“I know that, too.” For the next few minutes they worked in tandem, without words. “You stood up for him anyway,” Cam added when the plank was in place. “Even when he didn’t matter enough.”

“I did it for Dad.”

“We all did it for Dad. Now we’re doing it for Seth.”

BY NOON, THE SKELETON of the hull had taken on the flesh of wood. The smooth-lap construction was labor-intensive, tedious and exacting. But it was their trademark, a choice that offered extreme structural strength and required great skill by the boatbuilder.

No one would argue that Cam was the most skilled of the three of them in woodworking. But Phillip thought he was holding his own.

Yeah, he thought, standing back to scan the exterior planking or skin of the hull. He was holding his own.

“You pick up any lunch?” Cam asked before he poured water from a jug into his mouth.

“No.”

“Shit. I bet Grace packed Ethan one of those monster lunches of hers. Fried chicken, or thick slabs of honey-baked ham.”

“You got a wife,” Phillip pointed out.

Cam snorted, rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah. I can just see me talking Anna into packing me a lunch every day. She’d smack me with her briefcase as she marched out the door to work. There are two of us,” he considered. “We can take Ethan, especially if we catch him by surprise when he comes in.”

“Let’s go the easier route.” Phillip dug into his pocket, pulled out a quarter. “Heads or tails?”

“Heads. Loser gets it, and buys it.”

Phillip flipped the coin, caught it and slapped it onto the back of his hand. The eagle’s beak seemed to sneer at him. “Damn it. What do you want?”

“Meatball sub, large chips, and six gallons of coffee.”

“Fine, clog your arteries.”

“Last I checked they don’t stock any tofu at Crawford’s. Don’t know how you eat that crap. You’re going to die anyway. Might as well go with a meatball sub.”

“You go your way, I’ll go mine.” He reached in his pocket again for Cam’s paycheck. “Here, don’t spend it all in one place.”

“Now I can retire to that little grass shack on Maui. You got Ethan’s?”

“What there is of it.”

“Yours?”

“I don’t need it.”

Cam narrowed his eyes as Phillip pulled on his jacket. “That’s not the way it works.”

“I’m in charge of the books, I say how it works.”

“You put in your time, you take your share.”

“I don’t need it,” Phillip said, with heat this time. “When I do, I’ll take it.” He stalked out, leaving Cam fuming.

“Stubborn son of a bitch,” Cam muttered. “How am I supposed to rag on him when he pulls crap like that?”

He bitched plenty, Cam mused. He nagged his brothers to distraction over the pettiest detail. Then he handled the details, he thought as he capped the water jug. He’d back you into a corner, then he’d go to the wall for you.