Page 56 of Grace on the Rocks

“Do you have any idea how much it will cost?”

“Let him speak,Cam,” his mother insisted.

“I have a p-p-p—Iknow whatI’mdoing!”Bryanthundered.

Sara immediately burst into tears.

“Jesus,Ry, there’s no need to yell,”Caitrionascolded.

Bryan tried to relax his jaw and turned away from his sister.Hetook a deep breath, and then another, picturing his grand­father’s worry stone between his fingers.

“Ma, thank you for tea.AuntieEilidh,I’llgive you all the free whisky you can drink.”

With that, he stood up to leave.

“I made chocolate cake,” his ma said helplessly.

“Give mine toS-S-Sara.”

His niece looked up at him, tears instantly gone.Hewinked at her and stormed out of the house.

What an almighty unmitigated disaster.

ChapterFifteen

Of course,Gracehad not left a candle burning, because who takes a random candle on vacation?Shejust couldn’t stand to sit there another minute whileRyandied a thousand deaths.

“I don’t get it,”Wessaid for about the hundredth time. “They’reall so… nice.Hisdad seemed totally charming until he showed up.”

“I don’t know.”Gracepicked at a loose thread in the blanket they’d spread on the beach to watchAMidsummerNight’sDream.“Therewas an undercurrent the whole time.”Shedidn’t know them, but they’d all seemed on edge—his mother andCaitflitting around trying a bit too hard, his father putting on a mask every time he was pulled into conversation,Elspethwatchful and wary.

“An undercurrent?Iguess,”Wessaid. “Hopethey worked it out once we left.”

Grace nodded.Hopetheir host hadn’t high-tailed it back to the mainland. “Noone can make you small quite like your family.”

He’d reminded her of a lonely freshman, sitting miserably in his little folding chair, too low for the big dining room table.Helooked young and vulnerable as he poked at the potatoes instead of reminding his mother he was vegetarian while everyone hammered him about the house.

Stubborn to the last, he kept glancing at her with a fierceness in his eyes, angry that she andWeshad encroached on the private family moment, daring her to join the public shaming.

“Gray, are you fretting about yourStoicScot?Oryour book?”Wesasked during intermission.

“My book obviously,”Graceanswered too quickly, andWesraised an eyebrow. “Youknow howIget!”

“You’re right,”Wesconceded. “It’smy fault for expecting a different outcome.Butdo you thinkShakespeareworried this much?” she asked, gesturing at the oceanside stage.

“Probably?”

Wes shook her head. “Hewas too busy drinking and fornicating to worry this much.Maybeyou should try it.”

“You’re right—about the worrying.I’mnot sure you’re right aboutShakespeare.”

“Agree to disagree.But?”

“But it’s not that easy.”WhenIstop worrying about my new book problems,Istart worrying about the landlord reading my old book and calling it brilliant, and what’s that supposed to mean?

Had anyone else ever called her words brilliant except maybe thePrintzcommittee?

“It’s not that easy,” she said again. “Iwon an award…”

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