A Margin of Lust (The Seven Deadly Sins #1)(55)
"I'll find something else to do. Most of this stuff is pretty easy," he said.
"How about campfire stew?" Emily said, wiggling onto the log next to him. "We did campfire stew in Jenny Andrew's backyard for Brownies, but I didn't eat any." Emily stuck a finger in her mouth and mimed barfing.
"Nah, I don't want to do any cooking stuff." Jason turned some pages. "How about this? Dad, could we build a shelter out of twigs and things? Then me and Tyler could sleep in it."
"I want to sleep in it," Emily's head jerked up, her blond braids bounced, and her voice rose to the whining pitch she'd perfected since starting third grade.
It was nice to be here, away from St. Barnabas. Art was already feeling a perspective shift. Since he'd been angling for the principal job, he'd lost his focus on his family.
Thunder rumbled through the night air. "Well, I don't." Tyler's chin tilted to the treetops. "I want to sleep in the tent." Rocket must have felt the same way. Art watched their brave defender slink across the dirt on his belly and disappear into the Coleman six-man tent.
"Me too. I want to sleep next to Daddy." Emily jumped from the stump and wrapped her arms around Art's waist. Emily didn't like storms almost as much as Rocket didn't like storms.
"I'll sleep in the lean-to by myself. It'll be cool, like Survivorman." Jason started to walk toward the edge of the campsite. "Every man for himself."
Every man for himself. That was the problem. Art and Gwen had been living like independent agents under one roof. They'd become roommates, instead of husband and wife.
"Hey, J-Man, not so fast. Let's all sleep in the tent tonight. Rocket's upset enough. He'll freak if we don't stay together. Tomorrow we can make the lean-to and you can take a nap in it. It doesn't say you have to sleep all night, just sleep." Art held out the merit badge book Jason had dropped. The sky growled again, and Jason returned to the fire.
"I don't want Rocket to be scared." Jason squared his jaw.
"Thanks. I need you, buddy." Art ruffled his son's hair. Jason looked like a male version of Gwen at this age. He was tall and a little too skinny. He had her thick auburn hair, the same sprinkling of freckles across his nose and her jump-first-look-later attitude. Art's chest squeezed. He missed her. When he got home, he was going to make the past six months up to her.
"S'mores time," Tyler said carrying a bag of marshmallows out of the tent. Rocket's nose followed. It was obvious the dog was divided between fear and food.
"Yay. S'more s'mores please." Emily let go of Art's leg and danced over to her brother.
"You haven't had any yet, so you can't say 's'more s'mores'." Jason said.
"Hey, who has the graham crackers?" Art hoped to deflect the argument he saw growing behind Emily's wrinkled brow. Having two older brothers made her a tough little thing. She didn't back down easily.
"Me, me, me," Emily called out. Insult forgotten, she shot into the tent to find the crackers. Seconds later Rocket emerged with her and the graham crackers—sugar induced courage.
"Make sure Rocket doesn't get the chocolate. It could kill him. I learned about it in health class. It has bro... bro... something in it that's like poison to dogs." Tyler said.
"Poor Rockety-Rocket," Emily said hugging the dog's neck. "I'll make you a marshmallow."
Art looked up at the night sky. Wisps of clouds wrapped around the moon. He wondered how many marshmallows the kids would get to roast before rain put their campfire out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Gwen pulled up in front of the house on Sailor's Haven, disabled the lockbox, popped the key out and entered. There was just enough light coming through the windows to see. She carried some of her bundles inside and dropped them on the granite counter in the kitchen, turning on lights as she went. By her second trip to the car—she'd really brought too much—it was pouring, a hemorrhage of water. Thunder rolled again.
The house was chilly. The rain sluicing down the windowpanes blocked the last of the sunset. Gwen shivered. There was a fireplace in the living room with gas and imitation logs. She lit it. It didn't throw much heat, but the glow improved the atmosphere.
Gwen turned to her bags. First, she opened a bottle of Ravish and filled a wine glass she found in the cupboard. She'd stopped by the Barrel again that morning to buy more. She felt so guilty; she'd told Mo she was buying it for an open house at her Sailor's Haven listing in the morning. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized how ridiculous she sounded. Mo didn't care why she bought wine. He was just happy she did.
She downed a third of it in the time it took to unpack oysters, strawberries, artichoke salad, a loaf of French bread, Brie, and a chocolate ganache cake—all foods she and Art used to share in the days when they picnicked at the beach.
Gwen lit a few candles and set the table in the dining room with the homeowners' lovely dishes then walked to the warmth of the fire. She stood at the picture window watching the storm clouds undulating across the water, and the harbor lights popping on one by one. A flash of lightning lit the room for a moment and illuminated the clock on the mantel. It was almost seven. A moment later came a clap of thunder so loud it sounded like it originated on the second floor of the house.