not convinced this argument is at all relevant to the conversation.
“I hope Ari can find herself a nice keyboard,” says Mom. “She really is such a sweet girl, and we do appreciate her helping out at the store.”
I narrow my eyes. “You are paying her, right?”
“Of course!” says Dad, sounding offended. But it had to be asked. I’m fairly sure Ari would work there for free, but I’m not about to tell them that. She deserves to get paid for her time.
“And how is the store doing?” asks Lucy. “Financially, I mean.”
Her question surprises me. The directness of it. We all feel the question immediately sending us out onto thin ice. I have to admit, I sort of admire Lucy for being the one to bring it up, when even Jude and I would rather go on pretending that everything is fine.
Again, Mom and Dad look at each other. Even Penny seems to tense. Only Ellie ignores the topic, too busy trying to make a tower of french fries on the table.
“Fine,” says Dad. “Slow. But it always is this time of year. Tourist season is coming. It’ll pick up.”
He says it with confidence, but what else is he going to say? The record store is doomed and we should all start panicking?
Then Mom smiles and changes the subject, asking Lucy how softball practice went earlier that day.
I pick up my burger again and take a bite. I’m sure it’s delicious, as it always is, but for some reason, I hardly taste a thing.
TWENTY-TWO
“Ugh. I can’t say it. Not again. Please don’t make me.”
Quint leans against the short wall. I can sense his smug grin, feel him watching me. But I only have eyes for the creature in the little pen. “Come on, Prudence. You can do this. Here, I’ll get you started. Repeat after me. Quint, you were…”
I cover my eyes with my hands and give my head a vicious shake. But it doesn’t last long. I have to open my fingers. I have to peek.
Oh heavens. That fuzzy face, the twitching nose, the sweet little paws curled together over his tummy as he rolls around on the floor …
I groan, and feel myself caving. “Fine. Quint. You were”—I grimace, biting back the word for as long as I can—“right.”
He makes a victorious fist, pumping his elbow.
“Sea otters are flipping adorable. But you cheated! You said it wasn’t a baby.”
“It’s not a baby. He’s, like … I dunno, our age, probably. But in otter years. Their babies aren’t super small, but they’re smaller than that.” He leans toward me conspiratorially. “A couple years ago we were caring for a pregnant sea otter when she gave birth. The pup was like the size of a basketball. A fuzzy, ridiculously cute basketball.”
“Stop it.”
“I got to bottle-feed it a couple times.”
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
I cut a look at him. He’s watching the sea otter, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips.
I swallow and look away. I study the little otter as he flops onto his tummy and curls up on top of a blue towel that’s been left in the corner for him. His wounds are almost unnoticeable—a few lacerations along his back and side, one cut on his back paw. I never would have seen them if Quint hadn’t pointed them out. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Oh yeah, he’ll be out in the yard in no time, and then back out to sea.”
We finally move away from the newest patient. We have the second shift today, and the time it took to prepare the feedings went a lot faster than before. Quint and I spend a little more than an hour cleaning the kitchen and doing dishes, then sorting the newest delivery of fish for tomorrow’s meal prep.
“So what’s Jude up to while you’re here slaving away?” Quint asks as I dry a collection of bottles and arrange them in one of the cabinets.
“He’s working at the record store this summer.”
Quint looks at me, surprised. “Ventures?”
“Yep.”
“Really? Seems a little … hipstery. For Jude.”
I laugh, in part because the idea of my parents’ store being “hipstery” strikes me as faintly hilarious. “Oh yeah, Jude doesn’t fit in there at all. But our parents own the store. You didn’t know that?”
He looks at me, surprised. “No. That’s cool. It’s been years since I’ve gone in.”
“You and ninety-eight percent of the town’s population.” I sigh, thinking about my dad’s die-hard optimism, his certainty that business will start to pick up now that