as susceptible to a pretty woman as the rest of us. Isn't that right, son?"
"It’s fine by me if she comes to dinner with us," Gray said. She noticed he'd deftly sidestepped his father's question.
"That's settled then." Bergie held out an arm to Cara. "C'mon, Cara. Take me away from my desk before I eat that candy bar I have tucked away in the upper drawer."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bergie’s stomach grumbled as he followed the ponytailed, fair-haired waitress through the restaurant to a table on a wooden patio that hugged the intracoastal waterway.
He settled heavily into one of the high-backed wooden chairs, his spirits buoyed by the feel of the salt-flavored wind rustling his hair and the sight of his son holding out a chair for the pretty young stranger.
He hadn’t been joking about the grandchildren. He didn’t have much living left, not when the short walk from the parking lot to the restaurant winded him. Besides, he was already seventy-three, way past the age when most men had the satisfaction of seeing their genes passed down to the next generation.
He’d about given up on Gray succumbing to the charms of any of the women in Secret Sound. However, he could tell his son was interested in this Cara Donnelly. Gray shut up tighter than a clamshell when something was bothering him. For the sake of his continued lineage, Bergie hoped that something was Cara.
"Of all the restaurants in Secret Sound, this one is my favorite," Bergie said when they were all seated.
Bergie enjoyed the appreciation that came into Cara’s eyes as she surveyed her surroundings. A wooden railing surrounded a deck with plank-covered floorboards that supported heavy oak tables. In an adjacent marina, the masts of docked sailboats pointed toward the night sky like giant, white toothpicks.
"It’s very pretty," Cara remarked. Whatever else she might have said was cut off by Gray’s snort of laughter.
"Don’t let Dad fool you. He doesn’t like it here because it’s pretty. He likes it because they give you the biggest portions on the coast."
"Nothing worse than going away from the dinner table hungry," Bergie said, laughing. A waitress approached their table. She’d served him countless times before, but the hell of it was he couldn’t remember her name. "Isn’t that right, darlin’?”
“Absolutely,” the waitress said.
“I need something to fortify me before dinner so bring us an order of clam strips and whatever's on tap,” Bergie said. “Hell, bring us a round."
"Just water for me," Cara interrupted.
Bergie wondered if she were one of those health nuts who steered away from all things tasty. Damn if he could do it.
"Make mine a light beer. I’m watching my weight." He said the last as an afterthought, although it would have been more accurate to say he was watching his weight go up. He knew he should be more diligent, but he just couldn’t make himself care enough to stick to a diet.
If it hadn’t been for Gray, he wouldn’t have cared much if he lived or died for going on thirty years.
"I want you to know how much I admire the column you write, Mr. DeBerg." Cara folded her hands in front of her on the table and smiled at him. "It must give you a wonderful feeling of satisfaction to be able to help people like you do."
"Bergie, the name's Bergie. And I don’t do anything more than present facts and let other people do the helping."
"I don’t know about that, Dad," Gray said. "You have a way of phrasing things that really moves people.”
Bergie waved a hand, trying to shrug off the praise, but Cara heaped on some more. "He’s right. You wrote a column about a month ago that was particularly touching. About a teenage girl with leukemia who couldn’t find a bone marrow match.”
"Five or six people from around the country held bone marrow drives for her. Right, Dad?"
Bergie nodded. "All those people concerned about that girl, they’re the ones who deserve to be praised. It gives you reason to believe in the
"It’s fine by me if she comes to dinner with us," Gray said. She noticed he'd deftly sidestepped his father's question.
"That's settled then." Bergie held out an arm to Cara. "C'mon, Cara. Take me away from my desk before I eat that candy bar I have tucked away in the upper drawer."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bergie’s stomach grumbled as he followed the ponytailed, fair-haired waitress through the restaurant to a table on a wooden patio that hugged the intracoastal waterway.
He settled heavily into one of the high-backed wooden chairs, his spirits buoyed by the feel of the salt-flavored wind rustling his hair and the sight of his son holding out a chair for the pretty young stranger.
He hadn’t been joking about the grandchildren. He didn’t have much living left, not when the short walk from the parking lot to the restaurant winded him. Besides, he was already seventy-three, way past the age when most men had the satisfaction of seeing their genes passed down to the next generation.
He’d about given up on Gray succumbing to the charms of any of the women in Secret Sound. However, he could tell his son was interested in this Cara Donnelly. Gray shut up tighter than a clamshell when something was bothering him. For the sake of his continued lineage, Bergie hoped that something was Cara.
"Of all the restaurants in Secret Sound, this one is my favorite," Bergie said when they were all seated.
Bergie enjoyed the appreciation that came into Cara’s eyes as she surveyed her surroundings. A wooden railing surrounded a deck with plank-covered floorboards that supported heavy oak tables. In an adjacent marina, the masts of docked sailboats pointed toward the night sky like giant, white toothpicks.
"It’s very pretty," Cara remarked. Whatever else she might have said was cut off by Gray’s snort of laughter.
"Don’t let Dad fool you. He doesn’t like it here because it’s pretty. He likes it because they give you the biggest portions on the coast."
"Nothing worse than going away from the dinner table hungry," Bergie said, laughing. A waitress approached their table. She’d served him countless times before, but the hell of it was he couldn’t remember her name. "Isn’t that right, darlin’?”
“Absolutely,” the waitress said.
“I need something to fortify me before dinner so bring us an order of clam strips and whatever's on tap,” Bergie said. “Hell, bring us a round."
"Just water for me," Cara interrupted.
Bergie wondered if she were one of those health nuts who steered away from all things tasty. Damn if he could do it.
"Make mine a light beer. I’m watching my weight." He said the last as an afterthought, although it would have been more accurate to say he was watching his weight go up. He knew he should be more diligent, but he just couldn’t make himself care enough to stick to a diet.
If it hadn’t been for Gray, he wouldn’t have cared much if he lived or died for going on thirty years.
"I want you to know how much I admire the column you write, Mr. DeBerg." Cara folded her hands in front of her on the table and smiled at him. "It must give you a wonderful feeling of satisfaction to be able to help people like you do."
"Bergie, the name's Bergie. And I don’t do anything more than present facts and let other people do the helping."
"I don’t know about that, Dad," Gray said. "You have a way of phrasing things that really moves people.”
Bergie waved a hand, trying to shrug off the praise, but Cara heaped on some more. "He’s right. You wrote a column about a month ago that was particularly touching. About a teenage girl with leukemia who couldn’t find a bone marrow match.”
"Five or six people from around the country held bone marrow drives for her. Right, Dad?"
Bergie nodded. "All those people concerned about that girl, they’re the ones who deserve to be praised. It gives you reason to believe in the
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