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eyes.
    Laurie gripped the warm platter of hotcakes with a towel and set it down in front of him, adding the pile of bacon to the side of the plate. She pulled a lump of butter from the icebox and placed it on the table next to the molasses and applesauce. Stopping for a moment to lean on the back of one of the chairs, she studied her father’s face. Lines crossed his brow and circles darkened his eyes. His late night couldn’t have helped his outlook at work.
    “Your brother was late, again.” He scooped up a spoonful of applesauce and slathered it on his stack of pancakes.
    Laurie fetched the cinnamon from the spice rack, placing it at her father’s elbow before he thought to ask for it. Her shoulders tensed at the mention of Johnny. Did Dad know what her brother was doing?
    Dad’s fingers closed around the bottle and he slid the cap off, adding a dusting to his applesauce. He set the bottle down without bothering to replace the cover. “He’d better be more careful. The big man don’t take kindly to the boys turning up late and hung over.” The edges of his eyelids were rimmed with red from his own late-night pursuits.
    Her stomach leapt. “Johnny was hung over?” She dropped into the nearest chair. Even at the worst of times, Johnny rarely drank. She’d assumed he’d gotten into rumrunning for the money, not the booze.
    “Most of the boys were, anyway. Don’t rightly know about him.” Her father ran a big hand through his thinning hair. “But he was late.”
    Laurie leaned back, releasing the breath she held trapped in her chest. She didn’t need another drunk in her life. As long as Johnny still had some good sense in his head, maybe she could talk him out of this rumrunning business.
    “That a new picture?” Dad nodded at her stack of drawings as he shoved a forkful of pancake into his mouth. “Let me see.”
    She picked up the drawing and held it out.
    A flash of recognition crossed his face. “Crescent Beach, ain’t it? We used to go out there for picnics, back . . . ” His voice faded and his eyes clouded.
    Laurie slid the drawing back into the notebook and closed the cover. Back when Mama was alive.
    She stood and walked to the stove, her eyes glazing as she stared at the grease-filled frying pan waiting to be washed. The odor of scorched bacon fat filled the air.
    The squeak of the chair legs sliding across the kitchen floor sounded behind her. Father’s voice cracked. “We should go out there again . . . sometime.” He walked from the room, leaving her in silence.
    Laurie turned and faced the dishes, still half-filled with pancakes and applesauce.
    It was going to be a long night.

    Daniel sorted through stacks of boxes in the cluttered storeroom while his grandfather locked up. Daniel picked up one miniature glass bottle, the label so faded he couldn’t even read it. Blowing gently, he sent a puff of dust into the air. He placed it back on the shelf, making a note to talk to Granddad about some of the junk back here.
    He still hadn’t broached the topic of dispensing alcohol. Daniel ran his hand through his dark hair, his throat tightening.
    He closed his eyes, remembering Laurie Burke’s pursed cherry-red lips as he handed her that bag—as if she’d rather touch a dead snake. That woman was a puzzle with a few pieces missing. Her words echoed in his ear. Does your grandfather know what you are? Daniel shook his head. There’s no way she could know about the life he’d left behind.
    He gazed at the gleaming line of bottles along the bottom shelf. His stomach churned. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to be alone back here.
    The sound of shuffling footsteps raised Daniel out of his thoughts. His grandfather swayed unsteadily under the crate of glasses.
    “Here, let me get that.” Daniel rushed over to rescue the crate.
    “Thank you. Those get heavier every day.” Granddad released his hold on the box, letting it sink into Daniel’s waiting arms. He squeezed his fingers into a