Chapter Four
Anson
T oday’s schedule is filled with back-to-back charters. Sebastian called to inform us that the ice machine at the office is down, so Parker and I stop to buy bags of ice for the boat’s coolers on our way to the dock.
It’s a beautiful late June day. The air is thick with the telltale signs of summer—hot, humid, and filled with a hint of salt, along with the sweetness of blooming marsh grass. The sky stretches wide and blue, promising an excellent day of fishing on the water.
I love this time of year, when Sandcastle Cove is bustling with visitors. Business is booming, and the beaches are filled with sunbathing beauties. Just a couple of the great perks of living and working on an island.
Parker parks the truck in front of the marina market, and I grab a shopping cart and rush inside. I make my way past the bait-and-tackle section to the ice coolers. I fill the cart with ten bags of ice and start toward the checkout counter at the front of the store when I notice a pair of long, tanned legs. The owner of those legs is bent over, examining a row of pepper plants in the garden section. I take a moment to admire the view when she picks up one of the containers, stands up, and turns to add it to her cart.
“Tabitha,” I call out, and our eyes meet.
“Yes?” she replies.
“Hi. It’s Anson. Anson Leggett. We met at Sea Goddess Jewelers in town,” I say.
A soft smile crosses her lips, and her eyes light up.
“Yes, I remember you. You’re my hero,” she responds.
“Hero is my official title, but you can just call me Anson,” I tease.
“Okay, Anson.”
“I’m glad to see you again. I thought you’d be gone by now,” I say.
She shrugs. “I decided to stay a little longer.”
“That’s great! Are you still at The Sandspur?” I ask as I eye her gardening supplies.
“Yeah, for now,” she replies.
That’s odd.
“Do you come here often?” I ask.
She glances around the store. “The market? Yes, I come about once a week, whenever I run out of milk or toilet paper. What about you?” she asks playfully.
“Me? I’m here all the time. I’m actually quite close to the checkout lady. I, um, have to check in regularly with Mildred to make sure the grandkids are behaving. We’re best friends.”
She laughs.
“I meant, do you come here to the wharf?” I continue.
“I do. I prefer the selection of vegetable plants here to the ones at the market in town,” she replies, then glances at my cart. “And you must really enjoy your beverages cold.”
“I’m just on my way to work. We have a long day of charters ahead, and we need to keep the catches iced down and the beer cold,” I say.
Her brows furrow in confusion. “I thought you worked at the jewelry store.”
“I do occasionally. My mom owns it, and I help her from time to time, but my main job is here at the marina. I work for Sebby’s Charters. We take folks out on private fishing excursions in the ocean and on the Intracoastal,” I explain.
“That sounds like a cool job,” she says.
“I like it. You should swing by sometime, and I’ll take you out for a boat ride.”
Her eyes light up at the suggestion. “I’d love that.”
“The offer’s open anytime,” I reply as my phone dings with a message. I pull it out and glance at the text from Parker, urging me to hurry because our first charter leaves in fifteen minutes. I shove the phone back into my pocket and look back at her. “That’s my buddy, telling me to hurry.”
“Probably a good idea. Your purchase is starting to leak,” she says, pointing to the water dripping onto the concrete floor under my cart.
“Oh crap. Yeah,” I say. “Um, you didn’t happen to get a phone yet, did you?”
She shakes her head. “No, not yet. It really hasn’t been a priority.”
I chuckle. “Well, it was nice running into you again, Tabitha.”
“You can call me Tabby since we’re friends now,” she replies.
“Tabby,” I say, “make sure you come by the dock for that ride.”
“I will.”
With one last wave, I head over to Mildred, complete my purchase, and rush outside. Parker is at the back of the truck, ready to help me load the bags into the bed.
“Damn, did you get lost?” he asks.
“No, I just ran into someone,” I reply.
“Who?”
“A girl I met at my mom’s shop a few months ago,” I say.
He chuckles. “I should have guessed.”
“Hey, Sebby, do you know anything about The Sandspur Campground near The Point?” I ask.
Sebby Hollister is technically my boss, and he’s also the grandfather of my friend Sebastian Harraway. Together with his buddy Donnie Dale, they have been running the company for four decades, teaching Sebastian, Parker, and me everything we know. They started with just an old fishing boat and a dream and gradually built it into the multi-vessel enterprise it is today. Although both Sebby and Donnie Dale are mostly retired now, Sebby still enjoys tagging along on some of the charters. Sailing and the ocean are in his blood, but he prefers to spend his days fishing now rather than doing the heavy lifting. He has handed over the reins to Sebastian’s parents, who manage the business side of things, while the three of us—who pilot the boats and teach clients the ins and outs of fishing in intracoastal and deep-sea water—ensure the fleet remains in excellent working order.
“What do you want to know?” he asks as he casts his fishing line.
“Do people actually live there, or is it just for rentals?” I inquire.
“Sabel’s friend Freda and her husband, Pete, own the place. As far as I know, no one lives there except for them. However, I believe some renters keep their trailers there year-round for whenever they come to town. Why do you ask?”
Sabel is Sebby’s wife, and she knows everyone on the island.
“I know Pete and Freda,” I say. Freda and my mom are friends from church. “I met a girl who was staying there a few months ago, and I ran into her again today. I just thought it was strange,” I reply.
“Perhaps she’s staying there while she’s having a home built. People do that all the time,” he suggests.
“I don’t think so. She seemed to be living day-to-day when we met.”
He shrugs. “Maybe she’s spending the summer there to figure things out.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
He looks from the horizon back to me. “I could always have Sabel ask about the young lady.”
“Her name is Tabby,” I say. “But you don’t have to do that. I was just curious.”
He nods. “All right, son. Let me know if you change your mind, and I’ll put a bug in Sabel’s ear for you.”
I thank him and then get back to work, helping the party of five by showing one of the young boys how to bait his own line while Parker instructs his father.