Homecoming (Downeast #1)

Chapter 15

Chapter

Fifteen

Kara woke early when she heard Bertha and Buster moving around, getting ready to go to work. With a burst of energy she hadn’t experienced in months, she got up to see them before they left.

“You’re up with the chickens,” Bertha said when Kara appeared in the kitchen.

Kara kissed her grandmother’s cheek and breathed in the scent of the Jean Naté that would forever remind her of her beloved Bertha. “Don’t you mean I’m up with the lobster people?”

“That, too.”

She went toward Buster, arms extended in question. He gave a brief nod, giving her permission to give him a light hug, which he tolerated from her even though he didn’t like to be touched. He’d told her once that he’d welcome hugs from her as long as they weren’t tight ones.

He patted her shoulder as she rested her head on his chest. “How you feeling?”

“Better today.”

“Glad to hear it. Don’t do that again.”

She laughed at his way of saying he’d been worried about her. “I’ll try not to.”

“You want to come out with us today, hon?” Bertha asked.

“I’d love to, but I want to wait until Dan can come, too. He’d love to see you guys in action.”

“He’ll get his hands dirty,” Buster said with the grunt that was the closest he came to laughter.

Kara smiled up at him. “That’ll be funny to see.”

“Fancy pants.”

“Not really, though. Get to know him. I think you’ll like him.”

“Buster will love him because you do,” Bertha said.

“We’ll see,” Buster said, reserving judgment, as he did with new people. They had to earn their way into his life. He’d had too many people disappoint him over the years not to be cautious.

One of Kara’s first memories was of Keith and Kyle teasing Buster. Even though she was younger than both of them, she’d intervened then and every time after that. No one picked on Buster when she was around.

Dan came out from the bedroom, looking scruffy and sleepy, which was one of her favorite looks for him because she was usually the only one who ever saw him that way. To everyone else, he was the pressed and polished LA lawyer. But to her, he was her love, her soul mate, her everything.

Kara stepped away from Buster to greet him with a kiss. “Morning. How late were you up?”

“Too late. Is there coffee?”

“Sure is,” Bertha said. “We’re fueled by it around here.”

“Bless you.”

“Bertha invited us to go fishing with her,” Kara said.

“I’d love to do that.”

“You want to come today?” Bertha asked.

Dan glanced at Kara. “Do you feel up to it?”

“I’d love to go. It’s my favorite thing ever.”

“Then let’s do it.”

“Don’t you have work?”

“I’m waiting on a few things, so I have time.”

“Go get ready,” Bertha said. “I’ll make some breakfast sandwiches to go while you get dressed.”

Kara felt giddy at the thought of a day on the Big B , her grandmother’s lobster boat, where some of her favorite childhood memories had been made.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Dan asked when they were in their room getting ready. “You were in the hospital yesterday.”

“With fake labor pains. I’m fine. I feel so much better since I had that IV. I’m not even nauseated this morning.”

“Wow, that’s a great development.”

“Sure is, and I’m excited to go on the boat. It’s been way too long.”

“I can’t wait to see how it all happens.”

“Bring a sweatshirt. It can get chilly on the water this time of year.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He was in the living room looking for a sweatshirt when his phone rang with a call from the Los Angeles Times . What the hell did they want? “Torrington.”

“This is Kent Thomas with the LA Times .”

“What can I do for you, Mr. Thomas?”

“Word on the street is that you’re defending your brothers-in-law on murder charges in Maine. Any truth to that?”

“Depends on why you want to know.”

“Really? The famous defense attorney takes on a murder in the family. How’s that not news?”

“It’s not my family. It’s my wife’s family, and I barely know them.”

“So it’s true that two of her brothers have been charged with murder?”

“If I tell you what you want to know, will I be reading some sort of sensationalized version in your paper?”

“I’m not planning to sensationalize anything. I heard you’d caught a new case and that it was family, thus the interest.”

“My wife Kara’s two brothers, Keith and Kirby Ballard, were charged by the Maine State Police with the murder of twenty-one-year-old Tanya Sorenson, a summer resident in town for a bachelorette party. They’re being held at the Bar Harbor jail. We believe the facts of the case, when presented in court, will result in the charges being dropped.”

