Todd's float only lasted a moment, then he bent and jerked up, shivering. Morgan caught him, treading for them both. "Now, listen.

You can let the wave work for you, push you all the way in. But you have to swim strongly enough at the start or it leaves you behind. Do you know the front stroke?"

"Which one is that?"

"Front crawl." Morgan demonstrated with his free arm.

"Kinda." Todd looked away.

"We'll work our way toward the beach, then when we're in a good place, we'll catch a wave and swim hard. It'll carry you. Just stay on your belly until you hit bottom or start getting sucked back. Then get up and pull through to the shore."

"I'm dead." Todd nodded.

"I'll be right by you. Ready?"

Todd rolled his eyes. Morgan held his elbow as they moved, then kept him steady when they'd reached a good spot. "Wait till I say." He watched a good-sized wave rise, but it peaked right where they were. "A little closer." They moved with the flow, and the next rose even higher. "Now!" Morgan thrust Todd forward and dove himself, feeling the rush, then at last the grate of sand against his knee.

He stood up against the tug and saw Todd halfway back battling the water and losing. Morgan splashed back and pulled him out. Sand coated his feet and ankles as they reached the towels. Morgan lifted and shook one as Todd did the same. Rubbing the sun-warmed towel over his face, he realized his headache was gone. He'd been too focused on keeping Todd alive to worry how he felt. Todd had wrapped the towel around himself and stood shivering, probably as much from fear as cold.

"I think we're experiencing a lack of communication." Morgan wiped the towel briskly over his own chest and arms and back.

"You said surf. You never said swim." Todd swiped a drip from his face with an edge of the towel still wrapped about him.

"What did you think you were going to do if you got knocked off a board?" He used his towel on Todd's head, causing a surprised look.

Todd didn't answer but reluctantly rubbed himself dry.

"You did fine out there once you let loose and gave it a try. But I think we should do some stroke training in the pool before we tackle the waves again."

Todd wrapped the towel back around his shoulders with his typical slump. "Yeah. I might drown or something."

"That wouldn't go over well with Stan." Morgan elbowed him.

"You wouldn't care."

"Oh, really."

"You'd just get drunk and forget all about me."

Morgan folded his towel. "This must be roast Morgan morning. I hadn't realized." He studied the kid. "Last night you thought I was the ax murderer."

"No I didn't."

"What, then?"

Todd picked up a rock and threw it at a gull, which fluttered up, then settled back down.

"Your dad?"

"You smelled like him. Sounded like him, too, falling up the stairs talking stupid."

Morgan formed a keen memory of his Shakespearean eloquence.

"Well, I had too much. That doesn't mean-"

"Just shut up."

Morgan closed his mouth and studied the boy. Every angle was sharp, shoulder hunched between them, no eye contact. "So when he got drunk, he hit you?"

"I said, shut up."

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, I'm the adult."

Todd yanked the towel off and threw it down. "In case you haven't noticed, you're a jerk and a drunk and I hate you." He kicked the sand.

Morgan sputtered as the sand struck his face, and Todd ran toward the path up to the house. Morgan rubbed the sand from his eyes and grabbed their towels. And he'd asked for this?

He plodded up the path, recalling the previous night. Falling up the stairs and talking stupid. Not a bad description. But no way had he intended any harm to Todd. The kid was projecting. He reached the house, addressed the concerns Denise caught him with inside the door, then headed up.

Maybe bringing Todd was a mistake. He'd thought it would be fun for both of them. So far he felt like scum and Todd was not happy. He found the kid pulling the leaves off the potted fig beside his bedroom window. He stopped just inside the door in a nonthreatening posture. "You want to leave?"

"You want me to." Todd kept staring out the window.

"If you have concerns, you ought to address them directly."

Todd jerked a whole branch of leaves. "I'm just a kid."

"Well, you are a kid. That doesn't mean what you have to say isn't valid."

"Why can't you ..." He crushed the bunch of leaves in his fist.

"Why can't I what?"

Todd spun. "Be like you are all the time."

Morgan tried to decipher what he meant. "You mean, be like this?"

The kid was shaking, his breaths making shallow jerks in his bare chest. The wet trunks clung to one leg.

"Do you really think I'm going to hurt you, Todd?"

"Not now."

Not sober. Morgan sat down in the chair beside the door. "There's a guest robe in your closet."

Todd walked over and pulled on the blue-and-white-striped terry robe. Its midcalf length reached the floor on Todd and he swam in the sleeves, but at least his teeth would stop chattering. What did he know about troubled kids? Only that Todd wanted something from him, and he'd started it in the first place. He'd never had to approach Todd on that porch, not been forced to take him hiking or to the movies or exploring. He had wanted to do it, seen the need and responded.

Todd slid down the wall and sat beside the window. His face was wary.

"You don't want me to drink, is that it?"

"Like that would happen."

Morgan drew and released a slow breath. It was like reasoning with a recalcitrant pup. "Not everyone who drinks gets mean."

Todd rolled his eyes to the side and found a leaf on the floor. He tore the tip off, then piece after tiny piece.

