It was increasingly hard to find a crew to work the water, and Bisky worried about her family business. Worried about a lot of things.
At the outdoor sink, she and Sunny washed their hands, and then they both pulled their hair out of ponytails and shook them out. Bisky ran a hand over Sunny’s brunette hair, removing a piece of oyster shell. “Don’t worry. I won’t ask Tanner if it embarrasses you. But if you think of anybody else who needs a job, send ’em my way.”
If she could help out a needy teen in the process of hiring, she would. The community of Pleasant Shores had taken care of her and helped her out since she was a kid, and she tried to pay it forward.
“I’d know you as mother and daughter if I’d never met the pair of you before.” The voice behind them came from Mary Rhoades, the energetic seventy-year-old philanthropist and bookstore owner who was one of Bisky’s closest friends. She approached with her dog, Coco, a young chocolate-colored goldendoodle who was as tall as Mary’s waist, but lanky. Coco let out a bark but remained at Mary’s side. Clearly, her training was coming along.
“Hey, Mary.” Sunny turned and smiled at the older woman. “No, don’t hug me. I need a shower. And Mom needs one, too,” she added, wrinkling her nose at Bisky. Then she knelt down to pet Coco. The big dog promptly rolled onto her back, offering her belly for Sunny to rub.
Bisky pulled a plastic lawn chair forward for Mary and then flopped back down on the bench. “Have a seat. I’m too tired to talk standing up.”
“I will, just for a few minutes,” Mary said. “I’m supposed to meet the new Victory Cottage resident this morning. Hoping he’ll take on the therapy dog program. If not, I’ll have to advertise for someone.” Mary was one of Pleasant Shore’s major benefactors and had started many useful programs in town, including her latest, a respite cottage for victims of violent crimes and their families. Victory Cottage was a place for them to heal, volunteer in the community and find new hope.
“Don’t advertise for someone,” Sunny said with more energy than she’d shown all day. “I can do it. I can start the therapy dog program.”
Mary patted her hand. “You’re good with dogs, for sure. Just look how Coco loves you. But I need an adult for this.”
“But—”
Mary cut off Sunny’s protest. “There are legal requirements and regulations. And anyway, you need to be a kid, not take on more work.”
“She’s never had the chance to be a kid,” Bisky said, sighing. “And it’s my fault.” Money had always been tight, and Bisky had the business to look after. Sunny had started early with cooking, cleaning, doing laundry and serving as Bisky’s assistant on the boat. No wonder she was strong and assertive, just like Bisky was.
“It’s not like you have people pounding down your door to work in Pleasant Shores,” Sunny argued now.
“I have connections, if the Victory Cottage resident doesn’t work out,” Mary said.
“When he doesn’t, and you can’t get an adult to take the job, you know where to find me,” Sunny said, just on the edge of disrespect. She gave Mary’s dog a final ear rub and then headed across the street and toward the house.
“Sorry she’s sassy,” Bisky said. “Getting up at the crack of dawn puts her in a mood.”
“Aaanddd the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Mary observed, watching Sunny depart. “She got her sassiness from you, and it’s a useful trait in a woman.”
“It can be. I’m glad she’s not afraid of her shadow like some kids.”
Mary nodded. “You’ve raised her well. No doubt she could start a therapy dog program. She could probably run the high school or Salty’s Seafood Company if she wanted to.”
“You’re right. She could.” Bisky watched Sunny walk toward the house, holding her phone to her ear as she jabbered with one of her friends, and a wave of motherly love nearly overwhelmed her. “Raising her is the best thing I ever did.”
“Of course it is.” Mary’s voice was a little pensive, and it made Bisky remember that Mary had had a daughter and lost her.
“So tell me about this new guy who’s coming to Victory Cottage,” Bisky said, trying to change the subject.
Mary ran a hand over Coco’s furry head, and the dog sat down, leaning against Mary. “He’s from here, actually. And like everyone who comes to the cottage, he has a sad story, but that’s his to tell.” She frowned. “I just hope that the support system we’ve put into place will work. He’s set up with counseling, and the cottage is a dream, but I’m still unsure about what volunteer gig he’ll be best suited for.” Volunteering was an integral part of the Victory Cottage program, just as it was in Mary’s other program, the Healing Heroes project.
At the dock beside them, an old skiff putted in, and eighty-year-old Rooker Smits gave a nod as he threw a rope to his five-year-old great-grandson, who’d been waiting to tie up the boat. Rooker waved to the boy’s mom, who was dressed in scrubs, obviously headed for work now that Rooker was back to help with childcare.
Like many watermen from these parts, Rooker wasn’t a talker, but he’d give the coat off his back to her or Sunny or any neighbor. Now he and his great-grandson tossed scraps from the oysters he’d culled into the bay. Gulls swooped and cawed around them, drawn by the remnants of a day’s fishing.
The smell of brackish water and fish mingled with that of the newly fertile March soil. Spring was coming, Bisky’s favorite season. Maybe she’d plant some flowers later today, if she could find the energy to
