Pamela Bauer - That Summer Thing

So why did he still want her?

“THE PAN’S SMOKING.”

Charlie turned and saw that Nathan was right. He had set the skillet over the flame and forgotten about it. He switched off the gas.

“You’re not supposed to leave oil in a pan unattended,” Nathan told him.

“Who are you? Smokey the Bear?”

The teenager shrugged. “They taught us safety in the kitchen in ‘living skills’ at school.”

“Did they teach you how to cook?”

“Some stuff. Not bacon and eggs, though.”

Judging by the mess Charlie had made, it looked as if he didn’t know much about cooking breakfast, either. He’d already burned the bacon and over-heated the skillet.

“What about toast? Can you manage that?” he asked.

Nathan shrugged. “I guess.”

“The bread’s over there.” Charlie motioned to the loaf at the end of the counter.

With about as much speed as a turtle, Nathan ambled over to the counter and plugged in the toaster. He popped two slices of bread into the slots, then watched as Charlie cracked eggs into a bowl. All but one broke.

“I like my eggs runny,” Nathan informed him.

“Well, you’re getting them scrambled,” Charlie said, taking a fork to the eggs and whisking them.

“Maybe we should ask Beth to cook for us.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Charlie replied.

“Why not?”

“Because I said no.” He poured the eggs into the pan.

“She might as well earn her keep,” Nathan said.

“She doesn’t need to. As I told you, she owns half this boat.” He sprinkled shredded cheese and onions over the eggs.

“So this Steele guy left both of you the boat?”

“Yes.”

“Weird.”

“Yes, it is.”

“He must not have known she gets seasick.”

“Possibly.” Charlie pushed the eggs around with a wooden spoon.

“How come you don’t like her?”

Charlie paused to look over at Nathan. “What makes you think I don’t like her?”

“Duh. You were pretty rough on her.”

“Me? You’re the one who accused her of being a stowaway.”

“She didn’t tell me it was her boat. Is that why you’re pissed off at her? Because you didn’t get the whole boat?”

“I hope you don’t talk that way around your grandparents,” Charlie said, tempted to give Nathan the treatment his own father would have given him had he used profanity in his presence. “You could get grounded for such language. And just to set the record straight, I’m not angry at Beth.”

It was the truth. Anger was definitely not what he’d felt when he’d seen her standing there in her skimpy pajamas with her hair falling about her face in disarray. Bothered would have been a better word to use, but he didn’t want Nathan to know that she caused such a reaction in him.

“Who is she, anyway?”

“I told you. Her name is Beth Pennington. She was a close friend of my sister Lucy when we were kids. She lived next door to us.”

“Was she a River Rat?”

“Sort of. Your toast is up. Butter’s in the fridge.”

Charlie was relieved that Nathan had a one-track mind, and the task of getting the toast buttered appeared to be the track it was taking. However, the subject of Beth apparently held enough fascination for him, because he quickly came back to it.

“That must have been her titty-holder in the bathroom,” he said as he put two more slices of bread in the toaster.

Charlie could hardly believe that Nathan had used such a word. “It’s called a bra,” he said in his sternest voice.

At the memory of the lacy scrap of material, Charlie’s body warmed. Then he remembered what it had been like as a teenager when he’d seen Beth naked. Heat rushed through every limb in his body, and he forced himself to push such thoughts aside.

He needed to deal with the issue of Nathan’s vocabulary, not daydream about an old lover. “I don’t think your mother would have appreciated you calling one of her undergarments by that name.”

“I wouldn’t have used it around her.”

“Do the BDs talk that way?”

“I didn’t swear. I just called it a titty-holder. I suppose you’re going to ground me for that, too.” He stalked away and threw himself down on the sofa.

“Come back over here and finish making the toast,” Charlie demanded.

“What’s the point?” Nathan said sullenly.

Charlie counted to ten, then walked over to the sofa. He stooped in front of the teenager so they were face-to-face. “Look, Nathan, it’s been a long time since I was fourteen, and until I met you and your mother, I had no idea how to be a dad, either.”

Nathan didn’t meet Charlie’s gaze. He sat with his eyes downcast, arms folded across his chest, mouth tight.

“I want this six weeks to be a good time—like we used to have. You want that, too, don’t you?” Charlie pleaded.

Nathan nodded, but continued to look down.

“Great. Now, we can do one of two things. Continue on as we have been, or forget about everything that’s gone wrong this morning and start over. Clean slate. What do you say?”

He waited while Nathan contemplated his options. Charlie wondered what the big decision was, but knew better than to voice that thought. Nathan’s grandmother had warned him that trying to be a parent to a fourteen year old was tricky. He now knew what she was talking about.

When Nathan finally raised his head, his eyes didn’t meet Charlie’s, but looked beyond him to the galley. As they widened, Charlie turned around to see why.

Beth was at the stove. “Good grief, Charlie. Only you would leave eggs frying unattended. What are you trying to do? Burn up our inheritance?”

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