“Yes,” James said. “In fact, tell Graham to cook lobster tonight and that creamy crab dip he does at Christmas. We’re celebrating. Oh, and open some smoked herring too.”
“All right,” Mallory said, giving the three of them a puzzled smile before heading in the direction of the kitchen.
“Ish, dad, I don’t know how you can eat that stuff.”
“Herring’s the perfect food, tons of protein and delicious besides.” James gave him a playful swipe on the shoulder with his fist.
“Yeah, well, I’ll stick to the lobster and crab dip.”
“Me too,” Teresa said.
“You two don’t know what you’re missing.”
“We do; that’s why we’re not missing it,” Quinn said, grinning.
James shook his head. “How about you and I take the skiff out for a run before dinner?” he asked. “She hasn’t hit the water in a while.”
“The skiff? Okay…” Quinn flitted his eyes to Teresa who gave a slight shrug as she finished smoothing her hair.
“Great, I’ll go change if you want to grab the lifejackets from the boathouse.”
“Sure.”
“Meet you down there.”
His father disappeared through the hall, another snippet of song floating back to them and fading as James made his way upstairs. Quinn closed his eyes and then looked down at his hands, rubbing them together as if he were cold.
“I’ll see you at supper,” he said, moving toward the entry. Her voice stopped him before the door.
“Don’t put your plans on hold because he’s happy, Quinn. He’ll understand.”
He nodded, not looking back and left the house.
They sailed for an hour along the shore, the canvas snapping over the sound of the wind that gusted and shoved the small boat across the waves. The spring air carried more warmth than chill in the afternoon sunshine though the salty brine that sprayed them from time to time still spoke of winter.
They didn’t talk much, both of them focused on their required jobs: his father steering the skiff while Quinn ran the sail and helped turn them through the surf. I’m leaving. The words were in his mouth, choking him. I’m leaving. He’d said them so easily to Teresa, knowing that she would understand. But his father.
Quinn glanced at the older man for the thousandth time. The wind swept James’s hair away from his unlined brow and his clear eyes sparkled, reflecting the sea. He could say it. He would tell him. Tomorrow he was leaving.
“Let’s head in, I’m starving,” James said, breaking him from his trance.
Quinn nodded, letting the words fade away with the wind as they guided the little boat toward shore.
The house smelled of boiling seafood when they returned, and Quinn’s stomach growled. The soupy nausea that had accompanied him throughout their sailing, intensifying to the point of being unbearable when he started to say the words, relinquished its hold and gave way to hunger.
“Smells good, doesn’t it?” James said, stifling a cough as he slung an arm around his shoulders.
“Yeah, sure does.” A bout of vertigo overcame him, the same as when he glanced down sometimes while climbing. He was at the edge. “Dad, I’ve got to talk to you.”
James stopped in the dining room entry to look at him.
“Go ahead.”
“I…I’m…” His voice shook and he cleared his throat.
“It’s ready you two,” Mallory said from across the room. Teresa came down the hall toward them, pausing when she saw how they were standing, the expectant look on James’s face.
“I’ll tell you after dinner,” Quinn finished.
His father studied him for a moment and then nodded.
“Okay.”
Everyone dined together. Normally Mallory, Graham, and Foster, all took their dinners at their respective guesthouses, but James had insisted that they all stay. He opened two bottles of wine and poured everyone a glass, even Quinn, shushing Teresa as she objected.
“He’ll be twenty-one in less than a year, plus we’re celebrating,” James said, pouring Quinn’s glass full.