“I read that there’s an eyewitness who puts the brothers with the victim in the early hours of the morning she was found dead.”

“Keith Ballard was with her during the evening and into the next day. Kirby picked up his brother in town. They offered Ms. Sorenson a ride home, which she declined. She was alive and well when they left her.”

“Are you representing both of them?”

“Just Kirby.”

“Why not the other one?”

“You’d have to ask him that.”

“Ah, I see.”

“You don’t see anything, Mr. Thomas. Please don’t publish half-truths or innuendo. I’ve told you what I can. I hope you’ll be responsible about what you do with it.”

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Torrington.”

“What was that about?” Kara asked when she came to find him.

“A call from the LA Times . Apparently, word’s out that I’m defending your brothers on murder charges.”

His phone rang again with a call from the Mount Desert Islander . He turned the phone so Kara could see who it was. “Dan Torrington.”

“This is Elias Young again from the Mount Desert Islander .”

“What can I do for you, Mr. Young?”

“I wondered if you might be available for a longer interview to discuss the case against your brothers-in-law and how you plan to proceed with their defense.”

“As much as I’d like to meet with you, I prefer to keep my strategy under wraps until we go to court.”

“Can you confirm that you’re still only representing Kirby Ballard?”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Is Matthew Gallagher representing Keith?”

“You’d have to ask him that.”

“Your wife has some history with Mr. Gallagher.”

“If you’re planning to drag my wife through the mud, I won’t take your calls, Mr. Young. Do we understand each other?”

“Of course. I was just referring to?—”

“Have a good day.”

Dan ended the call and put a hand on Kara’s shoulder.

She crossed her arms, looking madly vulnerable, which pissed him off. “I suppose it was too much to hope that my past with Matt wouldn’t somehow end up part of this story.”

“That’s not going to happen, or his paper won’t get another word out of me. I don’t want you to worry about that coming to light.”

“What? Me worry?”

Dan moved her arms so he could hug her. As he held on tight to the love of his life, he silently vowed to do anything it took to protect her from the ugliness of this situation. “Let’s go fishing.”

Kara couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that came from the local paper asking about her past with Matt. Being back in town had resurrected a lot of feelings she’d thought she’d disposed of a long time ago. Recalling what it’d been like to be the subject of gossip was like having acid running through her veins. She’d carried that burning sensation—a combination of shame, heartbreak and outrage—around with her for months before she decided to leave and start over on Gansett Island.

“Talk to me.” Dan drove them to the wharf in the Jeep, following Bertha and Buster in her truck. “What’re you thinking?”

“That I haven’t missed the way it felt to be the subject of intense gossip.”

“You’re not the subject of any gossip. One reporter made one comment.”

“That’s how it starts. Come on, you know that’s all it takes.”

“I shut him down. They’re going to want me as a source as this case unfolds, and now he knows if he makes you part of the story, he’s dead to me. He heard me loud and clear on that.”

“Did he, though?” She looked over at him. “I can’t go through that again. I just can’t.”

“If that becomes part of the story, we’re going home to Gansett immediately. Your family can hire another attorney to deal with the case.” He gripped the wheel tightly, and a muscle in his cheek pulsed the way it did when he was stressed. It’d been a while, she realized, since she’d seen that happen. “I should’ve passed on this from the get-go.”

“No, I needed to come back here. I survived that situation a long time ago. My friends are right. It’s time to come home once in a while and stop acting like Kelly and Matt ruined my life, because they didn’t. They led me to my life.”

“In the shittiest way possible.”

“Totally, but how glad am I that I moved to Gansett?”

“How glad am I that you moved to Gansett?”

She leaned across the console, which wasn’t easy to do with her pregnant belly, and kissed his cheek. “We’re so, so glad for all of it.”

“That said, I don’t want anyone hassling you, even people you love.”

“It wasn’t a hassle so much as a wake-up call. Ellery’s kids are growing up fast and barely know me. Same with my nieces.”

“Your nieces know you. You’ve made sure of that with weekly FaceTime calls and letters back and forth. You’re always sending them something.”

