Chapter 2
TWO
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter under my breath as I read over the slip from the buyer’s station.
“What?” Mitch asks, peering over my shoulder.
I lift the slip so he can see how much we were paid for the eighteen hundred pounds of lobster we caught this morning. It’s almost a two dollar per pound decrease from yesterday.
“Fuck,” he says, his features twisting in disgust. “I say we go back to the Frayed Knot tomorrow. They usually buy at a higher rate.”
“Yeah,” I mumble, shoving the slip into my pocket. Who knows what tomorrow will bring… but it better not be another decrease.
We head over to our boat, where the rest of my crew have finished loading up the buckets, bait, and ice we bought for tomorrow.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say as I hop into the boat and head to the wheelhouse. As I start up the engine, the crew happily jumps into the boat after me, and I try not to let my frustration dampen their mood. We had a great catch today, and I should also be happy about that. Catches have been plentiful lately, but that also means the demand is lower. And a lower demand equals a drop in price. Which usually wouldn’t be a problem, but the cost of fuel, bait, rope, lumber, and everything else I need to keep this boat running is skyrocketing. So the more we catch, the more I have to spend on repairing the wear and tear on the equipment.
It’s all just a vicious circle…
I steer the boat into the marina and pull up to our spot at the dock. The crew jumps out as I kill the engine, but as I grab a rope, Sarah yanks it from my hand.
“We got this,” she says, kneeling down to tie the boat to the dock. “You go. Your sister is going to be livid if you’re late. Again.”
I check my watch and wince, because I already am late. “Yeah, alright. Thanks.”
As I head down the wharf towards my truck, I wave to a few other boats pulling in and pass Sheila, the marina manager.
“Good haul today?” she asks, stopping outside her office.
“Yup,” I say, nodding at her and continuing to walk by.
She chuckles and shakes her head at me. “You need to learn how to shut your mouth, boy.”
I turn around with a smile, walking backwards so I can face her. “Alright, then you can tell my sister why I was late.”
She snorts, waving a hand towards me. “Get. And tell her I say hi.”
With a wave, I turn around and continue to my truck. I told Heather I would be at the store ten minutes ago. It’s only a couple minutes’ drive away since Torrin Cove is tiny, but still… I was late the last time she needed me to cover for her too.
As I park in front of the general store my family owns, I’m greeted with the familiar sight of the town’s retired fishermen sipping coffee on the front porch. The old man crew meets here every afternoon, watching the boats come in and catching up with the current fishermen as they stop into the store. They say it’s to “stay social”, but we all know it’s so they can keep tabs on us.
As my mother says, once a fisherman, always a fisherman.
“How was the water this morning?” my grandfather asks as I climb the few steps onto the porch.
“Decent,” I say. “Good haul, calm water. Brought in eighteen hundred pounds.”
Jack, one of my grandfather’s old crew members, lets out a low whistle. “More than decent, I’d say.”
Grandpa leans back in his chair with a smirk. “Still haven’t beat my biggest catch then,” he says with a wink.
I roll my eyes. He claims his biggest catch was twenty-three hundred pounds. But when he was fishing, the number of traps allowed was lower than our two hundred and fifty, and they didn’t have the technology we have now. So there’s no fucking way.
“You going to come back out then, old man?” I huff out an amused breath and nod my chin at the mug in his hand. “Or you just going to keep sitting on your ass drinking coffee and reminiscing about things that never happened?”
He tips his head back with a deep laugh, and the other men do the same.
“Nah, I’m not going to put my only grandson to shame,” Grandpa says with a sly smile. “And you wouldn’t even have a boat or a licence if it wasn’t for me, so shut your trap.” He winks and takes a drink of his coffee.
I shake my head and turn to open the door to the store. “Put your money where your mouth is and maybe I will.”
The door closes behind me as I enter the store, the sound of laughter from the group of men fading away as I’m met with the smell of freshly baked bread and coffee.
And a wild-eyed Heather.
“Finally.” She stands from her stool. But she stops and scrunches her face up as I join her behind the counter and pour myself a mug of coffee. “You smell nice,” she says.
I shake my head, placing the coffee pot back on the burner. “You’re the one that needed me here right after I got the boat in.”
“Could have allotted some time for a shower,” she says as she shrugs her sweater on and makes a dramatic show of sidestepping around me to avoid the smell of fish and sea water.
I roll my eyes at her and she chuckles.
“Smell aside, thanks for coming in today. I know it’s not ideal.” She grabs her bag from under the counter and slings it over her shoulder. “But I have to pick the kids up from school then drive to Lunenburg for their dentist appointment.”
“It’s alright,” I say, leaning back against the counter and taking a drink of my coffee.
