Page 104 of Pull Me Under

No hello. No how are you. Just straight to business. Classic Reuben.

‘Not today. I’m taking a rest day.’

Silence. The same silence that used to make me squirm as a kid, certain I was in trouble even when I wasn’t.

‘Cal said you took a swim last night.’

Word travels fast. Of course it does. This is Sea Salt Bay.

‘Just a dip. I’m fine.’

‘Hmm.’ More silence. Then, grudgingly: ‘Davey said the recovery was rough. Spring tides and all.’

Is that … concern? From Reuben Harding? I almost drop the phone.

‘It was manageable. Everyone came home.’

‘Good.’ A pause. ‘Take the day, then. I’ll have Davey check the nets. You can look at the books tomorrow. The Deep Sea Bass is being funny about payment terms again. Got another shitty email this morning.’

I close my eyes. I sorted the Deep Sea Bass terms two days ago. Rang Marcus myself, agreed sixty days net, sent the confirmation. Dad watched me make the call from the wheelhouse doorway.

He doesn’t remember.

‘I’ll look into it,’ I say. Because that’s easier than the alternative. Easier than saying, I already fixed it, Dad. You were there.

‘And Jude?’

‘Yeah?’

Another pause. Longer this time. I can almost hear him wrestling with whatever he’s trying to say.

‘Don’t make a habit of going overboard. Paperwork’s harder to replace than you’d think.’

The line goes dead.

I stand there for a moment, phone in hand, trying to parse what just happened. Was that a joke? Was Reuben Harding making a joke? About being glad I didn’t drown?

‘Everything okay?’

Brynn’s in the doorway. She’s pulled on a shirt – my shirt, I realise, the flannel I was wearing last night – and it hangs to mid-thigh, the sleeves rolled up past her wrists.

My brain short-circuits.

‘Fine,’ I manage. ‘Dad’s fine. Everything’s fine.’

‘You said fine three times.’

‘Did I?’

‘Generally a sign that things are not, in fact, fine.’

I cross the kitchen in three steps. She doesn’t move, just watches me come, that knowing look in her eyes.

‘Things are fine,’ I say, stopping close enough to feel the warmth radiating off her skin. ‘Things are actually, genuinely, surprisingly fine.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I have the day off. No boat. No accounts. No Dad.’ I reach out, tug at the collar of my stolen shirt. ‘And you’re wearing my clothes.’