an extra pair of hands and feet when he needed them. Though Christ knew the boy could complain about the job as much as Phillip did. Ethan tuned that out as well—to stay sane.
He hoped to finish leveling off the decking before Phillip arrived for the weekend, planing first on one diagonal, then across the next at a right angle.
With any luck, he could get some solid work done that week and the next on the cabin and cockpit. Seth bitched about being on sanding detail, but he did a decent job of it. Ethan only had to tell him to go back and hit portions of the hull planking again a couple of times. He didn't mind the boy's questions, either. Though he had a million of them once he started.
"What's that piece over there for?"
"The bulkhead for the cockpit."
"Why'd you cut it out already?"
"Because we want to get rid of all the dust before we varnish and seal."
"What's all this other shit?"
Ethan paused in his own work, looking down from his position to where Seth frowned at a stack of precut lumber. "You got the sides and cabin ends, the toerail and drop-boards."
"It seems like an awful lot of pieces for one stupid boat."
"There's going to be a lot more."
"How come this guy doesn't just buy a boat that's already built?"
"Good thing for us he isn't." The client's deep pockets, Ethan mused, were giving Boats by Quinn its foundation. "Because he liked the other boat I built for him—and so he can tell all his big-shot friends he had a boat designed and hand-built for him."
Seth changed his sandpaper and applied himself again. He didn't mind the work, really. And he liked the smells of wood and varnish and that linseed oil, too. But he just didn't get it. "It's taking forever to put it together."
"Been at it less than three months. Lots of people spend a year—even longer—to build a wooden boat." Seth's jaw dropped. "A year! Jesus, Ethan."
The loud, and very normal whine, made Ethan's mouth twitch. "Relax, this isn't going to take us that long. Once Cam gets back and can put in full days on it, we'll move along. And once school's out, you can pick up a lot of the grunt work."
"School is out."
"Hmm?"
"Today was it." Now Seth grinned, wide and bright. "Freedom. It's a done deal."
"Today?" Pausing in his work, Ethan frowned. "I thought you had a couple days yet."
"Nope."
He'd lost track of things somewhere, Ethan supposed. And it wasn't Seth's style—not yet, anyway—to volunteer information. "Did you get a report card?"
"Yeah—I passed."
"Let's see how." Ethan set his tools down, brushed his hands on his jeans. "Where is it?" Seth shrugged his shoulders and kept sanding. "It's in my backpack over there. No big deal."
"Let's see it," Ethan repeated.
Seth did what Ethan considered his usual dance. Rolling his eyes, shrugging his shoulders, adding a long-suffering sigh. Oddly enough, he didn't end with an oath, as he was prone to. He walked over to where he'd dumped his backpack and riffled through it.
Ethan leaned down over the port side to take the paper Seth held up. Noting the mutinous expression on Seth's face, he expected the news would be grim. His stomach did a quick clench and roll. The required lecture, Ethan thought with an inner sigh, was going to be damned uncomfortable for both of them. Ethan studied the thin, computer-generated sheet, pushing back his cap to scratch his head. "AllA's?"
Seth jerked a shoulder again, stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, so?"
"I've never seen a report card with all A's before. Even Phillip used to have some B's, and maybe a C
tossed in."
Embarrassment, and the fear of being called Egghead or something equally hideous rose swiftly. "It's no big deal." He held up a hand for the report card, but Ethan shook his head.
"The hell it's not." But he saw Seth's scowl and thought he understood it. It was always hard to be different from the pack. "You got a good brain and you ought to be proud of it."
"It's just there. It's not like knowing how to pilot a boat or anything."
"You got a good brain and you use it, you'll figure out how to do most anything." Ethan folded the paper carefully and tucked it in his pocket. Damn if he wasn't going to show it off some. "Seems to me we ought to go get a pizza or something."
Puzzled, Seth narrowed his eyes. "You packed those lame sandwiches for dinner."
"Not good enough now. The first time a Quinn gets straight A's ought to rate at least apizza ." He saw Seth's mouth open and shut, watched the staggered delight leap into his eyes before he lowered them.
"Sure, that'd be cool."
"Can you hold off another hour?"
"No problem."
Seth grabbed his sandpaper and began to work furiously. And blindly. His eyes were dazzled, his heart in his throat. It happened whenever one of them referred to him as a Quinn. He knew his name was DeLauter still. He had to put it at the top of every stupid paper he did for school, didn't he? But hearing Ethan call him a Quinn made that little beam of hope that Ray had first ignited in him months before shine just a little brighter.
