My dad once changed the battery in his pickup and he never said that.”
“Ever heard of acid?”
“Uh-huh. We did an experiment in science last fall with acid.”
“Know what it can do?”
“Sure. Can I sit on your bike when you’re done? I’ve never sat on a motorcycle before.”
As he spoke, the boy moved in the direction Dane had instructed. He breathed easier. “Don’t you have something to do?” he grumped. “Like help your mother?”
“Already did. I cleaned my room and collected the trash around the house.”
“Well, maybe there’s something else you could help her with, something she hasn’t thought of.”
“Nuh-uh. She said I could go outside ’cause it’s not raining. And anyway, I like talking to you.” The boy flushed and shot Dane a sheepish grin. “You know…about the Harley an’ stuff. When my dad was alive I was too little to know about motorcycles and anyway he didn’t have a Harley.”
Was the boy was looking for a stand-in daddy? Hell. Knees popping, Dane rose to his full height and gazed down at Kaitlin’s son for a long moment, so long the kid’s grin faded. One sneaker heel began bouncing up-down, up-down.
Ignoring the flare of sympathy in his chest, Dane said in a rough voice, “This isn’t going to work, Blake. I’m the kind of guy who likes his privacy and—”
“I thought I heard voices out here.” Kaitlin stepped into the carport, cutting off Dane’s next words.
“Mom!” The boy waved her over. “Come see Mr. Rainhart’s Harley. Cool, huh?”
“Yes, it is,” she replied, eyes on her son. “Did you apologize to Mr. Rainhart yet?”
The boy hung his head. “Oh, yeah. Sorry for looking in your window. It was a really bad thing to do.”
Dane stood on the other side of the cardboard square wishing Kaitlin would take her son and leave. Family conferences weren’t his thing. Still, he nodded. “No worries.” He looked directly at Kaitlin. “Look, I need to finish up here.”
His message put a small tight smile on her lips. “Let’s go, son. You promised to play with Danny this afternoon, remember?” She darted a look at Dane. “Danny’s Blake’s eight-year-old cousin.”
“Aw…Can’t we wait until Mr. R’s done fixing the Harley?”
“No,” Kaitlin said. “Aunty Lee is expecting you.”
“O-kay.” Shoulders hunched, feet dragging, Blake left the carport.
Kaitlin’s gaze flicked to the Harley. “My son won’t bother you again.” She turned to leave.
Dane stepped around the battery and was in front of her before she got to the door. “It’s not what it seems.”
“You don’t need to explain, Dane. Kids can be intimidating for someone who’s not used to all their questions.”
He let his head fall back on a weighty breath before he said, “It’s not that. I…I had a bad experience with a child.”
A puzzled expression crossed her features. “I don’t understand.”
His memories battled with the yearning to tell all. The memories won. He would not put the quagmire of his past, of Zaakir’s death, on her shoulders. She had enough in her life with an asthmatic son and trying to operate a business without a husband. Still, he couldn’t let her walk away without some kind of explanation.
“A child was hurt on my watch,” he said.
“And you blame yourself.” Her brown eyes, full of commiseration, held his for three thick seconds.
“I need to get back to work.” He strode to the motorbike.
“Dane…”
“Go, Kaitlin. Your son is waiting.”
When her footsteps ebbed, he crouched at his toolkit and with shaky fingers dug out a wrench. Concentrate on the bike. Don’t think of her. Don’t think at all.
Two hours later, when he took the Harley out on the road, her words trailed him like wisps of a ghost. You blame yourself.
Oh, yeah. She was dead-on there.
Carrying a canvas tote filled with fresh produce, Kat walked through the electronic doors of Dalton Foods on the corner of Main and Shore Road. A block up the street, in the library lot, she’d parked her car under the leafless elms. She would make a quick stop, pick up the book Ms. Brookley had called about this morning, then head home to prepare for tonight.
A smile flickered on her lips. She hoped Dane liked baked red potatoes, seasoned with basil and oregano, and shallots and mushrooms in cream sauce. She hoped he liked upside-down pineapple cake. Tonight’s dinner would be beyond special, she rationalized, if for no other reason than to create other memories for him, to take away that emptiness she saw so often in his eyes.
“A child died on my watch.”
Had the child died on the operating table? Had Dane—
“Kat,” a male voice called as she reached the crosswalk to the Burnt Bend Library. “Got a minute?”
She turned to see a stocky man, face shielded by a worn ballcap and a foam cup of coffee in one hand, jog across the street that ran behind the shops edging the boardwalk of the village’s tiny cove. Kat recognized him immediately. Colin Dirks, Shaun’s cousin, from Bainbridge Island. They hadn’t seen each other since Colin’s fishing trawler capsized during a sudden squall. Since Shaun drowned in that squall and Colin lived. Kat couldn’t help the spurt of anger. He’d been the one to coax Shaun away that weekend.
Oh, initially Colin had offered condolences, but then things changed. His calls and e-mails took another slant. Rather than asking about her and Blake, or talking about the man Colin claimed had been like a brother, he wanted to know when was she going to sell him the Kat Lady?
Never, she thought for the hundredth time as she observed him approach with his feigned concern.
“Here with your family, Colin?” she asked, certain he’d come alone to Firewood Island; certain, too, of the reason.
“Nope. They’re home. I was just—” he glanced over his shoulder “—getting a mocha at Coffee Sense before I came to see you. But this is even better. Can I buy you a coffee?”
A snarky retort on her lips, she turned. But then she remembered that this man had been Shaun’s childhood best friend. It wasn’t as if Colin had planned the squall, or the capsizing of his trawler. And Shaun had gone on his own volition that weekend to pitch in when one of Colin’s helpers had come down with the flu.
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