14. Sven
SVEN
Three weeks after the divorce came through, I still hadn't told anybody I didn't fight it.
I'd signed what needed signing and pushed it to move as fast as the system would let it. No delays. No requests for more time. No contesting a single line.
Because dragging it out would have cost her money and time, and I'd already cost her enough of both.
Her settlement paid for the lab work.
I hadn't known that until Yolanda mentioned it in passing, the way you mention the weather. Thirty-eight thousand dollars. Line item three hundred and seven in a filing I'd read twice and never connected to what was happening on the water.
Independent testing. Bottom certification.
That was what was bringing her bars back.
I thought about apologizing.
Not for the divorce. For everything that came before it.
I'd thought about it for weeks. What I'd say if I had the chance. But the more I turned it over, the more it felt like one more thing I wanted for myself. One more way of asking her to make me feel better about what I'd done.
So I decided not to.
I told myself I'd know she was all right when her boats started going out on their own. That would be enough.
It wasn't enough. But it was what I had.
Thursday morning I drove Daniella Rooks to Norfolk for dialysis.
I'd been doing it every Tuesday and Thursday for eight months now. Her mother never asked me why and I never told her. I just showed up at seven thirty and waited while Daniella came down and got in the truck.
She was quiet on the way there, looking out the window at the water as we crossed the causeway.
"How are you feeling?" I asked.
"Tired," she said. "But better than last week."
"That's good."
"Yeah."
We didn't talk much after that. She closed her eyes for most of the drive and I let her rest.
On the way back I stopped for a milkshake. Chocolate. She drank it slowly, both hands wrapped around the cup.
"My mom know you're doing this?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"She say anything to you about it?"
"No."
"She will," Daniella said. "She doesn't like owing people."
"She doesn't owe me anything."
Daniella looked at me. "You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
She turned back to the window.
I pulled up in front of Yolanda's place a little before noon.
"You didn't have to do this," Daniella said.
She'd said it before. I gave her the same answer.
"I wanted to."
She looked at me for a long moment.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because you needed a ride."
"That's not why."
I didn't have an answer for that. Or I did, but I couldn't say it.
"I know," she said quietly.
Then she got out.
Yolanda found me at the cleaning station that afternoon.
I was sorting through a crate of blues that had come in on the morning tide, checking for size and culling the small ones.
"Daniella told me you brought her back," Yolanda said.
"It's Thursday."
"I know what day it is."
She stood there watching me work, arms folded. She had something to say. I could see it in the way she was standing.
"Can we talk?" she asked.
"We're talking."
"I mean really talk."
I set down the oyster I was holding and looked at her.
"All right," I said.
"The testing came back," she said.
"And?"
"Third round. Portland signed off yesterday."
Relief hit me so hard I had to brace my hand on the bench.
"That's good," I said.
"It is." She paused. "Her bars are opening back up. She's already got two boats working them. Pulling her own again."
"That's really good, Yolanda."
"Yeah." She looked at me carefully. "Means she doesn't need to buy in as much from us anymore. She cut her standing order in half."
I nodded.
"Orrin's scaling back next week," she continued. "Probably gonna let some of the day hires go."
"That makes sense."
"Does it bother you?"
"No," I said. "That's what it was for."
"What was?"
"The work. All of it."
She watched me for a long moment.
"You knew this would happen," she said.
"I hoped it would."
"And now that it has?"
"Now I'm glad her water's back."
She didn't say anything for a while. Just stood there looking at me like she was trying to work something out.
"There's something else," she said finally.
I waited.
"Daniella had her transplant."
Everything stopped.
"When?" I asked.
"Two weeks ago. They called on a Tuesday morning. Told her to come in right away."
"She made it?"
"She made it." Yolanda's voice was steady but I could hear everything underneath. "Had to be there in four hours. I drove her myself. Stayed the whole time."
"How long was the surgery?"
"Six hours. Longest six hours of my life."
"And she's all right?"
"She's home now. Recovering. Doctors say she's doing real well. Better than they expected."
I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.
"That's really good, Yolanda."
"It is."
She didn't move. Just stood there looking at me.
"I keep thinking about it," she said. "The timing."
"What about it?"
"The list moved faster than anyone thought it would. A lot faster. She was supposed to wait another eight months, maybe more."
I kept my face neutral.
"Sometimes that happens," I said.
"Does it?"
"Yeah. Sometimes a match comes up, or someone drops off the list, or?—"
"Or someone with money makes a phone call."
