Children of the Sea 02 - Sea Fever

wanted me to sell out, pack up, and move with him to the mainland, Baltimore or some damn place.”
     
    Regina blinked and drained the pasta. “You never told me that.”
     
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    She’d always thought her father hadn’t wanted them. Hadn’t wanted her. Did it make a difference, after all these years, to learn otherwise?
     
    “Maybe I didn’t want to admit it, that this place meant more to me than he did. The security meant more to me than he did.” Antonia spread sauce with the back of a spoon, her eyes on her work. “I don’t regret the choices I’ve made in my life. Be a waste of time anyway. But I’ve wondered sometimes what kind of example I set for you.”
     
    Regina regarded her mother’s floured hands and strong, lined face.
    Hands that had fed and disciplined her, nursed her and provided her with a home and a living. “You’re a good mom,” she said. “You’re a great example.”
     
    “Ha,” Antonia said, but there was a pleased gleam in her eyes.
    “Maybe. Doesn’t mean you have to follow it.”
     
    Regina finished her plates and set them on the pass.
     
    Dylan stalked through the crowded tables with the same elegance and purpose as the cat, lean and dark and so good-looking Regina’s heart did a foolish little dance in her chest.
     
    “Take that pie,” Antonia said. “Table six.”
     
    He looked at her blankly.
     
    “Corner booth.”
     
    “I’ve got it.” Lucy balanced the pizza, cutter, and cheese and headed for the family of four in the booth by the door.
     
    Dylan looked at Regina. “Have you seen Nick?”
     
    His voice was low, his eyes serious.
     
    She struggled for breath. “I . . . He’s in his room. Upstairs. I saw him when I got home.”
     
    “No, he’s not.”
     
    Antonia set a floured hand on her hip. “And how would you know?
    Cat told you?”
     
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    Dylan’s gaze clashed with Regina’s. “Go check.”
     
    Without a word, she turned and ran for the stairs.
     
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Seventeen
     
    NICK SCUFFED HIS SNEAKERS ON THE ROAD, shooting spurts of dust. He wasn’t going far. He didn’t want to scare his mom. Not too much.
     
    A little scare would serve her right. She’d scared him a lot.
     
    Habit took him to the turn to Danny’s house. Nick ducked his head and kept on walking. He didn’t even want to see Danny since he’d said that thing about Nick’s mom.
     
    Anyway, the Trujillos’ was the first place his mom would call looking for him, and Nick wasn’t ready to be found yet. He wasn’t ready to go back. There was nothing to do at home— when he turned on the TV, it was all cooking shows and grown-ups yakking. Boring. Nick had watched the cooking for a while, because it was his dad, but he wasn’t really any more interested in his dad than his dad was in him. And downstairs was just more cooking and more yakking and his mom with those awful bruises around her neck.
     
    Thinking about his mom’s bruises made Nick’s chest feel hot and tight. He walked faster, not going anywhere, just . . . away.
     
    His mom kept saying that everything was fine, kept pretending that everything was normal. Which was bullshit, Nick thought, because if things were really okay, if she was safe now, why did Chief Hunter keep nosing around? And Dylan.
     
    “I’m keeping an eye on your mother,” Dylan had said, his voice and eyes serious, like a promise.
     
    Hearing him say that had made Nick feel better, at least for a while.
     
    Going out on the boat had made him feel better, too, in a different way. It was quiet on the water, no grown-ups talking, no motor even, just the rush of the wind and the waves white alongside the boat. For one moment, when the boat turned and rocked and the sails filled and leaned, Nick thought they were going to tip right into the water. He got goose
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    bumps— the good kind— just thinking about it. And later, when they were coming in, Dylan let him haul on the ropes and told him he’d done a good job. That was cool.
     
    Nick hunched his shoulders. Only maybe that was bullshit, too, because Danny said . . .
     
    Nick kicked at a rock, watching it bounce two, three times, before skittering into a ditch.
     
    Dylan was only being nice to him because he liked Nick’s mom.
     
    Except that wasn’t true either, Nick thought, tucking his hands in his pockets. Not all the way true. He felt the hard shape of the silver dollar under his fingers. Dylan hadn’t asked for it, and Nick didn’t want to give it