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it, Coop,” he muttered, letting the cool water rush over his head and shoulders. “Can’t you stick to it for once?”
    When Liam had first come to live with his uncle, he’d slowly realized that he acted differently when he had a glass of “Ole No. 7”—as he liked to call it—in his hand. If he’d had a beer or two, he was fine, but if he was drinking the more potent amber whiskey, it was just a matter of time before his mood started to deteriorate. On nights like that, Liam had cleared their plates and watched as his uncle had buried his anguished face in his hands. It frightened Liam to see him acting so strangely and one time, he’d even hidden all the whiskey bottles he could find under his bed so that that Coop would stop drinking, but instead, his uncle had torn the house apart looking for them and then driven to the store—leaving his seven-year-old nephew home alone—to buy more.
    Liam hadn’t understood the effect alcohol had on people; he only vaguely remembered his parents drinking—they’d had a glass of wine with dinner, or his dad, a beer at a cookout, but they’d never acted the way Coop did. Coop started off with one drink, but never stopped there, and as Liam grew older, he realized drinking made his uncle remember the things he was trying to forget. It was a vicious cycle his mind played on him—he drank to forget the memories of war that drinking dredged to the surface.
    Liam turned off the water, toweled dry, pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and with his hair still damp, went downstairs. “Smells good,” he said, reaching for a bowl. He filled it, sprinkled shredded cheddar on top, plopped sour cream on top of that, poured a large glass of milk, and peered under a foil-covered baking pan that was on the counter. “You made cornbread?!”
    Coop smiled as Liam cut a huge hunk of the golden bread and sat down hungrily. “You’re the best, Coop!” he said, and he meant it. In spite of his uncle’s shortcomings, he knew his uncle loved him with all his heart . . . and that was all that mattered.
    â€œSoo . . . is it all right if I take tomorrow off?” Liam ventured, knowing Coop would say yes.
    Coop filled a second bowl, piled cheddar and sour cream on top of it, shoed Tom, their old tomcat, off his chair, set a frosty beer on the table, and sat down. “What the hell for?”
    â€œI’m taking the boat out.”
    â€œYou’re gonna let’er get wet?” Coop teased.
    Liam grinned, took a long drink, and with a milk moustache, answered, “Yup.”
    â€œMust be a special occasion,” Coop mused. “Who ya takin’?”
    â€œNobody.”
    â€œHa! You expectin’ me to believe yer takin’ yer baby out on her maiden voyage by yerself?”
    â€œIt’s not her maiden voyage. I took you out.”
    â€œYeah, all the way to the first buoy and back.”
    â€œWe went farther than that,” Liam protested.
    â€œIs it Christie?”
    Liam shook his head and realized he wasn’t going to get away without telling Coop who he was taking. “Cadie,” he said casually, dipping his cornbread in his chili.
    â€œKatie?” Cooper asked, looking puzzled as he tried to remember the girls in Liam’s class. “Katie Benson?”
    â€œNot Katie . . . Cadie . . . with a C . . . and a d. ”
    Cooper took a long swig of his beer and leaned back in his chair, still puzzled.
    â€œCadie Knox—she stopped by the boathouse with her father last week.”
    â€œYou mean the rich girl?” Coop sputtered.
    Liam nodded, bracing for a lecture. “She’s not what you think. She’s different.”
    Coop rolled his eyes. “Geez, Li, what’d I tell ya? Yer jus’ asking fer trouble.”
    â€œHow do you know that?” Liam asked defensively.
    â€œCuz even if she takes a shine to ya, her