I looked at her.
"I didn't make any calls," I said.
"You sure about that?"
"I'm sure."
She watched me. "Because if you did, I need to know. Daniella needs to know."
"I didn't do anything, Yolanda."
"Did you have anything to do with it?"
The question was direct. Plain.
She was asking me straight out.
"No," I said.
It was the truth.
I'd thought about it. I'd even looked into it. But in the end I hadn't done anything, because doing it would have been one more way of trying to buy something I'd already lost.
Yolanda looked at me for a long moment. I couldn't tell what she was thinking.
"All right," she said finally. "I believe you."
"I'm glad she's all right."
"I know you are." She paused. "She asks about you. The drives."
"You don't have to tell her anything."
"I know. But she knows you did something."
"I gave her a ride. That's all."
"Twice a week for eight months," Yolanda said quietly. "Never missed once."
"It wasn't a favor."
"What was it, then?"
I didn't have an answer for that.
She turned and walked away.
I stood there with her mother's knife in my hand, knowing I could have said almost anything else. I could have let her think I'd helped. I could have been a hero to the one person standing between me and Etta.
But I hadn't done it. And I wasn't going to lie about it.
I went back to work.
The boats went out just after six.
I was on Orrin's dock hauling crates when Jesse called down from above.
"Hey, Vinny, you see that?"
I looked up. "See what?"
"Boone's boats. Two of them working the north bars."
I followed his gaze.
Two workboats, small and steady, riding the early tide over water that used to be hers.
"Testing must've cleared," I said.
"About damn time." Jesse grinned. "Heard her shuckers were buying from us for months. That's gotta hurt, you know? Buying from your competition."
"Yeah."
"But she's back now. Good for her." He looked at me. "You ever meet her?"
"Who?"
"Etta Boone. Owner over there. I heard she's tough as nails. Runs that whole operation herself."
"I've seen her around," I said.
"She's something, isn't she? Not many women on the water like that. Not running things, anyway."
"No," I said. "Not many."
Jesse coiled the line he was holding. "Orrin says she learned from her grandfather. Old Delmer Boone. Says she can shuck faster than anyone in that building."
"I believe it," I said.
"Maybe he'll stop working us like dogs now that she's buying less."
"Maybe."
I turned back to the crate.
And then I saw her.
She was standing on the deck of the Charlene, maybe fifty yards down the dock. Coiling a line. She had her hair tied back and she was wearing canvas pants and a faded shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
The sun was just clearing the water and it caught her face and turned everything gold.
I stopped moving.
She bent to check something at her feet, straightened, and said something to Daniella, who was sitting in the stern. Daniella laughed. I couldn't hear it from where I was, but I could see it in the way her shoulders moved.
Etta stepped to the wheel and fired the engine.
It caught on the first try.
She cast off without looking toward Orrin's dock, without looking anywhere but at the water in front of her.
I watched her pull away and thought she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
I'd thought that the first time I saw her, eight years ago, standing on a dock with the wind in her hair. I'd thought it the morning we got married. I'd thought it every single day since.
I still thought it now.
Weeks after the divorce came through. Months after she'd told me to leave.
I loved her.
I was in love with her, and she wasn't mine anymore, and I couldn't stop looking at her.
"Forget it," someone said beside me.
I turned.
Curtis Mehaffey, one of Orrin's regulars. Forty-something, thick through the shoulders. He was standing with Dale, both of them watching Etta's boat move across the sound.
"Forget what?" I said.
"Her." Curtis jerked his chin toward the boat. "Waste of time."
"You know her?" Dale asked.
"Everybody knows her," Curtis said. "Boone & Daughter's been here longer than most of us have been alive."
"I meant personally."
"Nah. But I know the story."
"What story?" I asked, knowing I shouldn't.
"The divorce," Curtis said. "She's rich now. Divorced a guy who runs half the seafood operations in the state. Got herself a pile of money in the settlement."
"Good for her," I said quietly.
"Probably done with men altogether after that," Curtis continued. "Can't say I blame her."
Dale laughed. "Doesn't mean a man can't look."
"Looking's free," Curtis agreed.
"She's a good-looking woman," Dale said, still watching the boat. "Real good-looking. I wouldn't mind a night with her anyway. Rich or not."
I hit him.
I didn't think about it. I didn't say anything. I just turned and put my fist into his face as hard as I could.
He went down.