During breakfast, Devlin sat at the table, staring at the oatmeal in his bowl and stirring it over and over with his spoon, without tasting it. His preoccupation had not gone unnoticed. When Kyra had left the table and was busy clearing up, his father spoke to him.
“Devlin?” Arik asked, but it wasn’t until he addressed him again in a louder voice that Devlin even heard him. He started a little, broken out of his brooding, and looked at his father.
Arik’s sharp eyes studied him. Devlin had explained the loss of his tackle and his damp clothes, but he could tell that his father knew there was more to it.
Arik touched his shoulder. “You all right? We can cope without fish for one day, you know.”
His father assumed he was upset over the loss of his fishing gear. Perhaps he should leave him
