Little Jim looked disappointed, but Big Jim shrugged and went back to loading traps on to the stern.
I walked back toward the gangplank and waited until the Jims had their engine running before I took a quick turn and walked over to the coffee guy. He was coiling a rope, the muscles on either side of his neck straining when he made the last loop, tightening the circle.
“Morning,” I said.
He looked over at me, returned the greeting, and bent down, storing the rope in a crate that was neatly packed.
The deck was wet, freshly hosed. Nothing looked out of place. His boat was cleaner than my kitchen.
I waited until he stood to introduce myself and explain that I wanted to do a special-interest piece on the life of a lobsterman. He said something about an oxymoron, and I laughed—a silly, almost hysterical noise—because he was standing a foot away from me, his dark eyes staring at me so directly that I thought of retreating, tracing my steps back to the darting side-glances of Little Jim.
But he was looking at me, waiting for me to continue.
“I was going to go with them.” I pointed to the boat motoring out. “But they’re kind of, um . . .”
He followed my finger with his eyes and held up a hand when Big Jim waved to him. “Kind of what?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Rough, I guess.”
“They’re good guys.” I heard something in his voice, as though I’d overstepped.
“They said you weren’t any fun.”
“That so,” he said.
“Well, no. That’s not exactly true. What they said is that their grandmother who is dead is more fun.”
“Is?”
“Present tense. She is dead and is still more fun.”
“Ah.”
“Why is that?” I asked.
He took a sip of his coffee. “Maybe they’re necrophiliacs,” he offered.
“Good word,” I said, impressed.
“You know us rough lobstermen. When our knuckles aren’t dragging on the ground, occasionally, we read a book.” His tone was light, but he didn’t smile when he said it. My face colored.
“So can I interview you?” I asked.
“Today’s not good,” he said, turning away from me, placing his coffee in the cup holder by the steering wheel.
“Okay. How about tomorrow, then?”
“Not good either.”
“Look, you can just say no if you don’t want to do the interview.”
“Okay, then no. Your best bet was those two.” He pointed at Big Jim and Little Jim, their filthy boat now a speck on the horizon.
“Can you throw me that line?” He pointed to the cleat on the dock and started the engine. I knelt down, unwound the rope, and held it out.
“Throw it.” He gestured to the back of the boat, and I tossed the line where it landed with a thud. He put a hand in the air as a good-bye, the same wave he’d given the Jims. I watched as he motored away.
Up on the wharf, a guy holding a clipboard waited while I walked up the gangplank.
“That went well, huh?” He looked amused, a light in his eyes.
“What?”
“I’m Boon,” he said, offering his hand, “his friend.” He nodded to the boat growing smaller in the distance.
“Oh,” I said, shaking his hand. “I asked if I could interview him.”
“I know.” He flicked his head at the bar next to him. “Our buddy owns the place. We were there.”
“Where?”
“At the Rat. Yesterday. Kelly and I were there.”
“No you weren’t. I was the only one in there besides the two guys I was sitting with at the bar.”
“We were in the kitchen, through the server window at the bar. You couldn’t see us, but we could see you.”
I felt my face grow hot, and then something occurred to me. “Could you hear me too?”
He grinned. “We weren’t eavesdropping. I promise. I only noticed you because Kel couldn’t get his jaw off the floor. I don’t think he blinked once.”
I looked at him sideways. “Well, why didn’t he come out and say hello.”
“I told him to. He said you were out of his league.”
“Funny way of showing it,” I said.
“It’s not personal. Besides those two characters, you’re not going to find anyone willing to talk about fishing. Not from around here, at least.”
“I didn’t know there was a code of silence. Why the secrecy?”
“Territory, trap placement, fishing routes . . . it’s what makes some guys haul a big catch, and some guys come home empty-handed. Anyone making a living at it isn’t going to want that printed in the local paper.”
“And the Jims? What’s with them?”
“A pretty girl is what’s with them,” he said, and my face went red. “Hell, I saw Kelly considering it. And that says a lot.”
I felt foolish now, remembering how sure of myself I’d been coming to the dock.
“Come back tonight,” Boon said. He had one of those faces that seemed to be perpetually smiling, his mouth pulling up at the corners, as if life was one big joke and he was the only one who knew the punch line. “I’ll make sure he’s there,” he promised. “He may not answer any questions, but at least you can say you spent time with a local lobsterman.”
“No way,” I said. “I’m not going to chase him for an interview.” Even though I knew that I would, that my interest in him had surpassed an interview.
“Okay, then. Where can he find you?”
“Why do you care so much?”
“Because he’s my buddy,” he offered.
I gave him a doubtful look.
“And he’s a good guy,” he continued, “who sometimes gets in his own way.”
The bag on my shoulder was getting heavy. I nodded in a dismissive way.
“And he rarely looks at anyone the way he looked at you.”
I tilted my head sideways. “That’s a line.”
He held up his hands. “Swear to God.”
“Rarely?”
“As in never,” he said, then squinted one eye. “Well, not never. He looked that way when we were in sixth grade and Gina Marie, my brother’s girlfriend, got drunk and taught us how to shotgun a beer without using her hands. Come on. Just tell me a place tonight. Give him one chance. If you don’t like him, at least you’ll get a free dinner.”
I considered it. What did I have to lose?
“Fine. Orphelia’s. Seven o’clock.”
“Orphelia’s?”
Orphelia’s was not only one of the best restaurants in town. It was also the most expensive.
“I don’t know if he owns a tie.”
“Well,” I said, “if buying a tie is a deal breaker, then tell him not to show up anyway.”
But Jack had shown up. I was sitting at the bar when he walked in wearing a blue blazer, a white shirt open at the neck, and no tie.
There were two women sitting next to me drinking martinis. I saw them glance at the hostess stand, and when they saw him, one woman quietly growled to the other.
He saw me, walked over, and sat next to me. I felt the women behind me staring at him over my shoulder.
“Boon said if you showed up, I should ask you to marry me on the spot.”
“You don’t even know my name,” I said.
“It’s Hope.”
“I meant my last name.”
“I know what I want it to be,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Kelly.”
I wrinkled my nose at him. “Do you always use lines like that?”
He grinned. “No. But Boon said by all means, don’t be you. Be charming. So I’m taking his advice.”
“So this is you charming.”