She took a small bite of ice cream and looked out across the park toward the empty lot where Mark used to park his late-model sedan.

“Dad is not coming to take me to Oakridge, is he?” she asked softly.

“No,” I said.

“He’s staying in his house on Elm Street, and you’re living with us.”

“He can keep the big blue boat,” she said, stirring the strawberry syrup into the cream.

“The court sold the boat yesterday to pay the dock fees,” I said.

“He doesn’t own Slip 14 anymore.”

Carl Gable had given Mark the choice in court the day before.