She wondered what he’d thought, what had gone on in his mind. His bestie had turned into a lunatic; the boat had wrecked. How scared had he been? Had he gotten wet? He hated water. Had he waited for her to come back for him? It tortured her, the guilt. In her haste, she hadn’t put his vest on: she should have put his vest on him.
Despite how he’d made her feel physically, the truth was that Mac hadn’t added anything of value to her life. He’d only taken away. If not for Mac—and in a close second, Jason—she would be healthy and whole, as would Fred and her boat. She imagined it for a moment; everything reset back to the beginning of spring.
Instead, she’d come full circle to a year ago.
She was sore. Her head hurt more than it didn’t, and she had a bald spot even though a hospital stylist had given her a short, inverted bob.
Damn Mac. And Jason. And Darlene.
Fuck them all!
Now she was home, she was afraid he would try to contact her. Grady had surprised her in the hospital, and she’d been afraid Mac would make an appearance. He hadn’t. Was he waiting for her to come home? For her to be alone?
Her eyes shifted from the powerboat to Marge, then back again.
“Come on, sweet girl,” Marge encouraged. “Let’s get you settled. I need to take stock of your kitchen so I know what to bring back tomorrow when Silas and I come for lunch.”
Her eyes stayed on the boat as she allowed Marge to guide her. “I don’t need anything.”
“I know you better than that, little miss. And you know me better than that, too.”
At any other time, Cassidy would have smiled. But right now, she was captivated by a boat.
Chapter fifty-five
Mac
GRACE
Macwatchedfrominsidehis screen door as Marge and Silas tied up whereThe Caseliused to reside. They both took turns looking over the powerboat, obviously commenting on it as they disembarked their own boat. Marge heaved out a box that she wouldn’t allow Silas to help her with. They stood chatting for a moment, necks craning, curious.
At the same time, they both looked up the hill toward the lake house.
Someone had caught their attention. Marge waved awkwardly, a hand wrapped along the bottom of the box. Silas nodded, checking out the boat again.
Starting up the dock, Marge said something to him; Mac could hear her barking an order. Silas waved her off, snapping something back. Reluctantly, she turned with her burden and kept walking.
Mac watched her go, shifting his attention back to Silas, who was now scratching his head as he considered the boat. The old man lifted his eyes to the cabin.
Mac pushed the door open and stepped out.
That was invitation enough for Silas. He headed over.
Mac lifted the beer as he watched the other man make his way to him, wondering what lectures he would receive this time. The last conversation he’d had with Silas was when the man had told him to leave Cassidy alone. He didn’t have a defense, considering all that had transpired since. Silas walking up the path was tantamount to an angry father marching up the drive to demand his pound of flesh for the sins against his daughter.
So, his first words took Mac a few seconds to process. “She’s a looker. How’s she ride?”
Mac’s eyes narrowed. Not the opening line he would have expected, until he realized Silas was talking about the boat. Mac grimaced. “Last time I was in it, she rode okay.”
“That was?”
Mac shifted on his feet. “Before I bought it.”
Silas turned as though to assure himself there was a boat residing at the dock, then faced Mac with a grizzled frown. “Are you saying that boat’s been sitting there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why? Are you scared now?”