If there’s one thing I can always count on, it’s Heather being frazzled. And honestly, I’m surprised at how well she does hold it all together, considering everything she has on her plate. She runs the business end of the store, has two kids aged five and seven, is actively involved in their school and all their sports and interests, and her husband, Chris, is often travelling for work. And she’s my older sister, so she’s usually trying to take care of me too. She doesn’t ask for help often, but when she does, I want to be able to support her as best I can.
“Ok.” She blows out a breath, and looks around the store, like she’s making sure everything is in place before she leaves. “Text me if you need?—”
“I’ve been doing this since I was fourteen.” I rest my elbows on the counter and gesture with my head towards the door. “Go.”
She smirks at me and turns, waving over her shoulder as she heads for the door. “See you later.”
“Bye,” I say, watching as the door bangs shut behind her. Once she’s gone, I let out a long breath and drop my head between my shoulders. Then I stand up, drain my coffee, and pour another one.
“Rough morning?”
I turn my head as Mom exits the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
“No,” I say, starting another pot of coffee. “Just need to refuel.”
She nods as her eyes slowly trail down my dirty shirt and pants with a small smile tugging at her lips.
“I didn’t have time to go home first,” I say. “It took longer than anticipated at the buyer’s station today.”
Mom tilts her head with a smile. “You know I don’t mind. Your father used to come in here all the time right off the boat. In a way, I kind of like the smell.”
“That’s weird,” I mutter, dropping down to sit on the stool behind the counter and wave to Melinda, one of our regular customers, as she enters the store. “I can only stay for a few hours today though,” I say to Mom. “I have to finish installing cabinets at the Campbells’ this afternoon.”
“That’s fine,” Mom says, turning to head back into the kitchen. “I’m almost done baking for the day then you can go.”
“Ok, thanks,” I call to her as she retreats into her happy place.
That woman could bake all day and night, and never get tired of it. And the town definitely appreciates it. We sell out of freshly baked bread, rolls, muffins, and more every day.
Melinda approaches the counter, setting her regular Wednesday order of milk and bread on the counter. “You’re a busy boy, Theo. You shouldn’t work so much.”
I huff out a laugh as I pour her usual cup of coffee to go and slide it over to her. I’ve known Melinda since I was a kid, and she was our neighbourhood watch as we played on our bikes in the streets. And even with a new crop of kids in town to look out for, she still keeps an eye on all of us as we’ve grown up.
“I don’t really have much of a choice,” I say, as I ring up her order. “Fishing doesn’t pay bills in the off-season. Carpentry at least fills that time.”
She hands me cash to pay for her order, then dramatically peers out the window. “Looks like on season out there to me.”
I chuckle, putting her items in a bag and passing it to her. “Yeah, but also, if I didn’t do it, who would have built your bookshelves?”
She tsks at me as she takes her bag and coffee. “You’re young, you should be having fun.”
I shrug and slap on a smile. “Who says I’m not?”
With a playful roll of her eyes, she heads to the door. “Bye, Cynthia!” she calls out as she pulls it open.
“Talk to you later, Melinda!” Mom calls back to her.
When the store is quiet again, I drop down on the stool again and listen to the faint sounds of Mom’s mixers in the kitchen, and the old man crew chatting out on the porch. And I finally take a moment to just breathe. I lean back against the wall and look out the window, watching as a few more boats return to the cove. But my gaze slides past them, where the cove opens to the wide expanse of the Atlantic ocean.
A sigh escapes me as I keep my eyes on the massive body of water that I go out in every day. Where I work my ass off and hope it’s all going to be worth it. It could lead me anywhere… but I always come back here, to my tiny hometown of Torrin Cove, with a population of about three hundred. Because I always knew I’d be here forever. My grandfather and my dad worked too hard to build up the fishing business, and it was always the plan for me to inherit the boats, equipment, and fishing licences. But lately… I feel like I’ve been starting to question it all.
Every morning, I wake up at the ass crack of dawn and take myself and my crew into potentially dangerous waters to complete a dangerous job. Then we unload our haul to be paid an amount determined by market demands, and not based on the insane amount of fucking work it takes to actually complete this job. The cost to keep the crew and boat running increases every year, and it all just seems so… pointless.
Except it’s not.
I rub a hand over my face and sigh again.
I like what I do. I like fishing, I like carpentry, I like helping out at the store with my family. So why the fuck do I feel so… empty? Stuck? Unfulfilled? I don’t even fucking know… it’s an unsettling feeling that I can’t make sense of. Every day, I do the same thing. Fish, build, sleep, repeat. And it seems like the payoff for all of this is getting to be less and less. And I’m not talking about the money.
But there’s no point in even thinking about it. As mundane as it might feel, and as frustrating as it can be, this is my life.
My eyes slide to the retired fishermen on the porch as they drink their coffee and watch the boats come in, and I blow out a breath.
I guess that’s what I have to look forward to.