“Yeah,” I answer. “I am.”

Ruby rests the side of her face against my arm, and her hand pats me slowly. “I’m sorry,” she says. Just like her mom would do.

Henry glances back, and I can tell he has questions.

When we get to the pier, Ruby makes a run for the upper deck overlooking the boats coming in. Henry follows her and scoops her up. Looking over Chatham Harbor, Ruby squeals, “The REEL, Daddy! The REEL!” pointing at the only multicolored boat in the harbor.

“That’s right, spitfire. That’s right.”

I walk down the stairs, drawing my hand lightly along a railing to avoid slivers, and walk out to the end of the pier. It’s my favorite spot. When you stand on the edge, you can’t see anything but water and sandbars and sky.

I stand, but not close to the edge. I close my eyes and smell the boat motors. Along with skunks, it’s one of my favorite smells. I hear the fishermen yelling to each other and the sounds of heavy ropes hitting decks, chain pulleys lifting fish hauls onto the steel ramps, and the loud thud of a few thousand pounds of fish hitting the bottom of a cardboard box lined in plastic and ice.

I can tell the approaching footsteps are Henry’s. He stands next to me and stays quiet for a few moments before clearing his throat and asking, “So what’s going on?”

My first thought is to say that nothing is wrong, but the truth is that I want to tell him. I worry, though, that Ronan will be upset if I tell anyone.

“Well,” I say, “you know how Grammy says that you don’t go off telling people other people’s business, acting like it’s yours just because you know about it? You let people tell their own stories?”

“Yeah,” he says, laughing. “I’ve heard her say that.”

“Well, it’s kind of like that. Not my story to tell . . . but . . .”

He tips his head to the side. “Is it Ronan?”

I nod.

He looks concerned. “Is he okay?”

“I . . . I’m not sure.”

“Well, I don’t know that telling me is gossip, honey. If Ronan needs help, I may be able to do something.”

And so I tell him. The whole story and the whole truth. About how I thought his mom was dead but then she wrote him a letter and then he punched kids that he didn’t even know and ended up in a police car. “Now,” I say, “I don’t know what’s happened.”

Henry scratches the back of his head and then smooths out his hair from his forehead to the back. That’s what Henry does when he’s worried. “Well, maybe we’ll go over there this evening. Check on things.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He takes a long breath. “Before I first took Ronan out on the Reel, his dad called me to introduce himself. And we realized that we know each other. Or we did. I knew Sherman Gale—or Gusty, as he goes by now—a long time ago. Back in the day we were both pretty foolish, and he had some trouble with using his fists instead of his words. So we’ll lend some support to both of them.”