castles made of sand | paul lahote

eight: the deep

PAUL HAS YET TO RETURN. But Nina doesn't find the time to notice his absence, instead busying herself reading on the porch and taking advantage of the rare sunny day. She can almost fool herself into believing he'll never come back again.

The crunch of tires on gravel interrupts her reading. She sets down her book as a small smile unknowingly forms on her lips. Grandpa John emerges from the familiar truck, with Billy and Old Quil in the cab. Nina helps him pull a covered bucket from the bed of the truck, water sloshing noisily as she brings it back into the house.

"Did you have a good trip?" Nina asks without looking up, turning all her attention onto carefully placing the bucket onto the kitchen counter. Old Quil and Billy seemed to be in a hurry to leave, but she doesn't mention that. (She knows it more than likely has something to do with her.)

"I did." Grandpa John proudly beams, pulling the lid off of the bucket to reveal several dungeness crabs. Nina listens as he excitedly recounts each vivid detail of the catch, the creases in his old face deepening with each hearty laugh.

"Let's have a crab boil tonight." Nina suggests. "To celebrate your hard work."

"Great minds think alike." John smiles. He gives her a gentle pat on the head that reminds her of her childhood—and for the first time in a while that thought doesn't break her heart.

Grandpa John takes inventory of the fridge and pantry before deciding they won't have to go to the store for anything. With all ingredients out, he gives Nina careful instructions on what to chop (her newly honed skill) and sets her to work while the water boils.

"How's this?" Nina shows off her work with a bite of her lip. John half heartedly glances toward her and nods in approval. Something in his expression has changed.

A knot forms in her stomach and she feels stupid for letting herself forget so easily. The rancid taste of cigar smoke, the stench of alcohol, the cold steel of the police station. Strawberry birthday cake. The exhaustion and worry in John's eyes.

She readies herself for a lecture, or worse—an eviction notice.

"I heard you and Paul went out to breakfast." Grandpa John gives her small smile. It's just a slight quirk of his lip, barely noticeable, but it's enough to soothe her anxiety. "According to Thelma he damn near ate all the bacon and eggs in Clallam County."

Nina lets out a startled laugh. She shouldn't be surprised anymore by the high speed information sharing of small towns.

"You should have seen him..." She murmurs in awe at the memory, to which Grandpa John chuckles.

His expression shifts again and Nina swallows, placing her hands on the counter as if to brace herself.

"I'm not going to ground you, Nina—even if I should. I want you to go out, but safely." John clears his throat as he turns down the burner on the stove. "Paul is a good boy, it would be nice if you spent more time with him."

Nina frowns.

"I don't need a babysitter."

"Maybe just a friend. Aren't you lonely?"

The answer is yes—yes, yes, yes—but she refuses to admit it. Nina worries at her lip, looking away from Grandpa John's searching eyes.

Her stomach twists in knots, and she is painfully aware of two facts:

1. The wall she has carefully built around herself is starting to crumble.

2. In between the arguing and uncomfortable questions, she really did enjoy her breakfast with Paul.