The grass out front had already grown perceptibly. In another week it would need cutting again. Abigail wanted to be here to cut the grass. She wanted it more than she’d wanted anything in months.
Cars crammed the island’s narrow sandy roads. Families were packed into trucks and minivans, luggage strapped to the roofs. Everyone was en route to the ferry, the mass exodus building into a traffic jam.
“This is what it must be like on Labor Day weekend.”
Only this was different. This was an evacuation.
Soon Abigail’s car was at a standstill. She couldn’t see far enough ahead to discern why. She decided to cut around the line by taking a side street and quickly got lost.
“I have absolutely no clue where I am.”
She traversed several roads until she saw a landmark she did recognize; Merle’s house. His windows had boards on them, and the floral wreath had been removed from the front door.
“You’re supposed to be on the ferry.” Merle was standing on his dock as she rounded into his backyard.
“I got stuck in traffic. Then I got lost.”
“Those are two phrases not normally uttered on Chapel Isle,” he said, putting a cooler in his boat.
“Do you think it’s wise to go fishing in this weather?”
“What weather?”
“Look at the sky. It’s about to rain.”
“It’s not raining
“Me?”
“Why not? You missed the first ferry as it is. The line for the next is going to be as long as the Great Wall of China. Maybe longer.”
“When you put it that way, how could I resist?”
Merle climbed into the outboard with care. Given his size, the boat might have flipped if he got in too fast. With his injured ankle, he was taking it extra slow. As he helped Abigail in, she was already reconsidering.
“If this old tub will hold me, it’ll hold you, Abby. You can swim, though, right?”
“Very encouraging.”
The rain held off, thunderheads loitering in the sky. Merle headed into the bay with the boat riding low. The wake disappeared as fast as it rose.
“You ever been fishing before?”
“Once. My husband’s firm took its employees on a cruise to go snorkeling and deep-sea fishing. There was dinner and dancing afterward.”
“That’s not fishing. That’s yachting.”
The details of the company trip had remained sequestered in the recesses of Abigail’s mind until that very moment. She recalled being introduced to Paul’s coworkers and their spouses. There were hors d’oeuvres and chilled wine and soft music. She remembered being served grilled halibut and having sorbet for dessert. Paul was new to the firm at the time and was occupied making conversation as well as a good impression. He stole a second to come over and tell her how pretty she looked in her white cotton sundress, then kissed her on the cheek. For an instant, Abigail thought she could feel the kiss. It was only the wind on her face.
“Here we are.”
Merle slowed the motor when they entered a cove where groups of tall wooden poles jutted from the water.
“What are those?”
“Impoundments.”
Maneuvering between the poles, he released the line on one of them and hooked it to a peg on the side of the boat. Merle repeated the process until a net full of squirming fish floated to the surface.
“Let’s see what we got.”
After raking clumps of sea grass from the net with his fingers, he tossed aside the unwanted horseshoe crabs along with the punier fish. “Fortunately, I don’t have to measure like the commercial fishermen do. Any catch over thirteen inches is legal in the bay. Fourteen inches is legal in the ocean.”
He selected a meaty flounder, then dropped the net so the rest could escape.
“That’s a tremendous effort for one fish.”
“I’m an old man. Haven’t got much else to do. Say, I’m sorry about earlier.”
“Earlier?”
“When I mentioned fishing it seemed to, well, remind you of the past. I overheard Ruth telling you about my ex-wife and my boy. Wanted you to know it happens to me too. You’re going about your day and somebody says something that makes you think of them. Blindsides you.”
“Merle, I wasn’t prying. I—”
He waved away her concern. “Didn’t think you were. I just brought it up because I can commiserate.”
