Nate allowed himself a small smirk of satisfaction. Served the little pissant right. Let him stay out here for another couple of hours, and maybe he’d learn a lesson or two about courtesy and safety on the water.
But then he spotted the forlorn silhouette of a slender girl, apart from the others, hunched over, head bent, her arms tucked around knees drawn close to her chest.
“Shit,” he muttered. It was Riley’s daughter, Maggy.
The water near the sandbar was too shallow to allow him to get much closer than a hundred yards away.
“Hey, man,” the kid yelled. “We’re stuck.”
“I see that. Looks like you’re beached pretty solid there.”
“Yeah. They oughta have a marker out here or something. Now my prop’s all screwed up. How about a tow back to the marina?”
It took a supreme effort on Nate’s part not to laugh at the kid’s audacity.
He shook his head. “Can’t do it. Your boat’s a good six feet longer than mine, and you’re overloaded as it is.”
The kid’s face flushed red in anger. “So what the hell am I supposed to do now?”
Nate shrugged. “Call a marine tow service?”
“Are you kidding me? They probably charge. Like, a lot. Anyway, my phone’s dead.”
Nate held up his own phone. “I could call for you.”
The kid appeared to be considering that option.
“I could call the Coast Guard or the marine patrol,” Nate offered. “But when they show up, they’re gonna do a safety inspection and they’re gonna count how many life jackets you have on board.”
“I got enough.”
“I doubt that,” Nate said. “I count ten of you. Show me ten life jackets.”
“What, if I don’t have enough, you’re gonna narc me out?”
“Absolutely,” Nate said, his expression grim. He gestured toward the lone figure sitting in the bow.
“Hey, Maggy—how about I give you a lift back to the marina?”
She lifted her head and glared at him. Her shoulders and arms and legs were burnt bright red, but her face looked oddly ashen.
“No.”
“I think you probably need to come with me,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. He knew the girl had diabetes, and wondered how long it had been since she’d had anything to eat or drink. “It’s a busy holiday weekend. Even after I call the marine patrol, it could be awhile before they can send somebody out to give you guys a tow.”
Her eyes widened, but she shook her head. “No way. I’ll wait here.”
“I don’t think so,” Nate said. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“You’re not in charge of me!”
“That’s true. But if you don’t start wading out here to me in one minute, I’m gonna swim in there and drag you back to my boat myself. And then things are gonna start getting ugly.”
One of the other girls on the boat approached, touched her friend’s shoulder, and said something Nate couldn’t hear. Maggy shook her head, but the girl leaned in closer.
“Go on,” the Billingsley kid yelled, sounding annoyed. “Let him give you a ride. I don’t want you to pass out or puke on my boat or something.”
Reluctantly, Maggy climbed slowly down off the boat, using the ruined propeller as a stepladder. A moment later, she was paddling toward Nate’s skiff, and a moment after that, he leaned over and hauled her effortlessly over the side.
She flopped onto the deck and looked up at him with murder in her eyes.
“Happy now? Since you ruined my life?”
“Delirious,” Nate said. He touched her cheek, which felt surprisingly clammy. “When was the last time you ate?”
“None of your business.”
“Have you checked your blood sugar or taken any insulin?”
She clamped her lips together tightly and turned her back to him. He could see her narrow shoulders were trembling.
“Hey!” Nate grasped her by her shoulders and turned her back around. “I’m not playing games here, Maggy.”
“I left my insulin kit on the dock,” she finally admitted. “I had a Coke and some chips at the marina.”
“That was hours ago.” He reached into the cooler and found another ham sandwich. He thrust it at her. “Here. Eat this.”
Her eyes flared. “Ham? Gross.”
“Eat it anyway.”
She peeled back the wax paper wrapping on the sandwich and took a bite. And then another bite. And another.
He handed her a cold bottle of water. “You need to drink something. I think you look dehydrated.”
The fight had suddenly gone out of her. She took the bottle and swigged half of it down.
Nate found a clean T-shirt in the locker under his console and flipped it to her. “Here. Put that on. You’re shaking. And you’re burned to a crisp. Have you ever heard of a thing called sunblock?”
“Have you ever heard of minding your own business?”
“Look. I don’t know that much about diabetes. Are you okay? Do I need to call and have an ambulance meet us at the dock? And don’t bullshit me. Your mom already lost your dad this week. How do you think she’d feel if you go into a coma or something?”
Maggy shrugged. “You have any orange juice?”
“I’ve got an orange.” He got it out of the cooler, took his fishing knife, wiped it off on the hem of his shirt, and cut it in half.
She immediately sank her teeth into the bright orange flesh and began sucking the juice noisily.
“Better?”
She nodded.
“Then let’s go home.”
20
When the doorbell rang, Riley ignored it. She was sick of casseroles and condolences. But then it rang again. And again. If the visitor was one of Evelyn’s friends, their next stop would be the back door, and there would be hell to pay.
Better to get it over with and face the music. She looked like crap, she knew, with wet hair, no makeup, and a faded tank top worn braless over baggy shorts she’d found in the bottom drawer of the dresser in her old room. Maybe, she thought glumly, her appearance would frighten away whoever was now banging insistently on the front door.
“Coming!” she bellowed, walking quickly down the hall. She opened the front door to find the person she least wanted to see on the porch of Shutters today.
Nate Milas. He was sunburnt and windblown, and he wasn’t alone. Maggy stood beside him, also sunburnt with an unusually meek expression on her face. She was wearing an oversize shirt that definitely didn’t belong to her.
“Hi,” she said, looking from Nate to her daughter. “What’s up?”
Nate had a hand clamped firmly on Maggy’s shoulder. “I just dropped by to return some property of yours.”
“Maggy?” She glanced at her daughter, who was busily studying her fingernails. “Why would she need returning?” She hooked a finger under her daughter’s chin. “I thought you were still asleep upstairs.”
“Uh, no,” Maggy said, turning on the attitude.
“Where exactly did you find her?” Riley directed the question to Nate.
“Ask her,” Nate said curtly.