“There’s no substitute for being here with them, though. I realized that the other night. They’re already so grown-up. I don’t want to miss everything with them.”

“We should have them to the island for a couple of weeks next summer. They’d love it, and they can help us with baby Dylan.”

“That’d be awesome. Great idea.”

She directed him to the wharf where Bertha kept the dinghy that delivered them to the boat on a mooring in the cove.

“Where should we park?”

“Behind Bertha is fine and leave the keys. No one takes their keys on the boats.”

“They don’t worry about their vehicles getting stolen?”

“Nah, no one would dare touch them. They all know each other.”

In a small inflatable boat with a ten-horsepower outboard motor on the back, Buster delivered his mother and then came back for Dan and Kara.

Kara turned her face into the breeze and closed her eyes as a million memories of days on the water reminded her of who she was and where she came from. When she opened her eyes, Dan was watching her with a curious look on his face.

“What?”

“I was thinking it’s a bit of a revelation to see you here in this place you’re from.”

“A big part of me still lives here, which is what I’ve come to see since I’ve been back.”

“They say you can’t go home again…”

“Which simply isn’t true.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Buster said.

Though she still felt apprehension about the possibility of being the subject of local gossip, Kara smiled at her beloved uncle. “So am I.”

Dan was unsettled by the inquiry from the reporter and Kara’s friends’ criticism of her. While he understood where she was coming from by feeling guilty over their hurt feelings, he also remembered in vivid detail the closed-off, shattered person she’d been when they first met. He’d had a front-row seat to the courage and resilience she’d shown in forging a whole new life for herself. She bore no resemblance to that version of herself these days, and it pained him to hear that others were hassling her for doing what she’d needed to at the time.

As Buster delivered them to the Big B , Dan was determined to make sure Kara had a great time doing one of her favorite things. There’d be time later to stew over the other stuff. For now, he wanted to learn about lobster fishing.

“Tell me everything. Don’t leave anything out.”

Bertha laughed as she fired up the boat’s engine and turned on a series of electronic devices, including a VHF radio that came to life with chatter from others out fishing.

“Diesel or gas?” Dan asked.

“Diesel for the win,” Bertha said.

Dan stood back and watched as she and Buster went through an obviously well-practiced routine of casting off the mooring line and steaming out of the harbor.

“We’re getting a late start today because of the fog,” Bertha said.

“It’s seven o’clock,” Dan said.

“We’re about two hours late, but we were also waiting on the slack.”

“Between tides,” Kara asked. “The Downeast coast of Maine has some of the most intense tides you’ll see anywhere. They’re so strong that they pull the buoys underwater, making it impossible to spot them. You’ll hear lobster people refer to ‘hauling a slack’ or ‘heading out for a slack.’”

“Ah, okay. So um… How long does it take for the fog to lift?” After being in a serious boating accident in dense fog, he had a serious aversion to being on the water in a low-visibility situation.

Kara tuned right into his distress. “The last of it will burn off fast now that the sun’s peeking through.”

“Good.”

She sent him a warm smile. “Nothing to worry about. I promise.”

Comforted by her assurances, he said, “Two more questions. How can you tell which buoys are yours, and what does Downeast mean?”

Bertha glanced at Kara, brow raised. “You got this, my love?”

“You’ll let me know if I get anything wrong?”

“As if there’s any doubt.”

As Kara smiled at her grandmother, Dan enjoyed the glow in his wife’s eyes at doing one of her favorite things with two of her favorite people. “Everyone has their own color palette for their buoys. Ours are orange with two white stripes. If you see an orange one with three white stripes, that’s not ours.”

“They’re also marked with an official government tag that identifies them as ours,” Bertha added, “and we repaint them every winter.”

“You don’t fish in the winter?”

“Not anymore. I used to go out a couple days a week, but lately, I’d rather stay home and paint buoys and repair the traps.”

“That’s still a lot of work.”

“It’s easy, and we can do it inside where it’s warm.”

“She likes to supervise me from her recliner,” Buster said, making them laugh.

“She gets a lot done from that chair,” Kara said.

“And how,” Buster replied.

