Cerella Sechrist - The Way Back To Erin

“You want to give it a try?”

Kitt jerked back in surprise at being addressed.

“It’s not hard,” Burke assured. “Watch.” He demonstrated how to use a drywall knife to scrape off any loose debris then held the handle toward Kitt.

The little boy took it and edged in closer, tongue tucked between his lips, as he awkwardly tackled the repair Burke had started. His attempts to scrape the loose compound free resulted in a few more nicks to the wall.

“Here, like this.” Burke took the smaller hand in his and helped guide the blade along the wall, loosening a spray of debris.

“There you go.” He removed his hand and let Kitt have another try.

The little boy moved slower this time but with more precision and after another minute, Burke moved away to get the drywall compound for the next step in the process. By the time he sat back down on the bedroom floor, Kitt had done a decent job of clearing the surface.

“Not bad,” he declared. “Maybe we should go into business. Daniels and Daniels Drywalling. It has a nice ring to it.”

Kitt didn’t say anything, but the grin he flashed was the biggest Burke had seen yet from his nephew.

Burke continued the repairs and made short work of applying compound and sanding down the wall.

“There we go. All that’s left is to paint.”

“How’d you learn to do that?” It was the first Kitt had spoken since they’d come upstairs together.

He shrugged in response. “I don’t know. I just picked it up somewhere, I guess.” He cocked his head. “Did you ever help your dad around the house?”

Kitt didn’t respond but lowered his head. Burke winced. Kitt had only been four years old when Gavin had died. Not old enough to have participated in too many projects around the inn. And given how Gavin had been deployed in the army for months at a time only reminded Burke just how much Kitt had been shortchanged in his relationship with his father.

“I probably picked it up from your dad, actually. He was always good at this kind of thing.”

Kitt’s head lifted. He followed Burke as they moved into the hall, where Aunt Lenora had mentioned there was another crack that needed to be repaired.

“He could fix anything,” Burke went on. “He was like the resident handyman here at the inn when we were teens.” Burke paused, remembering. “Actually, I’d forgotten that. Your dad and I both had chores when we lived here. I usually had to mow the lawn and rake leaves in the fall. But Gavin, he got all the repair jobs because he was so good at it. I mean, this house is old. So things were always breaking, and Gavin would fix them right up.”

“How old?”

“Hmm?” Burke asked distractedly as he searched for the crack Aunt Lenora had mentioned. He found it relatively easily. She, or perhaps Erin, had positioned a small table in front of the worst part to hide it. But it was still visible if you stood a few feet back. He put down the drywall tools and lifted the table out of the way.

“How old is the Moontide?” Kitt asked.

“Oh, way old. From before the 1800s. It was built several years after the end of the Revolutionary War, I think. I remember once this guy came to stay here for a weekend, and he kept talking at breakfast about the archeology of houses like this, how they survived attacks during the War of 1812 and stuff, when the British were trying to take the Bay.”

Burke turned and caught Kitt’s befuddled expression. He grinned.

“Let me put it this way. This inn has been standing for well over two hundred years.”

Kitt’s eyes grew round at this number. “Two hundred years?” he breathed.

“Yep.”

Burke examined the six-inch gash in the wall, wondering how it had happened and then decided it didn’t matter. Aunt Lenora had grumbled often enough about how the more careless guests at the inn treated the house. People didn’t worry about damages when they’d be gone by the end of the week. Although, with a house as old as the Moontide, repairs had to be expected. A building didn’t get to be around this long without its fair share of aches and pains.

“It looks like this one is going to take some work. You want to help me cut out the wall?”

What little boy didn’t like the chance to do a little demolition?

But Kitt hesitated.

“You’re going to cut the wall?”

Burke laughed. “In this case, it’s okay. It’s kind of like...we have to make this part—” he pointed at the crack “—worse before we can make it better.”

He tugged the utility knife free of his pocket and handed it to Kitt.

“You want to take a shot at it?”

Kitt stared at his hand for a long moment before reaching for the handle.

Burke squatted down next to him and pointed two inches left of the wall’s gash.

“We’re going to start here.” He held Kitt’s hand steady and helped him press into the wall.

And then he heard Erin’s voice, shrill and sharp.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

CHAPTER FOUR

ERIN FELT HER cheeks warm with anger at the sight of her six-year-old son holding a utility knife in his tiny hands. The sound of her voice caused Kitt to let go of the plastic handle and pull back, leaving the incriminating object in Burke’s hand.

“Hey,” Burke greeted her, his tone belying his confused expression. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” She experienced another swell of ire and moved forward to pluck the utility knife from Burke’s hand, careful to avoid the sharp end. Belatedly, she realized it had a safety mechanism that prevented the blade from remaining out. It was securely sheathed beneath a plastic guard. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

She was not about to let this offense go. “What do you think you’re doing, giving a knife to a child?”

Burke blinked, his lips parting in surprise. “I was right here. Nothing was going to happen.”

“He’s six years old, Burke. You can’t let him play with a knife.”

“He wasn’t playing,” Burke defended. “We were patching drywall.”

Erin’s lips pursed. This was why it was a bad idea for Burke to live at the inn. He just didn’t understand. He hadn’t been around kids enough. He didn’t know what was acceptable and what wasn’t. He wasn’t Kitt’s father—

She drew this thought up short. Of course Burke wasn’t Kitt’s father. But he was his uncle. And in truth, Erin couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Kitt interact with anyone the way he’d been interacting with Burke a moment ago. Some of her anger deflated.

Some. But not all.

“You have to be more responsible, Burke. If you plan to live here—”

“Whoa. Hold on.” Burke held up a hand. “This is temporary, Erin. I’m not planning to stay here long. Just until I can figure out what’s next.”

These words should have relieved her. But she experienced a pang of disappointment instead.

Kitt stood to his feet then, turned and hurried away, his tiny footfalls echoing through the upstairs hall as he headed downstairs. She sighed.

“What did I say?” Burke asked, confusion evident in his tone.

Erin didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure what Kitt’s abrupt departure meant. Maybe her and Burke’s disagreement had bothered him. He wasn’t used to hearing Erin raise her voice. He rarely gave her reason to.

“I should talk to him,” she said and headed toward the stairs.

“Erin, wait.”

She halted, her heartbeat picking up speed as Burke came up behind her.

“Are we...good?”

She tensed at the question, too aware of how closely Burke stood. She could see every dark fleck in his eyes, and the way his lashes started out dark and then lightened toward the tips. Gavin’s eyelashes had been a dark brown the whole way through. She swallowed.