His brows rose. “My help?”

“It’s all online. That’s your world. You design programs. I thought maybe you could help me understand how to best help teachers use the curriculum I write. How to make it interactive and fun. Some of the kids will be learning from home, and others will be in small group classes, depending on the school. So it’s a challenge.”

He took a deep breath, and she thought he was going to refuse, saying he didn’t have time. He released his breath with a droll smile. “Yeah, sure, I’d love to help. Sounds like fun.”

She felt grateful and a bit selfish. She knew he was working from home and helping his mother with Flo. “Are you sure you have time?”

He smiled again. “I’ll make time. Want some coffee?”

chapter fourteen

I’m just trying to get through the day, you know?

Like everyone in this lifeboat called the pandemic.

July

JOHN AND GORDON had decided it was a perfect day for fishing.

They walked side by side along the side street toward Palm Boulevard. The road was busy, despite the tourism drop. John watched the traffic for an opening between cars so they could cross to the other side, where Hamlin Creek glistened in the morning sun.

“Which one is it?” Gordon asked, gesturing toward the docks that bordered Hamlin Creek. There were at least a dozen, protruding from the slim strip of earth alongside Palm Boulevard into the creek. Some were weatherworn, some newer. A few had large boats designed for speed on lifted docks. A few were covered.

They walked along the gravel side of Palm Boulevard to the third dock.

“This is it,” John said, pointing to one of the oldest docks. It was a step away from dilapidated, missing a few wood slats and leaning to the side. Vines crept up the pilings near the shore. At the end of the dock, a pelican perched serenely on the railing. It watched them approach with a proprietary air before spreading its long wings and taking off.

“Do you own this dock?” Gordon asked.

“I wish. This dock is owned by an old friend of my mother’s,” John said. “Clay used to be the mayor of the city and has always been very generous whenever I wanted to use his dock. He’s like that with all his neighbors. Time was, he brought my mother and Cara tomatoes from his garden. Life used to be like that around here. Now, sadly, there are a lot more rentals.” They stepped onto the dock, each of them wearing rubber-soled shoes. “Mind your step.”

It was a precarious walk along the crooked boardwalk, which was missing almost as many slats of wood as it had kept. At the end, an old fishing boat dating back to the 1970s floated in the water. John thought it looked like an old boot—worn and used, but one you could still walk around in dependably.