No one came around to see Mr. McDaniel anymore. Even the nephew he raised as his own was absent. Her patient made excuses for the missing boy, telling her he was in the service, far away. Maybe that was true but she doubted it. No reason he couldn’t call or write. He did neither.
For their last ride in the boat, she duct-taped a sand chair to the board seat to give the man the ability to sit up. She used an entire roll of tape to secure it. Cancer had taken the once robust seaman down to barely a hundred pounds. As a hardy female, as Mr. McDaniel referred to her, she had no problem lifting him into the boat. His wheelchair restraints kept him secure in his improvised seat as she rowed.
Old Roy, as she sometimes called him, felt more like family. Apparently, he felt the same way. She looked up at the man standing on the dock behind her, decked out in wingtips and a dark suit. “Are you sure he wanted me to have the house and the rowboat?”
The man consulted his paper while she backhanded a tear away. “It says here the house and the boat are to be shared equally between you and his nephew, Levi.”