1. Etta #2
Simone turned to him, easy and unbothered. "Etta had a question about the oysters. I was just reassuring her that everything's been handled."
"A question?" he said.
"Just a small quality concern. Nothing to worry about."
I turned to Sven and waited.
He didn't look at me. He looked at Simone, nodded once, and said, "It's been handled."
Then he looked at me, and there was nothing in his face but patience. "Simone spent three months on this, Etta. It's going to be fine."
I didn't say anything. I wanted to. I wanted to tell him I could read an oyster the way he could read a contract, that I'd been working shellfish since before I could write my own name, that I wasn't guessing. But I didn't.
I just waited.
He didn't see it. He didn't see that I was waiting. He checked his watch, put a hand on my shoulder, and said, "I need to talk to a few people before the speeches. Stay with Deshawn, all right? He's at the table by the windows."
"All right," I said.
He kissed my temple and walked away with Simone.
I stood there for a long time. Long enough that my wine got warm. Long enough that the crowd thinned near the bar and the noise started to feel like it was coming from somewhere far away.
I thought about my quaint little operation. The eleven of them, most past sixty. Yolanda, who'd worked for my grandfather before I was born. The lease on forty acres of bottom in Kettle Sound. The shucking house that still had my mother's name on it, even though she'd been gone nine years.
The only thing in that ballroom anybody actually ate.
I finished my wine, left the glass on the bar, and found Deshawn.
He stood when he saw me coming. Deshawn Petit, chief operating officer, fifty-something, with kind eyes and a soft voice and a way of talking to me that made me feel like he thought I might break.
"Mrs. Magnussen," he said. "Please, sit."
I sat. He sat.
"Hell of a turnout," he said.
"It is."
"Sven's been working toward this for two years. It's good to see it pay off."
I nodded.
"Have you tried the food? The shrimp's not bad."
"I'm fine, thank you."
"The speeches should start in about twenty minutes. You want anything from the bar?"
"No. Thank you."
He nodded, folded his hands on the table, and didn't say anything for a moment. Then he said, gently, "You doing all right, Mrs. Magnussen?"
"I'm fine."
"Long drive up from Cutter's Neck."
"It's not so bad."
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He didn't mention the oysters. He didn't mention Sven. He just kept the conversation going, gentle and steady, until I could leave without it looking like anything.
I left anyway.
I found Sven near the podium, talking to a man with a microphone. I touched his arm and he turned, surprised.
"I'm going to head out," I said.
"Already?"
"It's been a long day."
He frowned. "The speeches haven't even started."
"I know."
"Etta—"
"I'm tired, Sven. I just need to go home."
He looked at me for a moment, then nodded. "All right. I'll come with you."
"You don't have to."
"I'm not letting you drive ninety minutes alone at night, Etta."
"You should stay. This is your night."
"I'm coming with you."
So we left.
The car was quiet for the first twenty miles. Sven drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his knee. The highway was empty and dark and the rain started just past the county line.
I didn't say anything. I just watched the water bead on the windshield and thought about the way he'd looked at Simone when she'd said it had been handled.
"You all right?" he asked.
"I'm fine."
"You're quiet."
"I'm tired."
"Long night."
"Yes."
He nodded and turned his eyes back to the road.
Finally I said, "You promised we'd go out on the water Sunday morning."
He glanced at me, then back at the road. "I know."
"You've been promising that for three years."
"I know."
"And something always comes up."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Etta, I run two hundred boats. You know that. I can't just walk away when something needs handling."
"I wasn't asking you to walk away. I was asking you to come out with me for two hours."
"And I will. As soon as things settle."
"Things don't settle, Sven. They just keep coming."
"That's not fair."
"It's true."
"I'm building something," he said. "You know that. Scandinavia didn't happen because I took Sundays off."
"I'm not asking you to take Sundays off. I'm asking you to take one Sunday. With me."
He sighed, and I heard the patience in it. The same patience he'd used at the bar. "What is this really about?"
"It's about you calling my business Boone and Sons when you know that's not the name."
He looked at me, confused. "What?"
"At the bar. When that man asked what I did. You said Boone and Sons."
"I misspoke."
"It's Boone and Daughter. It's been Boone and Daughter for sixty-three years."
"All right."
"You've never looked at the sign, have you?"
He didn't answer right away. Then he said, carefully, "Etta, I think you're tired."
"I'm not tired."
"You drove Daniella to dialysis this morning, then you drove ninety minutes to Norfolk, and you've been on your feet all night in a dress you don't like. You're exhausted, and you're upset, and I get it. But I don't think this is about the name of your business."
I stared at him. "Then what's it about?"
"Simone."
The word hung in the air between us.
He kept driving, both hands on the wheel now, his voice calm and level. "You're upset because I agreed with her about the oysters. And because she's good at her job, and because she made this whole night happen, and because people were paying attention to her."
"That's not?—"
"Let me finish." He wasn't angry. He wasn't even frustrated. He was just stating facts. "I know you work hard, Etta. I know you've been running that business since your mother died. And I know it's not easy."
He glanced at me, and his voice was steady and kind.
"But what Simone does is different. She manages supply chains across six states and three countries.
She handles certifications that keep two hundred boats on the water.
She coordinated tonight's event for two hundred people and made sure nothing went wrong. "
"I give you everything you need. You have the house, the lease is paid, you've got a crew that's been with you for decades. You don't want for anything. And I have never once asked you to be anything other than what you are."
He reached over and put his hand on mine.
"This is jealousy, Etta. It's beneath you."
I looked at him. At his hand on mine. At the ring I'd been wearing for eight years.
Then I looked out the window. We were at the end of the causeway, where the marsh turned to sand and the road ran flat to Cutter's Neck.
I opened the door.
"Etta—"
I stepped out into the rain and closed the door behind me. The water hit my face and soaked through the silk in seconds. I heard him call my name, heard the car stop, heard the door open behind me.
I kept walking.
By the time I got home my dress was ruined and my shoes were gone. I'd left them somewhere on the causeway and I didn't care. The house was dark. His car was already gone.
I stood in the entryway, dripping onto the tile, and pulled my phone out of my pocket. It was still dry. There was one message, from Yolanda.
Daniella's doing fine. I'll need tomorrow off to stay with her. Sorry.