Inner Harbor (26 page)

She'd said no such thing, of course. But she might have, if she'd thought of it.

“Never thought about him being Ray's grandson, though. Why, to think Ray had a daughter all these years.”

Which, of course, proved he'd done something wrong in the first place, didn't it? She'd always suspected that Ray Quinn had been wild in his youth. Maybe even a hippie. And everyone knew what
that
meant.

Smoking marijuana, and having orgies and running around naked.

But that wasn't something she intended to bring up to Mother. That little morsel could wait until she was shampooed and tucked into the styling chair at the salon.

“And that she turned out wilder than those boys he and Stella brought home,” she rattled on. “That girl over to the hotel must be just as—”

She broke off when the door jingled. Hoping for a fresh ear, she was thrilled to see Phillip Quinn walk in. Better than an addition to her audience, it was one of the actors on the very interesting stage.

Phillip only had to open the door to know what subject was under discussion. Or had been, until he stepped inside. Silence fell with a clang, and eyes darted toward him, then guiltily away.

Except for Nancy Claremont's and Mother's.

“Why, Phillip Quinn, I don't know as I've seen you since your family picnic on the Fourth of July.” Nancy fluttered at him. Wild or not, he was a handsome man. Nancy considered flirting one of the best ways to loosen a man's tongue. “That was a fine day.”

“Yes, it was.” He walked up to the counter, knowing that stares were being bulleted at his back. “I need a couple of subs, Mother Crawford. A meatball and a turkey.”

“We'll fix you up, Phil. Junior!” She shouted over at her son, who jolted at her tone despite being thirty-six and the father of three.

“Yes 'um.”

“You going to ring up these people or just scratch your butt the rest of the afternoon?”

He colored, muttered under his breath, and turned his attention back to the cash register.

“You working down to the boatyard today, Phillip?”

“That's right, Mrs. Claremont.”

He busied himself choosing a bag of chips for Cam, then wandered back to the dairy case to decide on yogurt for himself.

“That young boy usually comes in to pick up lunch, doesn't he?”

Phillip reached in, took out a carton at random. “He's in school today. It's Friday.”

“ 'Course it is.” Nancy laughed, playfully patting the side of her head. “Don't know where my mind is. Fine-looking young boy. Ray musta been right proud.”

“I don't doubt it.”

“We've been hearing that he's got some blood relations close by.”

“There's never been anything wrong with your hearing, Mrs. Claremont, that I recall. I'll need a couple of large coffees to go, Mother.”

“We'll fix you up there, too. Nancy, you got more than enough news to blow around for the day. You keep trying to squeeze more out of this boy, you're going to miss your hair appointment.”

“I don't know what you could be meaning.” Nancy sniffed, shot Mother a furious look, then fluffed at her hair. “But I have to be going. The husband and I are going to the Kiwanis dinner-dance tonight, and I need to look my best.”

She flounced out, making a beeline for the beauty shop.

Inside, Mother narrowed her eyes. “The rest of you got business, Junior'll ring you up. But this ain't no lounge. You want to stand around and gawk, go stand outside.”

Phillip disguised a chuckle as a cough when several people decided they had business elsewhere.

“That Nancy Claremont's got less sense than a peahen,” Mother proclaimed. “Bad enough she dresses herself up like a pumpkin from head to foot, but she don't even know how to be subtle.”

Mother turned back to Phillip and grinned. “Now, I won't say I don't have as much got-to-know as the next, but by God, if you can't try to jiggle a little information out of a body without being so blessed obvious, you're not just rude, you're stupid with it. Can't abide bad manners or a soft brain.”

Phillip leaned on the counter. “You know, Mother, I've been thinking maybe I'd change my name to Jean-Claude, then move to the wine country of France, the Loire valley, and buy myself a vineyard.”

She tucked her tongue in her cheek again, eyes bright. She'd heard this tale, or one of its variations, for years. “Do tell.”

“I'd watch my grapes ripen in the sun. I'd eat bread that was hot and fresh, and cheese that wasn't. It would be a fine, satisfying life. But I've got just one problem.”

“What's that?”

“It won't be any good unless you come with me.” He grabbed her hand, kissing it lavishly while she roared with laughter.

“Boy, you are a caution. Always were.” She gasped for breath, wiped her eyes. Then she sighed. “Nancy, she's a fool, but she's not mean, not deep down. Ray and Stella, they were just people to her. They were a lot more than that to me.”

“I know that, Mother.”

“People got something new to talk about, they're going to gum it to death.”

“I know that, too.” He nodded. “So did Sybill.”

Mother's eyebrows lifted and fell as she realized the implication. “The girl's got guts. Good for her. Seth, he can be proud he's got blood kin that brave. And he can be proud a man like Ray was his granddaddy.” She paused to put the finishing touches on the subs. “I think Ray and Stella would've liked that girl.”

“Do you?” Phillip murmured.

“Yep. I like her.” Mother grinned again as she quickly wrapped the subs in white paper. “She's not hoity-toity like Nancy wants to think. Girl's just shy.”

Phillip had reached over for the subs, and now his mouth fell open. “Shy? Sybill?”

“Sure is. Tries hard not to be, but it costs her some. Now you get that meatball back to your brother before it gets cold.”

“W
HY DO I
have to care about a bunch of queer-os who lived two hundred years ago?”

Seth had his history book open, his mouth full of grape
Bubblicious, and a stubborn look in his eye. After a ten-hour day of manual labor, Phillip wasn't in the mood for one of Seth's periodic snits.

“The founding fathers of our country were not queer-os.”

