house. Let's go to the boat for a little while," he said.
"You'll clean up and straighten up and then we'll go
in. Come on. You'll be all right," he promised. His
words spread a magic shawl of comfort about my
shoulders. I relaxed and followed his direction. He turned me right and we moved down the hill toward the ocean again. Moments later, we were at the dock. He helped me onto the lobster boat. It bobbed gently in the water, but I was still too unsure of
myself to walk without Cary's support.
"Easy." He guided me into the cabin, leading
me to a cushioned bench. He turned on a small oil
lamp. "How are you doing?"
"I feel as if I'm stuck on a runaway roller
coaster. My ribs ache, my head feels like a hunk of
coal, my stomach wants to resign from my body. . .
I've never been drunk before. Lucky you were there
for me," I said. "Thanks."
He stared at me. "I hate guys like Adam
Jackson. They think everything's coming to them
because they were born with silver spoons in their
mouths. They all oughta be harpooned, or taken out to
sea and left there floating on their egos."
I laughed, but it hurt and I moaned.
Instinctively, he reached for my hand. "You
want a drink of water?"
"Yes, please," I said and he rose to get it. That
was when I looked down and saw the mess I had
made on the front of my dress. "Oh, Cary, look. Aunt
Sara will be devastated. One of Laura's dresses. It will
be stained."
He turned and gazed at me. He thought a
moment. "I got a tub on deck, and some soap. We'll
scrub it clean and then I'll put it on the kerosene