Hale's Point Read Free

“Nothing another operation
couldn’t fix. Course, that’s what they said three operations ago.”
    “What? Did I—I mean, are you going to have to have another
operation ‘cause I…”
    She dropped the bat and held out her hands to help him up. He
let go of the cane and took them. He had large hands. They felt warm around
hers, and a little rough. Rising to his feet, he said, “Of course not. Can’t
you take a joke?” He didn’t let go of her hands.
    “I’ve been told it’s not my strong suit.”
    He grinned and shook his head, then turned her hands palm up
and rubbed his callused thumbs over them as if trying to soothe away their
trembling. His touch only made it worse, just when it had been getting better.
    He looked up. “I’m sorry I scared you.” She knew he was. She
saw the remorse in his eyes. And something else. Something that made her
extract her hands from his and cross her arms, one hand automatically pulling
closed the collar of her robe.
    “You can put your hat back on now.”
    He leaned down and swooped his hat off the floor, then tossed
it across the room like a Frisbee. It landed neatly on top of the duffel. “Funny
thing. At home, I can wear a hat indoors and not think twice about it. But here—”
his gaze took in the huge, trailing Boston ferns, the piano, the Ming urns “—it
simply isn’t done.”
    He picked his cane up off the floor. Leaning on it, he again
reached into his back pocket, this time for a pack of Camel cigarettes. He
shook it until one slid out halfway, then brought the pack to his mouth, took
the cigarette between his lips, and returned the pack to the pocket—all
one-handedly, while the cane supported his weight. It looked like a
well-practiced maneuver.
    Harley said, “Sorry, but that’s another thing that simply isn’t
done here. Smoking. Your father doesn’t allow it in the house.”
    “But he smokes.” He brought forth a pack of matches. Again
with one hand, he opened it, bent a match until it was doubled over, and
thumbed it against the striking area. When it flamed, he lit the cigarette.
    “No, he doesn’t. Not anymore, anyway. Look, I know you’re his
son, but he left me in charge of the house. And when it came to smoking, he
made it crystal clear—”
    “Well, that hasn’t changed, at least. He always did like to
make things crystal clear.” He took a relaxed draw on the cigarette, clearly
with no intention of putting it out. “I can’t tell you how sick I got of his
rules. By the time I turned sixteen, I’d heard enough about what is and isn’t
done to last me a lifetime.”
    “Okay, fine. You don’t like to do as you’re told. No problem,
except this is my job I’m talking about, and I am expected to do as I’m told. He told me not to allow smoking in
the house.”
    “Did he tell you how you’re supposed to enforce that edict if
someone absolutely refuses to obey?” He brought the cigarette to his lips
again.
    “He didn’t have to.” She reached out and snatched the
cigarette out of his mouth, then marched with it around the piano to the French
doors leading to the patio. She didn’t look back at him, but she could hear him
following her. “I told him I was going to keep cigarettes out of this house.
And—”
    “And you always do what you say you’re going to do. Right?”
He sounded amused.
    “Right.” It was cool for mid-June, even considering the hour,
and the air was swollen with moisture. It would rain soon.
    She crossed the brick patio to the pool, crouched down, and
dipped the cigarette in it. It extinguished with a sizzle.
    “When did he put the pool in?” Tucker was standing silhouetted
in the open door of the solarium.
    “I don’t know. I never saw this house till two weeks ago.”
    “It’s a big sucker. Olympic-size?”
    She nodded. “Seventy-five feet.” She walked over to him and
handed him the soggy butt. He accepted it with a bemused expression. “It’s all
right if you want to smoke out here.