Seth snorted and jabbed a finger at the full-page drawing of the Continental Congress. “They're wearing dorky wigs and girly clothes. That says queer-o to me.”

“It was the fashion.” He knew the kid was yanking his chain, but he couldn't seem to stop his leg from jerking on cue. “And the use of the word ‘queer-o' to describe anyone because of their fashion sense or their lifestyle demonstrates ignorance and intolerance.”

Seth merely smiled. Sometimes he just liked making Phillip grind his teeth the way he was doing now. “A guy wears a curly wig and high heels, he deserves what he gets.”

Phillip sighed. It was another reaction Seth enjoyed. He didn't really mind the history crap. He'd aced the last test, hadn't he? But it was just plain boring to have to pick out one of the queer-os and write some dopey biography.

“You know what these guys were?” Phillip demanded, then narrowed his eyes in warning when Seth opened his mouth. “Don't say it. I'll tell you what they were. Rebels, troublemakers, and tough guys.”

“Tough guys? Get real.”

“Meeting the way they did, drawing up papers, making speeches? They were giving England, and most especially King George, the finger.” He caught a flash of amused interest in Seth's eyes. “It wasn't the tea tax, not really. That was just the platform, the excuse. They weren't going to take any shit from England anymore. That's what it came down to.”

“Making speeches and writing papers isn't like fighting.”

“They were making sure there was something to fight for. You have to give people an alternative. If you want them to toss out Brand X, you have to give them Brand Y, and make it better, stronger, tastier. What if I told you Bubblicious is a
rip-off?” Phillip asked, inspired as he snatched up the giant pack on Seth's desk.

“I like it okay.” To prove it, Seth blew an enormous purple bubble.

“Yeah, but I'm telling you that it sucks and that the people who make it are creeps. You're not going to just toss it in the trash because I say so, right?”

“Damn straight.”

“But if I gave you a new choice, if I told you about this Super Bubble Blow—”

“Super Bubble Blow? Man, you slay me.”

“Shut up. SBB, it's better. It lasts longer, costs less. Chewing it'll make you and your friends, your family, your neighbors happier, stronger. SBB is the gum of the future, of
your
future. SBB is right!” Phillip added, putting a ring in his voice. “Bubblicious is wrong. With SBB you'll find personal and religious freedom, and no one will ever tell you that you can only have one piece.”

“Cool.” Phillip was weird all right, Seth thought with a grin, but he was fun. “Where do I sign up?”

With a half laugh, Phillip tossed the gum back on the desk. “You get the picture. These guys were the brains and the blood, and it was their job to get the people excited.”

The brains and the blood, Seth thought. He liked it, and figured he could work it into his report. “Okay, maybe I'll pick Patrick Henry. He doesn't look as dorky as some of the other guys.”

“Good. You can access information on him on the computer. When you hit the bibliography of books on him, print it out. The library in Baltimore's bound to have more of a selection than the one at school.”

“Okay.”

“And your composition for English is ready to turn in tomorrow?”

“Man, you never let up.”

“Let's see what you've got.”

“Jeez.” Grumbling all the way, Seth dug into his binder and tugged out the single sheet.

It was titled “A Dog's Life” and described a typical day through the eyes of Foolish. Phillip felt his lips twitch as the canine narrator told of his delight in chasing rabbits, his irritation with bees, the thrill of hanging out with his good and wise friend Simon.

Christ, the kid was clever, he mused.

As Foolish ended his long, demanding day curled up on his bed, which he generously shared with his boy, Phillip handed the page back. “It's great. I guess we now know how you come by your storytelling talent naturally.”

Seth's lashes lowered as he carefully slipped the composition back into place. “Ray was pretty smart and all, being a college professor.”

“He was pretty smart. If he'd known about you, Seth, he'd have done something about it a lot sooner.”

“Yeah, well . . .” Seth gave that Quinn shoulder jerk.

“I'm going to talk to the lawyer tomorrow. We may be able to speed things up a little, with Sybill's help.”

Seth picked up his pencil to doodle on his blotter. Just shapes, circles, triangles, squares. “Maybe she'll change her mind.”

“No, she won't.”

“People do, all the time.” He'd waited for weeks, ready to run if the Quinns had changed theirs. When they hadn't, he'd started to believe. But he was always ready to run.

“Some people keep their promises, no matter what. Ray did.”

“She's not Ray. She came here to spy on me.”

“She came to see if you were all right.”

“Well, I am. So she can go.”

“It's harder to stay,” Phillip said quietly. “It takes more guts to stay. People are already talking about her. You know
what that's like, when people look at you out of the corners of their eyes and whisper.”

“Yeah. They're just jerks.”

“Maybe, but it still stings.”

He knew it did, but he gripped his pencil more tightly, added pressure to his doodling. “You've just got a case on her.”

“I might. She sure is a looker. But if I do have a case on her, that doesn't change the basic facts. Kid, you haven't had that many people give a good damn about you in your life.”

He waited until Seth's eyes slid over to his, held. “It took me a while, maybe too long, to give a good damn myself. I did what Ray asked me to, because I loved him.”

“But you didn't want to do it.”

“No, I didn't want to do it. It was a pain in the ass. You were a pain in the ass. But that started to change, little by little. I still didn't want to do it, it was still a pain in the ass, but somewhere along the way I was doing it for you as much as for Ray.”

“You thought maybe I was his kid, and that pissed you off.”

So much, Phillip thought, for adults believing they kept their secrets and sins from children. “Yeah. That was one little angle I couldn't get rid of until yesterday. I couldn't accept the idea that he might have cheated on my mother, or that you might be his son.”