“It’s my command post,” Bertha said.

“Anyway,” Kara said, “the term Downeast comes from direction versus an actual location. Back in the day, when people would sail from Boston to Maine, they’d sail downwind to get to the east coast of Maine, which is where the Downeast name came from.”

“So is all of the eastern coast of Maine considered Downeast?”

“Depends on who you ask,” Bertha said. “It includes all of Washington and Hancock Counties and scores of fishing villages. Everyone has a different definition of what counts as Downeast.”

“How many lobster fisher-people are there in this area?”

“What’s the latest number from the DELA, Buster?” Bertha asked.

“Around three thousand are Downeast, but more than four thousand statewide.”

“What’s the DELA?”

“Downeast Lobstermen’s Association,” Bertha said.

“Um, that’s not gender neutral,” Dan said.

“Believe me, I’ve raised that point with them repeatedly over the years. A lot of us are women these days.”

“What’s the best time of year for lobstering?” Dan asked.

“Right about now,” Bertha said.

Buster went down below and came back a few minutes later wearing gear with a Grundéns label on it.

As they got farther out from the harbor, the seas became choppier, and a queasy feeling set into Dan’s gut. He glanced at Kara, seated across from Bertha, and saw that she was handling the movement of the sea better than he was. Of course she was. She’d been born into this.

When Bertha brought the boat alongside one of her distinctive buoys, Buster got to work on the hydraulic lift that brought the trap to the surface.

Bertha left the helm to head to the stern to assist Buster in retrieving the lobsters, measuring them, returning a few to the water and putting bands on the claws of the ones they were keeping.

They were like a well-oiled machine, going about their task without a single word passing between them.

“How do they decide which ones go back?” Dan asked.

“If they’re pregnant females or undersize—or even oversized.”

“They can be too big?”

“Often, the bigger ones are breeders,” Kara said, “so we always return them to keep the stock healthy. Maine lobstering is among the most conservation-forward industries, and where a lot of fisheries have suffered from overfishing, our lobster industry is robust because of things done on boats like this one to preserve and protect the stock.”

“That’s awesome.”

“I heard one of Bertha’s friends say once that the goal is to not cut off our noses to spite our faces.”

“Makes sense.”

“Lobstering is a family tradition for most of these people.” She gestured to other boats they could see in the distance. “They want to leave a legacy they can hand down to their children and grandchildren.”

“Where’re you putting the ones you’re keeping?” Dan asked Bertha.

“Into a holding tank for now. Buster will move them to those plastic crates over there when we get back to port. They’re sold by weight, and everyone uses the same crates because they’re a standard weight. Makes things easier on the other end.”

“How many pounds will you bring in on an average day?”

“This time of year?” Buster said. “A couple hundred. Other times, we’re lucky to get fifty.”

“Every day is different,” Bertha said.

“My mom can’t bring herself to cook a lobster because you have to boil them alive,” Dan said, “and she can’t bear it.”

“We hear that a lot,” Bertha said. “There’s considerable debate about whether they can feel pain. I tend to think not, but others will disagree.”

“Ah, I see.”

“You want to try the banding, Dan?”

“I’d love to.”

“Are you a lefty or a righty?”

“Righty.”

“Okay, so you’ll grasp the lobster with your left hand. Then take the pliers with your right hand, grab a band and slide it onto the claw, like this.”

Easy enough , he thought, following her directions. With the lobster in hand, he reached for the pliers, managed to scoop up a band and had it heading for the lobster’s right claw when it flew off the pliers, causing Buster to duck lest he get hit in the face by it. “Whoops.”

While the other three laughed, he tried again, losing two more bands before he finally got one on the claw. That’s when he discovered that removing the pliers without taking the band off, too, was as much of a trick as getting it on in the first place.

“That’s much harder than it looks,” he said as he handed over the pliers to Bertha, since they didn’t have all day to wait on him.

He watched in amazement as she did six more claws in the time it’d taken him to do one.

“Tell him about the penises, Ma,” Buster said.

“What’s this you say?” Dan asked.

“Kara, why don’t you do the honors?” Bertha asked, smiling at her granddaughter.