Free The Edge of the Light by Elizabeth George Page A

doesn’t mean—”
    â€œWeed whacks me out. I can’t even read when I do it.”
    â€œWell, that’s not the case for me, okay? And since I don’t do it in front of you, you need to ease off if you just show up, without telling me you’re coming, and I’m stoned.”
    He said, “Yeah. Okay, okay,” but the truth was that she reeked of weed. It was like she’d taken a bath in it. He said, “You been doping all day?”
    â€œSeth,
you
came
here
. I didn’t invite you. I smoke with the guys and it’s no big deal.”
    â€œWhat’s that mean anyway? ‘With the guys.’ And why don’t you want me to meet them?”
    Prynne set down her latte. She observed him with her good eye. She said, “Is that what we’re going to talk about? ’Cause if it is, I’m out of here. I love you, and I don’t want to fight with you.”
    She was right. Going in that direction was stupid, and it wasn’t why he’d come. He said, “Sorry. I’m blowing it.” He went on to tell her the plan.
    He had a proposition for her, he said. It had to do with the care of his grandfather. Grand was coming home, no doubt of that. There would be home health care aides to help him out. But his family wanted someone to be there to make sure they treated Grand right because sometimes when someone was old and vulnerable and not able to talk right . . . Prynne got that, huh?
    â€œSure,” Prynne said, although she cocked her head and Seth could tell she was wondering where this was leading.
    Becca was there to make sure everything was okay from her after-school hours until the next morning, Seth told her. He himself could be there to make sure everything was okay on weekends. But on weekdays . . . from seven in the morning till Becca returned after school, someone else had to be there. Seth hoped it would be Prynne.
    She said, “You mean to go back and forth from here to Whidbey every day? I can’t afford that, Seth. I don’t have money for the gas, not to mention for the ferry.”
    â€œThat’s not what I’m thinking,” he told her.
    â€œThen what? You planning to pick me up every day and cart me to your grandfather’s place and then bring me back? How’re you going to do that and still work?”
    Seth pointed out to her that she didn’t have a regular job and that she currently relied on her gigs with the fiddle to make money. He said to her, “What if we paid you? It would only be minimum wage, but you wouldn’t have expenses because you could stay right on Whidbey at my parents’ place.”
    â€œWhere? On that sleeping porch?”
    â€œIn my bedroom. We’ll share it. You’d get room and board and minimum wage and all you have to do is keep an eye on how things’re going with Grand during the day. You’d just watch out for him. Sort of make sure the home care person’s doing the job. You could take him to PT, too, and help him practice whatever they tell him that he’s s’posed to practice. You could make him lunch if the aide’s doing something else, but that’s it. Really, Prynne, it’s no big deal.”
    â€œUh . . . how am I supposed to get him to PT, Seth? On the back of the Vespa?”
    â€œYou can use his truck.”
    â€œAnd how am I supposed to get him inside the truck?”
    Seth considered this. To this problem, there was a simple solution. “We’ll trade. You take Sammy—”
    Prynne smiled. “Wait! You’ll let me drive your V-dub? Your perfectly restored, pristine, polished, always washed 1965 V-dub?”
    He smiled back. “Hard to resist, huh? Yeah, you can drive Sammy and I’ll take Grand’s truck.”
    She cocked her head. “Do your parents know about all this? Me moving into their house, showing up for meals, sharing a bedroom with you? How are