Мгла
After the Storm. Norton. A Trip to Town.
Withthebigoneaddedin,Ididn’tthinkthejobwouldbedoneuntilelevenorso.
"I’llgiveyoulunchhere,then.Butyou’llhavetogetsomethingsatthemarketforme...we’realmostoutofmilkandbutter.Also...well,I’llhavetomakeyoualist."
Giveawomanadisasterandsheturnssquirrel.Igaveherahugandnodded.Wewentonaroundthehouse.Itdidn’ttakemorethanaglancetounderstandwhyBillyhadbeenalittleoverwhelmed.
"Lordy,"Steffsaidinafaintvoice.
Fromwherewestoodwehadenoughelevationtobeabletoseealmostaquarterofamileofshoreline-theBibberpropertytoourleft,ourown,andBrentNorton’stoourright.
Thehugeoldpinethathadguardedourboatcovehadbeenshearedoffhalfwayup.Whatwasleftlookedlikeabrutallysharpenedpencil,andtheinsideofthetreeseemedaglisteninganddefenselesswhiteagainsttheage-and-weatherdarkenedouterbark.Ahundredfeetoftree,theoldpine’stophalf,laypartlysubmergedinourshallowcove.ItoccurredtomethatwewereveryluckyourlittleStar-Cruiserwasn’tsunkunderneathit.Theweekbefore,ithaddevelopedenginetroubleanditwasstillattheNaplesmarina,patientlywaitingitsturn.
Ontheothersideofourlittlepieceofshorefront,theboathousemyfatherhadbuilt-theboathousethathadoncehousedasixty-footChris-CraftwhentheDraytonfamilyfortuneshadbeenatahighermarkthantheyweretoday-layunderanotherbigtree.ItwastheonethathadstoodonNorton’ssideofthepropertyline,Isaw.
