Page 65 of Serenity Harbor

She wasn’t the best crafter, but she enjoyed hanging out with all the funny, smart, compassionate women who made up the Helping Hands. She would savor every moment, she told herself. This afternoon held an added poignancy, given her limited time left in Haven Point. This might be her last chance with them before she left the following week to return to Colombia and Gabriela.

While she listened to their chatter, she kept a careful eye on Milo. McKenzie had enlisted one of the high school girls who worked for her to keep an eye on the children who came with their mothers, but Milo could sometimes need a little extra attention.

He was her first priority here, and any craft projects had to come in a distant second.

“This was a good idea, to have our meeting here for a change instead of your claustrophobic work space where we usually meet,” Linda Fremont said.

McKenzie only smiled at the barbed compliment. “Our summers are so fleeting, I want to spend every moment I can outdoors, don’t you?”

Katrina didn’t hear how Sam’s mother answered. She probably didn’t need to. Linda rarely had a nice word to say about anything.

The conversation drifted, and she was content to sit and listen while she kept an eye on Milo. A few moments later, he appeared to tire of the rocks at long last and headed toward her, this time with Hondo following close behind.

“Bo,” he said when he reached her side.

Her heartbeat kicked up a beat, and she couldn’t resist scanning the lake for a certain gorgeous computer geek, though her rational side knew he wasn’t anywhere around.

“Bo’s not here, honey. He’s working, remember?”

“Bo!” he insisted. “Bo. Bo-o.”

He pointed at the gleaming restored Kilpatrick moored to the dock at the edge of the property, bobbing gently on the water.

“Oh. You’re sayingboat.”

He nodded vigorously, and she smiled. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

He reached for her hand and tugged it. “Bo!”

She had told him they would go on a boat and hadn’t followed through, she suddenly remembered. “We can’t go out on the boat right now. I’m sorry.”

“Bo! Bo. Bo.” He chanted the words, more insistent with every syllable. She could see he was heading for a meltdown, like those rising storm clouds of earlier, the ones that seemed to have churned a little over the lake, then blown away.

What he needed right now was food, she realized. They had opted to craft first, eat later—which was fine for the women but not for a young boy whose mood was much more stable when he ate at regular intervals.

She reached for her backpack and the supplies she had packed along for exactly this eventuality.

“I’ve got a granola bar and some apple slices and peanut butter here. Let’s walk over there and take a look at Ben’s boat while we have a snack. What do you say?”

She took his hand and the paper bag with the snacks and walked across the lawn with him, then out along the dock. He was intrigued enough to be out over the water that he let himself be distracted from going on the boat. Holding his hand, she walked down with him almost to the end, and they sat on the dock eating the snacks and watching a kingfisher swooping into the water for its own snack.

By the time he polished off nearly everything she’d brought, he forgot all about going out on the boat and she led him back to the group, where a few other children had arrived.

“You’re so good with him,” Charlene said, with a definite note of astonishment in her voice. Katrina might have reminded her mother shewasan experienced educator with excellent job reviews but decided to simply enjoy the rare compliment.

“He’s a good boy,” she said instead.

“Does he still have tantrums?” Charlene asked. “I know you said he did when Bowie hired you, but I haven’t seen anything like that when I’ve been with the two of you.”

“Once in a while,” she answered. “I’ve sort of figured out some of the cues and a few strategies to head them off. Distraction is the best thing I’ve found.”

“Bowie is going to have a tough time of things when you’re gone,” Charlene said.

As if she needed more guilt. “He’ll be fine,” she said, trying to convince herself as much as anyone. “He’s hired a very well-known autism specialist to be Milo’s nanny. I’ve spoken with her on the phone a few times this week, and she sounds more than competent. She’s coming in Tuesday. That’s supposed to be my last day.”

“You’re still leaving Wednesday?” Samantha asked, her expression plainly upset about the prospect.

“That’s still my plan.”

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