“You’re right handy around the house,” I commented, spreading the dish towel to dry over the drainer.
“Never been too hung up about the difference between women’s work and men’s,” he said with an easy smile. “Not since I learned about oysters.”
“What about oysters?” I asked suspiciously.
“They flip-flop back and forth on their gender, depending on who’s on top. Grow the lady on top of the gentleman, and a few months later, he’ll be female, she’ll be male and they’ll still get baby oysters.”
“You’re making that up,” I told him.
“There’s a field guide to seashells in the living room,” he said. “If you don’t believe me, go check it out.”
I went and found the book and looked up oysters. After a paragraph or two detailing how oysters grow in the marshes and mud flats of intertidal zones where water movement is gentle, the entry finally got down to their sex life. Guess what?
“You sure you don’t want to stay on down over the weekend?” he asked.
“Positive. Not that it hasn’t been fun.”
He gave me a considering look.
“Forget it,” I told him. “We’re not oysters.”
I went to bed.
Alone.
• • •
Along about two A.M., I woke up thirsty from the anchovies and tiptoed out to the kitchen for a drink of water.
And realized that thirst wasn’t what had waked me.
Kidd Chapin was a dark shape at the back window and I saw him motion for silence through the faint reflected light from up at the store. Outside, a light rain was still falling. The wet live oaks swayed in a strong southwest wind and made moving shadows everywhere. I could hear low waves breaking upon the sand; and every fifteen seconds, a faint gleam from the lighthouse swept through the window over on the east side.
I stood on tiptoe to peer over Kidd’s shoulder, past the bushes, to the road, and whispered in his ear, “What are we looking at?”
“I’m not sure. I went to the bathroom about ten minutes ago and happened to look out and see somebody coming up from the water.”
“Fishermen use the path all times of the night and day,” I told him, “depending on what’s running and how the wind’s blowing or—”
“I know about the wind and spring tides, Ms. Judge,” he reminded me.
“Sorry.”
“Besides, he didn’t walk straight on up the path and down the road like a waterman. He kept so far in the shadows I never did get a clear look. In fact if it weren’t that you never see any blacks on the island, I couldn’t know if he was black or white. He slipped through those bushes and on across the road and now I don’t see him anymore.”
“What’d he have on?”
“I don’t know. It was all dark. Probably a jacket with a hood on it.”
“Maybe you ought to call Marvin Willitt,” I said.
“What for?”
“You just said—”
“Yeah, and I tell Marvin Willitt where I am and half of Harkers Island’ll know it by daybreak. And what if it’s somebody only just out cheating on his wife, trying not to be seen by
“‘Only just out cheating on his wife?’” I couldn’t help the snide acid.
“Hey, I’m not condoning it, just recognizing the facts, ma’am.”
He stepped back from the window as I opened the refrigerator and squinted against the sudden bright light. “You want a glass of tomato juice?”
“Okay.”
We took our glasses back toward the unlit living room. A stiff April wind was pouring through the south windows straight off the water, thick with rain and salt and funky seaside odors. I shivered in my thin gown.
“Aw, don’t go back to bed yet,” said Kidd. “Is it too cold for you? I’ll put the windows down.”
“No, I like it, but I have to put on something warmer.”
“My sleeping bag zips open to a double comforter,” he offered and I saw white teeth flash in the near darkness.
“I’d hate for you to disfurnish yourself,” I said dryly and went into my room to slip on a fleecy sweatshirt and slippers and to lay hands on a comforter of my own.
As I pulled the shirt over my head, I noticed through the window a flicker of light over at Andy’s house. I quickly stuffed my gown inside a pair of warm-up pants, kicked off the slippers and pulled on sneakers, then hurried out to Kidd.
