Not from Marta it doesn’t, Kennet thought. Nor from any of us. We’re in the business of hospitality, and kind ladies have always lived in this house. My grandmother took in Johnny, who was crippled. My mother took in Kirsten, who was orphaned. When Fiskare women extend an invitation, they mean it. Not carved in stone, but chalked on the sidewalk.

“Kennet, love, please eat,” Marta said softly.

O’Hara gave a sympathetic smile as Kennet picked up his heavy, fish-handled fork and took a tasteless bite of his grand dinner.

The idea of creating a base, rather than being an extended guest, seemed to appeal to O’Hara. He knew his way around Clayton in an hour, and just as easily navigated the Fiskares’ stretch of the river. He used one of the hotel’s guest boats, and when Little suggested O’Hara take ownership of the Melissa, Nalle’s old craft, O’Hara adamantly refused.

“I’m no river rat, and that boat is irreplaceable. If I fucked it up or sank it, I’d never forgive myself.” He put a light punch into Little’s shoulder. “You’re real swell to offer, though. I’m touched.”

He was just as adamant when he moved out of the hotel and into a cheap, rented room over Clark’s General Store. Exactly where his funding for food, rent and essentials came from was a mystery. O’Hara insisted he’d had nothing to spend his Army pay on all these years, and this, right here and right now, was the rainy day he’d saved up a few pennies for.

“Quite a stash of pennies,” Minor said.

“I guess it’s the upside of not being interested in possessions,” Kennet said.

“I was more than happy for him to stay in the hotel,” Emil said. “That room over Clark’s doesn’t even have hot water.”

“Leave him be, Paps,” Minor said. “He’s proud, he’s private and he’s used to being on his own. And washing in cold water.”

Eventually O’Hara bought a used Chris-Craft, which Kennet and Minor gave a good going-over and a thorough tune-up, threatening to throw O’Hara in the river if he tried to pay them.

“You have to name her,” Minor said, thumping the stern where the boat’s former name had been scraped and sanded away.

“I have to?”

“Bad luck if you don’t.”

O’Hara sighed, then looked at Kennet. “I suppose calling it—”

“Her,” Minor said. “A boat is always her.”

“I suppose calling her the Jockstrap would be frowned upon?”

Kennet laughed and so did O’Hara. Really laughed. A guffaw from the belly that Kennet had never heard before. Minor looked puzzled and O’Hara kept chuckling as Kennet explained the evolution of Chris Fragiacomo’s name.

“Disguise it then,” Minor said. “Hide it behind French.”