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house. Let's go to the boat for a little while," he said.

"You'll clean up and straighten up and then we'll go

in. Come on. You'll be all right," he promised. His

words spread a magic shawl of comfort about my

shoulders. I relaxed and followed his direction. He turned me right and we moved down the hill toward the ocean again. Moments later, we were at the dock. He helped me onto the lobster boat. It bobbed gently in the water, but I was still too unsure of

myself to walk without Cary's support.

"Easy." He guided me into the cabin, leading

me to a cushioned bench. He turned on a small oil

lamp. "How are you doing?"

"I feel as if I'm stuck on a runaway roller

coaster. My ribs ache, my head feels like a hunk of

coal, my stomach wants to resign from my body. . .

I've never been drunk before. Lucky you were there

for me," I said. "Thanks."

He stared at me. "I hate guys like Adam

Jackson. They think everything's coming to them

because they were born with silver spoons in their

mouths. They all oughta be harpooned, or taken out to

sea and left there floating on their egos."

I laughed, but it hurt and I moaned.

Instinctively, he reached for my hand. "You

want a drink of water?"

"Yes, please," I said and he rose to get it. That

was when I looked down and saw the mess I had

made on the front of my dress. "Oh, Cary, look. Aunt

Sara will be devastated. One of Laura's dresses. It will

be stained."

He turned and gazed at me. He thought a

moment. "I got a tub on deck, and some soap. We'll

scrub it clean and then I'll put it on the kerosene