“You could give me a lot of gifts,” he suggested. “I’d be much more gracious.”

They got back to their comfort zone, joking, laughing together, though Iris knew nothing would change his feelings. At least not right away.

They ordered crab cakes and while Iris really wanted to know what was happening with Seth, she didn’t say so.

It was at least half an hour before Seth came back into the restaurant, holding a cloth-encased ice cube to his lower lip. The patrons clapped for him and he gave them a slight nod but went straight to Iris and Troy’s table. A fresh beer was delivered and his old, warm and now stale beer removed.

“Let me see it,” Iris said. He lowered the ice cube. “Ew. Ouch,” she said.

“I’ve been slugged more since I came back to Thunder Point than in the past five years. In fact, I’ve been slugged more when I’m with you than at any other time.”

“Really, I had nothing to do with the bar brawl,” she said in her own defense. “You might need a stitch or two there.”

“Seriously,” Troy said. “You should go to an E.R. or something.”

“It’ll be fine,” he said, taking a drink from his cold beer. He winced.

“In fact, you might want a plastic surgeon to look at that,” Iris suggested.

“Why?”

“It could leave a miserable scar,” she said.

He put down his beer and stared at her. “Iris, I have a three-inch scar on my cheek. What difference is it going to make?”

“Well, that scar really doesn’t look too bad, you know. It’s kind of, I don’t know, manly or something.”

He raised one eyebrow at her.

“I think it’s ugly. You should get someone to look at it,” Troy said. “It could put off women.”

“Nonsense,” Iris disagreed. “But, like with tattoos, you can go too far.”

“Don’t you like tattoos?” Seth asked.

“Oh, the right tattoo in the right place works for me,” she said. “But when a person starts to look like a comic book, it’s a little too much. Don’t you think?”

He smiled but only slightly. “I have no real opinion about tattoos, unless they’re prison tats. It comes in handy to know one when you see one.”

“How long have you been a police officer?” Troy asked.

“Seven years.”

“I thought it was longer,” Iris said.

He shook his head. “I tested every time they opened testing for new hires, which wasn’t that often. I wasn’t hired the first three times.”

“Did you have trouble with the testing?” she asked.

“No, I did all right. But despite doing all right, I have a slight disability. One leg is a little shorter than the other and sometimes I limp even with a lift in my shoe. I can stiffen up, but not badly. It doesn’t hold me back. Even though I passed the written and physical tests, they didn’t hire me. I think they finally took me on just to get rid of me. I was like a bad penny. I just wouldn’t quit.”

“Is that a fact?” Troy said, earning a glare from Iris.

“Was it hard? The testing?” she asked.

“Very hard. I studied and trained. For four years. After getting my degree.”

“Did you always want to be a cop?”

“No,” he said. “I always wanted to be a football player. After that was no longer possible I got very interested in police work. But it took a lot to convince them I wouldn’t be a handicap. Hell, there are fat guys in the department that I could catch standing still.”

It was very hard to imagine that his father didn’t admire that. But right now she was looking at his lip, which had split open again. “Um,” she said, pointing. He dabbed. “I think we should at least call Scott Grant, ask him to have a look. Maybe put a butterfly bandage on it.”

“We?” he said.

“Well, since we’re all having dinner together...”

“He can take care of his own lip, Iris,” Troy said irritably.

“I’m an expert with butterflies. Besides, I want food,” Seth said.

“Well, I can recommend the crab cakes, but they’re a little spicy,” Troy said. “You might want to go with something bland. Maybe pureed foods.” He touched his lower lip for emphasis. “Clam chowder is pretty easy to eat.”

“Are you being nice to me because I got slugged?”

Troy shook his head. “I was just being thoughtful. I get that way when people bleed in front of me.”

Seth dabbed his lip again. “If you’d rather I just leave, I understand,” he said.

“Oh, by all means, eat. If that’s what you want to do,” Troy said.

Seth stubbornly ordered a bowl of clam chowder and crab cakes. But it wasn’t easy. The hot chowder made him wince and when he took a bite of bread, he left blood on it. “Fuck,” he said, looking at the red-stained piece of bread he put back on the plate.

“You’re bleeding on the bread, man,” Troy said, barely hiding the pleasure in his voice.

“Yeah, that must hurt,” Iris said. She got out her cell phone and dialed Scott.

“What are you doing?” Seth and Troy both asked.

“I’m going to help you, Seth. Because you can’t help yourself.” Then she spoke into the phone. “Scott? Can you hear me? Where are you?” There was a lot of crowd noise in the background.

“I’m in Bandon with the team,” he yelled into the phone.

“I didn’t know you went with them to away games,” she said.

“Is this better?” Scott asked. “I put my jacket over my head.”

“Much better. But I guess you’re unavailable.”

“Peyton’s in Thunder Point,” he said, speaking of his physician’s assistant. “She’s babysitting my kids, but that’s okay. They’re portable. What’s up?”

“Well, I’m out to dinner with Seth and he had to break up a fight at Cliff’s and got a split lip.”

“Can you keep your voice down? Please?” Seth asked.

“Oh, sure,” she said. “So, I think it might need a stitch or two. It won’t stop bleeding. Not exactly hemorrhaging, but it’s kind of a big cut. He’s...uh...bleeding on his dinner.”