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A
“Thanks,” she said, looking up into his face.
“No problem, Princess,” he said, and smiled.
His teeth were very white against his dark face, the incisors slightly crooked. A silence grew between them as they stood on the dock, immobile, their eyes locked.
Luisa appeared in the kitchen doorway and called, “Miss A
A
“So long, Princess,” he said, and hopped down into the boat. He disappeared around the curve of the bow as she looked after him, then A
Luisa was making lunch as A
“Mom?” she said, outside her parents’ door.
“Come in,” her mother called.
A
“Hi, honey. I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be having lunch at the club. I’ve already told Luisa to save something for your father whenever he wanders in from his golf game, so just be a good girl and eat whatever she gives you, okay? And remember, those carpet people are coming, so stay out of their way and let them work. Your father has been griping about the stains in his den for the last three months. What are your plans for the afternoon?” Margaret Talbot’s cool, aristocratic tones, still retaining a hint of New England, floated toward A
“I thought I’d just hang around here, maybe take a swim. Amy is coming over tonight.”
“All right, sweetie, have fun. It’s so nice to have you home again. And remember, we’re going shopping tomorrow on the big island.” Her mother came over to her and kissed her cheek.
“Okay.”
“See you at di
“Bye.” her mother into the hall, returning to the kitchen to find Luisa pouring out a glass of iced lemonade. Several oatmeal and raisin cookies and a folded napkin sat beside it on a ceramic tray.
“Is that my lunch?” A
“Of course not, your mother would have a fit,” Luisa replied crisply.
“It’s for that boy working on the boat, isn’t it?” A
“So?”
“I’ll take it out to him.”
“You will not,” Luisa said firmly.
“Why not?”
“Your father wouldn’t want you talking to that boy,” Luisa replied, picking up the tray herself.
“What’s wrong, is he a criminal or something?” A
Luisa didn’t answer, merely walked toward the back patio, the tray in her hands.
“So then why is it okay for you to talk to him, Luisa?” A
The front doorbell rang.
“I think you’d better get that,” A
“You can answer it,” Luisa said.
“No, I can’t. It’s the carpet cleaners, I can see the van through the window. You have to talk to them.”
Luisa sighed and turned around as A
A
The workman was sitting cross-legged on the deck, wrapping a filthy towel around his hand as blood gushed from his thumb.
“Oh, my God,” A
“I was trimming the fuel line when the knife slipped,” he replied tersely, wadding the dingy terry cloth against his hand. It was rapidly turning red.
“That’s really bleeding badly, you have to get to the hospital,” A
“No way,” he replied. “My truck is parked out by the road, I can drive.”
“You can’t drive with your hand like that, especially a manual transmission,” A
“The boy working on the boat hurt his hand badly, I’m taking him to Palm Hospital,” A
“You can’t drive him all the way to the hospital!” Luisa called anxiously, scuttling after her charge. “Let one of the carpet cleaners take him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” A
Luisa moved reluctantly, her expression unhappy, as A
A
“Get out of my way,” he said tightly, not even pausing to glance at her.
“Having a little trouble?” she asked mildly.
“I’ll make it,” he replied shortly.
“Sure you will, if you can manage to drive that Stone Age truck with your mangled hand and don’t pass out from loss of blood along the way.”
“Not all of us can afford a new sports car every year, Miss Talbot,” he said irritably. He threw the truck into reverse awkwardly and it lurched and died. He closed his eyes.
“Very good—looks like you’re stuck. Now will you stop being such a macho idiot and let me drive you to the hospital?”
He said nothing, his conflicted expression indicating the struggle between his overwhelming desire to handle the situation himself and his realization that she was right. Logic finally won and he put the truck into neutral and let it roll to the side of the road. Then he jumped down from the cab and said tersely, “I’m going to bleed all over your fancy leather upholstery.”
“Why don’t you let me worry about that?” A
“Use this,” she said, grabbing a sweater from her back seat and handing it to him.
“Isn’t this yours?” he said, accepting the garment with his good hand.
“I have others,” she said shortly.
He shot her an unreadable glance and then did as she said, dropping the towel on the floor and substituting her pullover for it. He cradled the injured hand in his lap and sat bolt upright, looking out the window as A
“Why don’t you sit back and relax?” she said to him. “I’m not going to bite you.”
He obeyed, letting his shoulders touch the seat and closing his eyes. He looked pale beneath his tan and seemed drained. The loss of blood, or the shock of the accident, must have been affecting him.