Morning had come before I felt like I’d slept at all, and by the time I got home, Kat was worked up about my not being there. She didn’t say it, but she climbed up me, wrapped her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck, tight as could be, just like she used to when she was a toddler. When I mentioned going out on the boat, a light came back to her eyes, and I’d let my breath out. It had been stuck somewhere in my chest since I’d walked in the door.
Hope was in Kat’s bed, her eyes closed. I’d pulled the shade down and covered her with the blanket. When I leaned down, pressed my lips to her forehead, and whispered that I was sorry, I felt her head move, a nod, and then her eyes were on me, asking me questions, even though she didn’t say a word. When I didn’t say anything, she turned away from me.
And then Kat was in the room, whispering, Bye, Mommy, and pulling me by the hand to hurry up and get moving.
Kat had asked if we could haul traps. She loved to throw the females back in, but it was the middle of June, and Maine law didn’t allow for hauling traps on Sundays between June and September. I told her this as I fastened her life vest before we left shore, and a scowl had settled on her face. She’d brightened when I said we could stop at the shop.
She asked if Uncle Boon would be there. I shrugged, not wanting to disappoint her again. Boon wasn’t her uncle, but we’d been buddies for as long as I could remember, so when he’d given himself the title, it stuck. I doubted we’d see him at the shop, though. Sunday was Boon’s fishing day.
I kept the skiff as shallow as I could to avoid the choppier swells with Kat sitting like she was. The shoreline of Alden followed along in a blur of balsam firs and rocky cliffs. The land curved inward farther up, and we followed the bend into Calm Cove, a large horseshoe-shaped inlet full of long piers and docks. White mooring balls bobbed on the surface, and I slowed the engine to a crawl as we passed the No Wake buoy.
Rows of wooden pilings held up the long wharf at the water’s edge. I slipped the skiff into the small space next to Hope Ann. Kat climbed out onto the pier and took the rope I threw her to tie us off. She’d mastered the figure eights but still needed help with making the last loop and securing it to the cleat.
The sun lit the aluminum ramp as we walked up the incline to the landing. A handful of people sat in white plastic chairs above us, drinking coffee from to-go cups. It wouldn’t be long before the Wharf Rat filled with the afternoon crowd and music blared from speakers disguised as rocks in the corners of the roped-off deck.
Kat skipped down the deck and stopped when she reached the splintered back door of the shop. She stuck her hand out for the keys, and I handed them over to her. She took the key ring, a jumble of silver and gold keys of various shapes and sizes, and flipped through them methodically before she lined one up with the keyhole and stuck it in. I leaned against the shingled wall, settling in while she searched for the right one.
The door opened on the first try, though. Boon stood before us with a smile on his face, as if he lived there and just happened to hear us at the door. His thick frame filled the doorway, his black hair slicked back. He was dressed in his usual gear: pressed khakis, boat shoes, a shirt with our logo on it. Boon got on my case for working too much, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. There was no off button when it came to Boon and work. He just did it in different clothes than I did. Behind a desk instead of inside a wheelhouse.
“Aw, come on Uncle Boon. Dad was letting me open it with the keys,” Kat said, her voice full of blame.
“Come on yourself, fancy pants,” he said, turning her by the shoulders. “Go back out, and I’ll shut the door. You can open and close it until the cows come home.” Kat scooted out while I called after her to knock if she got stuck.
There was a pot of coffee on in the kitchen. I poured a cup, took a sip, and felt the hot liquid light up my lungs.
The shop was closed on Sundays, and I wondered why Boon was here. I’d only stopped in because Kat wanted to sit on the edge of the thigh-high lobster tank and stick her hand in the shallow water to lift them out one by one.
I threw the half-filled cup in the trash and walked down the hall. Boon was still at the door, throwing the deadbolt each time Kat unlocked it. She shouted at him from the other side of the door through her laughing to stop. I leaned against the wall and watched until the noise from the two of them made my head throb.
“Boon. Let her in. You’re cranking her up.”
“That what uncles are for,” he said, without stopping, the click clack of the lock bouncing around in my head. A game of Ping-Pong in my temples.
“You’re not her uncle, and I’ve got a hell of a headache.” I reached around him and yanked the door open. He looked at me sideways while Kat fell in a heap at his feet.
After she settled down, I left her by the lobster tank and found Boon in the freezer checking the thermometer.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Got a call from the alarm company that the temperature in here had dropped, but I don’t see an issue. We might need to replace the sensor.” He glanced at me. “You look like shit. I heard it was a long night.”
I shrugged, ignored him.
“Hope sounds as tired as you look.”
“What’d she call you? Christ.”
The freezer door was open a crack, letting in the warmer air, but the chill wrapped around me. I’d been on the water by four in the morning all week and stayed out later too. Lately it seemed like it took me twice as long to get the job done. There was a pain in my back that came and went, and with it so did my breath. Now, with my head pounding, and my body aching, the frigid air made me feel weak.
Boon watched me with a blank look. “When you didn’t answer your cell this morning, I called the house. Hope answered.”
“So you know the whole story, then. We had a fight. I’m an asshole. Let’s drop it.”
He walked past me, leaned out the door, and yelled to Kat, asking if she was okay. When she yelled back that she was fine, he closed the freezer door until only a small sliver of light came through.
“You are an asshole,” he said, “but I didn’t need Hope to tell me that.” He said it lightheartedly, but it fell flat in the air between us. I’d heard his lines my whole life. Normally I’d throw him a chuckle, but today I had nothing left in my tank.
“You look like shit,” he said again. “When is the last time you ate? You haven’t been this size since high school.”
I was down to the last hole on my belt, cinched as tight as it would go to keep my pants from falling off.
“Yeah, well, you’ve got a beer gut big enough for both of us.”
“You know it’s all muscle,” he joked. I didn’t answer because I did know. Boon hit six feet in middle school and started shaving soon after. I caught up to him in height but not in size or strength. He may have looked bulky and slow, but under all that bulk was a guy who could still kick my ass with one hand tied behind his back.
“Why the hell are we in here?” I asked, and moved to push past him, but he put his hand on my chest to stop me.
“Wait.” He looked back at the door. “I don’t want her to hear me,” he added, like we weren’t in a steel icebox a room away with the door shut.