Don't Speak (A Modern Fairytale, #5)(4)

“Where y’all off to now, Issy girl?”

Isolde leaned up on tiptoe and kissed her father’s whiskered cheek. “Laire’s in a mood, and Kyrstin drank all your sweet tea. See you tomorrow for services.”

“Amen,” said Hook, calling after her. “Take care, now. Y’all keep my grandbaby safe, hear?”

“I hear!” came Isolde’s muffled reply as she stomped out of the house and started her car.

Hook turned to his remaining daughters, giving Kyrstin an annoyed look. “Y’all drank all my sweet tea, huh?”

“I’ll go make more, Daddy,” said Kyrstin with a sheepish smile, taking her empty glass into the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he drawled to himself, “but it’ll be from powder, I s’pose.” He turned to Laire, scanning her face with his sharp blue eyes. “And you’re in a mood? What for?”

Laire shrugged. “Issy’s the one in a mood.”

He looked out the window as she pulled out of the driveway, kicking up gravel with her tires. “Might be. But she’s big as a house, Laire. Cut her some slack.”

He was right. She was big as a house, with a mother-in-law who was loving but demanding, and no mother of her own to lead her through the terrifying mystery of childbirth.

“I’ll do that,” she said. “You mommucked, Daddy?”

Mommucked was an islander word meaning “dead tired.” It was the sort of word her mother would have reminded her not to use off-island, but here, at home, it was the right word.

“Aye-up. Went through a thousand pounds of bait, and I cracked my back hookin’ a buoy. Long day.” He had taken off his knee-high rubber boots and yellow all-weather coveralls on the porch, but his jeans were filthy and he smelled strongly of fish and the sea. Right yethy.

As though he could read her mind, he chucked her under the chin and grinned. “Best shower before that tea.” He turned toward the hallway that led to the bathroom and two bedrooms, then pivoted back around with a low groan. “Ah. Shoot. Almost forgot. Got a delivery to make over in Buxton.” His lips pursed after a long sigh. “But my tired’s got tired.”

“Buxton?” said Laire, perking up as she pictured the castle-like summer homes of the superwealthy who lived a short ways up the coast.

Buxton, like Frisco, Avon, Rodanthe, and Nags Head, was where millionaires from Raleigh, Charlotte, and even faraway places like New York City, spent their summers. It wasn’t an area that Laire had gotten to see up close very often, but the few times her father had taken her on a delivery, she’d been fascinated by a totally different world so close to home.

“Aye-up.” He put one hand on his hip and rubbed his forehead with the other. “Guess I’ll shower later. Gotta take six crates of blues to a house up there.”

“You’re tired,” said Laire. “I could help. I don’t mind doin’ it for you.”

Her father looked up. “You’re a girl. How’re you goin’ to haul six packed coolers from the dock up to the house?”

“Daddy,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and fixing him with a no-nonsense glare. “I been hoistin’ crates o’blues since I was littler’n the one inside Issy.”

Her father cocked his head to the side and took a long look at her, then chuckled. “Fair enough. I guess you have, at that.” He checked his watch. “It’s three now. Promised delivery for four thirty.”

“Then I’ll get going,” said Laire, her heart thumping with urgency and excitement. “Sound side or ocean side?”

“Sound. Place called Utopia Manor,” said her father, who explained the exact location of the house and that the blue crabs he’d caught today had been promised for a party that evening.

From his instructions, she knew approximately where she’d find the house. “Dock the boat and walk around to the front door?”

Her father shook his head. “There’s a kitchen entrance on the left side of the house. Caterer’s from the Pamlico House. Lady named Judith Sebastian in charge. Find her first, then bring up the coolers. They prepaid.” He raised his chin and looked stern. “No takin’ tips, now.”

“No, Daddy,” she said. “Anythin’ else?”

“That’s it.” He grinned at her, his tanned, weathered face handsome, even after a long day and covered all over with salt-and-pepper whiskers. “You’re a good girl, li’l Laire.”

“You take a nice hot shower and don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got it covered.”

Racing to the room she still shared with Kyrstin, Laire tugged off her white shorts and pulled on a pair of jeans. Earlier, she’d twisted her strawberry blonde hair into a messy bun, but now she brushed it out and secured it into a neat ponytail. She swapped her gray Corey HS T-shirt for a black, long-sleeved, button-up shirt she’d made for herself, and paired it with a black patent-leather belt. Plucking her shiny black Wellies from the back of her closet, she pulled them on over her jeans, up to her knees. Checking out her reflection in the mirror, she decided that she looked as fashion-forward as possible for someone hauling crates of fresh crab, and ran back down the hall.

Sparing a moment to wave good-bye to Kyrstin, she grabbed the spare boat keys from the hook in the kitchen and sailed out the door.