"Is that why you won't talk to your dad?"

Todd swore.

This was going nowhere. Morgan rubbed his face. "You seem to think I'm like him."

"You are. You're a stinkin' drunk."

Anger flared. Morgan gripped the arms of his chair. "And you're a foulmouthed, self-centered kid." He stood up. "Why am I wasting my time with you?" He went to his room, showered the ocean salt from his skin and hair, dressed, and went down to the office to work. Todd could take a hike for all he cared. He skipped lunch and methodically addressed all the professional issues he'd intended to put off until the next week. Denise was as perplexed as she was pleased.

Consuela demonstrated neither pleasure nor acceptance and made regular trips to the office that she usually avoided. "Your guest is watching the movies." "The boy is sitting in your car." "Todd is throwing oranges at the house." "He's going to the beach."

Morgan looked up at that one. "Alone?"

Consuela spread her hands. "Who would be going with him?"

Sighing, Morgan left his desk and went out the lower door. He didn't see Todd in the yard and stalked toward the path. From the top he saw him walking along the shore with a stick. He hurried down, then sauntered after Todd until his longer stride caught up. Todd topped and poked the translucent remains of a sand crab.

Morgan said, "I'm sorry."

Todd flicked the crab into the speckled foam and watched it wash away, then lodge again in the sand.

"Come on. You gotta give me somethin', Todd."

Todd threw the stick into the shallow breakers. "Why don't you send me back?"

"I will if that's what you want."

"It's what you want."

Morgan fought his frustration. Was this what he'd missed all these years? No-win conversations with someone who thought him alternately God and the devil? Some roller coaster of emotions too illogical to define? "Could we get on the same page?" He stepped around to Todd's front. "You're putting stuff on me that doesn't belong. I drink alcohol because I like it. I'm not answerable to you for that choice. I already agreed I had too much last-"

"Every night."

"How would you know?"

Todd looked at him then. "Because I do. I know what it looks like. I know what it sounds like."

Another person putting their experience on him. Twice now he'd admitted to Todd that he'd overindulged. Two times, the kid knew of. With that he'd labeled him a stinkin' drunk? And he hadn't even been drunk when Denise did her suspecting. He'd been sick, plain and simple. He rubbed a hand through his hair.

"You don't see it." Todd bit his lip, such a vulnerable, little-boy thing it hurt Morgan's heart.

"What don't I see?"

"How it changes you."

Why did that hurt? Morgan swallowed, spread his hands. "So I won't drink while you're here." It wasn't agreeing with him anyway. A week off might be just the ticket to get his system back on track.

Todd shook his head and started walking. Morgan clenched his teeth, fighting the irritation. Why was he trying to please some punk who wouldn't meet him halfway? It wasn't even his own kid. He'd never seen his own, never been allowed to. Todd sure couldn't fill that slot. "Maybe I should send you back," he called after him.

"You'd rather drink anyway."

"You know something? You're right." Morgan turned his back and stalked up to the house. He'd call Stan and tell him it wasn't working.

Good luck and good riddance. Since he couldn't leave Todd at the shore by himself, he sent Consuela down to keep watch. He might just go to town, but when he went around the front of the house, his neighbor Dana raised a hand in greeting and crossed the street with her young teenage son.

Morgan returned her greeting and added, "Hey, Matt." Her son was the likeable sort. But then, his life was pretty good. "What's up?"

"Go ahead, Matt." Dana nudged him.

The boy raised his blond, freckled head. "I have to interview someone for a youth group assignment."

"Someone he finds interesting and knows personally," Dana added.

Morgan kept eye contact with Matt. "What's the slant of the interview?"

Matt frowned. "I don't know. Just stuff about you, what you do, that sort of thing."

He wanted to interview a stinkin' drunk? "Okay."

"Go get your notebook, Matt." Dana turned after he hustled back across the street. "Thanks, Morgan. He was nervous about asking."

"No big deal. I'm glad to help." That's all he'd wanted to do with Todd.

They sat down on the front porch furniture amid the crimson geraniums emitting their not-so-fragrant perfume. Morgan answered the basic questions, then elaborated, even leading Matt to questions he hadn't prepared. He might not understand slant, but he'd get a more interesting biography with some direction, some angle, not just rote facts.

At last Matt smiled and said thanks. Morgan got an idea. "Hey, Matt. I've got a kid here about your age. Would you like to watch a movie tonight, keep him company?"

"On your big screen?"

"Yeah."

"Cool." Matt turned to his mother. "Can I?"

"If you have your biography written." She turned to Morgan. "A relative?"

How much should he tell? "No, he's a friend. Met him at my brother's ranch. Actually ..." The truth seemed right. "He's a foster kid. We hit it off a month ago, and I invited him out here." Morgan watched Dana's face for the protective-mother look he expected to precede the backtracking.

But her smile was gentle. "That's nice, Morgan. Boys need men to stand for them."

"Well." He ran his hand through his hair, knowing what Todd would say to that. "He's not keen on me just now."