“Oh, but I do,” Kennet said blithely, though he was a little hurt by the remark.

“Mm.”

“Minor says you leave just to see if anyone misses you.”

Kennet expected another snorted dismissal, but O’Hara stuffed hands in his pockets and kicked at the dusty floor. “He does?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” O’Hara looked up and his expression was sheepish. “And I thought I was being so clever about it.”

“You’re saying you’ve been testing him?”

“I test everyone, Fish.”

And Kennet couldn’t think of a thing to reply.

Still a Sort of Fisherman

“Can I come in?” Kennet asked at Astrid’s bedroom door.

“Of course. Hello, you.”

“Hello, you.”

She sat on the floor, watching as Xandro discovered his legs. He was hanging on the edge of the bed, clutching the spread in fists and teeth. He gave a few vigorous bounces, pleased as punch, then let go the bedding and toppled back onto his butt. He pushed his bottom lip out, looking at his mother, who pushed hers out too. Finding no sympathy, Xandro dug fists in his eyes and yawned. Then looked at Kennet and held up his arms.

Kennet swung him onto a shoulder. It was becoming easier. Kennet was able to hold and play and roughhouse with the boy without feeling he was taunting fate.

“So I had an idea,” he said. “Actually O’Hara had the idea, I’m just the executioner.”

She drew back from him a little, expression wary. “Indeed?”

“I mean executor,” he said, laughing. “The corps of engineers.”

“So it doesn’t involve a dead body?”

“No. Just hammer and nails. Come out here.”

He walked her through his idea to build a room where Xandro could sleep and play.

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Astrid said.

“I want to.”

“It’s so much work.”

“That’s why I want to,” he said. “The season is over and there won’t be much boat work. I need something to do with my hands. Building something or making something. It helps me.”

“Well,” she said slowly. “I’ll want to contribute. For the materials and such. It will need to be painted.”

“For sure. And a rug of some kind.”

She looked up at him. “You really want to do this?”

“I do.”

She stared at him another beat. “O que vou fazer com você, pescador?”

“Translation?”

“What am I going to do with you?”

“I don’t know.” He couldn’t tell if she were being provocative, or just lamenting. “Sit and look?”

Smiling, she closed her eyes a moment. Then opened them. “He’s asleep.”

They went back in the bedroom and Kennet carefully lay Xandro down on his side of the bed, pulling the pillows between him and the edge. Astrid was unlooping the drapes, pulling them closed.

“All my life,” Kennet said, “I’ll never get tired of looking at you.”