As he launched into tales of shredding bulk bank statements and working for a roofing company, I inched my hand over to Rafe’s, palm up. He reached out and covered my hand with his, squeezing gently.

I smiled. Even if we were both working long hours, it wouldn’t be forever. We’d figure things out.

It would be okay.

*   *   *

That night, as I was getting ready for bed, I was doing what I normally did at that time, which was talk to Eddie.

“All those stories Keith had of awful summer jobs,” I said through the brushing of my teeth, “makes me feel like I missed out. Mr. Herrington was the nicest boss ever.”

“Mrr?”

“Oh, sure. You never knew him, did you? Mr. Herrington was director of the Dearborn library. I practically haunted the place as a kid and started working there as soon as I was old enough.”

“Mrr?”

“You thought I spent my summers in Chilson? I did. Mom and Dad sent me up here starting the summer I turned twelve, and I kept coming for years and years. But as I got older, I had to work more and had less time to spend up here.”

A thought scampered through my brain, that working meant less time with family and friends, that there was a line between doing a job thoroughly and sliding into professional burnout, and that I’d best figure out how to stay on the safe side of that line.

“You know one thing about the summers I spent up here?” I asked after rinsing my mouth. “It’s something I got to do, but Matt didn’t.” My brother was nine years older than me, so much older that I’d often felt like I had not two parents, but three. “And I have no idea why.”

Eddie, who’d long ago stopped paying any attention to me, suddenly felt the need to run as fast as he could to the back of the houseboat. Since that wasn’t far, he jumped onto the bed, ran the length of it, jumped down, whirled around, and hurtled forward.

I poked my head out of the tiny bathroom. “What are you doing?”

In one long jump he cleared the three stairs and landed on the smooth floor of the upper deck. At that point he had two choices: one, keep running, or two, try to stop.

Since he was Eddie, he opted for door number two and ended up looking like a cartoon cat on ice, his tail lashing and his paws scrabbling for a grip that wasn’t possible.

I watched, shaking my head. “Do you enjoy that? Because you seem to do it on a regular basis. I mean, I appreciate the humor and all, but—hey! Cut that out!”