Page 71 of Thin Ice

"Why do you even want to work, son? Your family's got that place on the Point. Christmas lights on it like an airport."

Alex was quiet for a second. I watched his jaw work. And then he said it.

"My dad kicked me out. Before Christmas. I don't have anything right now. No money. Nothing. I'm staying with Liam and his mom."

Jerry's face changed, and he nodded.

He stood up and went to the shelf at the far corner of the room and pulled out a pair of coveralls and threw them to Alex. "Eighty a day. You break it, you fix it. You fix it wrong, Liam fixes it."

"Thank you, Jerry."

"Don't thank me. Show up on time and do the work." He paused. "And for the record, you worked pretty good for summer rich."

We suited up. Alex in coveralls that were too short in the legs. Me in the ones with my name on them. We looked at each other in the cold light of the shop, and he gave me the grin, and for a second we were back at the start of it, except this time we both knew what we were.

We worked all afternoon. Side by side in the lot, twenty feet apart, tools going, the radio through the shop window. He took the battery shelving. I took a wrap patch on the pontoon. The rhythm of it was right in a way I hadn't expected. Two people doing a job in the cold. Not needing to talk about it.

At noon, we sat at a work bench and ate the sandwiches. His was already soggy. Mine was perfect.

"Told you," I said.

"It still tastes the same."

"It does not taste the same. Texture matters."

"You're a sandwich snob."

"I'm a sandwich realist." I knocked my boot against his. "How's the battery shelving?"

"Disgusting. There's corrosion on everything."

"That's the job."

"I know that's the job." He took another bite. Chewed. Looked out at the rows of wrapped boats. "This is the first useful thing I've done in a month."

I didn't say anything. Just ate my sandwich and let him have that.

At four o'clock the light was fading. We sat in the shop with the space heater between us, warming our hands on coffee from the pot that had never been cleaned.

"Can I ask you something?" I said.

"Go."

"Your cousin, James."

Alex set his cup down.

"He went through the same thing, right? Your family cut him off."

"Six years ago."

"Have you ever talked to him? Since it happened?"

"No." He looked at the floor. "Nobody has."

"But you're cut off now too."

"I know."