the truck door open in his fumbling haste for his house key.
The Lab shot out and into a squat in the weedy grass. “Whew,” Rid whistled. “I know, I know. Wow, that’s a lot. You really had to go bad. I’m really sorry, girl.”
As soon as she was upright again, the dog did an ecstatic dance around him, leaping to take tongue swipes at his face. Rid squatted and let her kiss and nuzzle him, his arms around her in a hug that shortly resulted in his being knocked onto his rear. “Okay, okay,” he laughed. “I’m happy to see you, too. D’ja think you I was gonna let you starve? Ya wanna eat ?”
At the word, the dog backed up and barked.
“C’mon, girl, we gotta hurry, we’re losing the tide,” he said, striding to the kitchen where he scooped dry dog food into a metal bowl, and slamming the house door behind him, carried it to the truck, Lizzie barking and jumping in famished eagerness alongside all the way. Once in the front seat, she snarfed the food as he jammed the truck in reverse and raced back to the tide.
* * * *
He’d lost way too much time. Some of his nets were already under so much water that if they were fouled, he really couldn’t do anything about it now. “Crap,” he muttered, throwing the truck into park fairly near the high-water mark, seeing that Barb and Tweed and Woody were already throwing some equipment into the backs of theirs in preparation to move them in some. On a moon tide like this one, so much of the grant was exposed that it was worth it to move the truck two or three times, farther out and then back in some on the flats rather than leave it in the shallows and have to trudge back and forth. It was their most valuable work time of the month, not that tomorrow’s tide wouldn’t be good, too, but last night had been the full moon, so from now on it wouldn’t be quite as good, and now he’d missed it when there might be repairs needed, on top of the digging and picking he’d planned to get done to fill the weekend orders down in Chatham.
Lizzie bounded out of the truck and immediately—he could have predicted it, having given her no time in the yard—did her business on the beach. Rid winced, hoping the owner whose precious sand Lizzie was polluting wasn’t doing an eagle-eye patrol behind some enormous expanse of window. He’d not thought to bring a plastic bag to pick it up with; maybe someone had one lying around his truck. Rid was always careful—all of them were—about antagonizing the upland owners. Sometimes when he was early and waiting for the tide to drop enough so he could work, he’d play ball with Lizzie in the shallows, always scrupulous to keep her off the beach, and while he worked, he kept her in the truck. He reminded himself: don’t forget to clean that up as he pulled his waders on and hooked one of the shoulder straps.
“Where the hell you been?” It was Mario, shouting from in front of the big rock that handily marked the border of his grant. He looked at his watch in an exaggerated motion. He’d already thrown his bull rake in the truck, which meant he’d dug the quahogs he needed to fill immediate orders. Behind him, the wind whipped the surface of the bay into frothy whitecaps. The mottled sky kept moving.
Rid wasn’t going to take the time to answer. “Got held up,” he shouted back, and slung the first two nursery trays he’d pulled from the water last night over his shoulder to carry out and reset. “Much damage last night?” he yelled as he slogged out.
“Some. Not too bad,” Mario called, from closer. Mario didn’t believe in pulling stock before storms or even burying his oysters in a pit for winter. Most of the time he got away with it, but when he didn’t, he lied about it. He was crossing to Rid’s grant, zigging to avoid oyster cages and skirting the edges of Rid’s netted-over raceways. “Hey, d’ja talk to Tomas since the second tide yesterday?”
“Nope.” Rid kept moving, to be clear: man,
The Lab shot out and into a squat in the weedy grass. “Whew,” Rid whistled. “I know, I know. Wow, that’s a lot. You really had to go bad. I’m really sorry, girl.”
As soon as she was upright again, the dog did an ecstatic dance around him, leaping to take tongue swipes at his face. Rid squatted and let her kiss and nuzzle him, his arms around her in a hug that shortly resulted in his being knocked onto his rear. “Okay, okay,” he laughed. “I’m happy to see you, too. D’ja think you I was gonna let you starve? Ya wanna eat ?”
At the word, the dog backed up and barked.
“C’mon, girl, we gotta hurry, we’re losing the tide,” he said, striding to the kitchen where he scooped dry dog food into a metal bowl, and slamming the house door behind him, carried it to the truck, Lizzie barking and jumping in famished eagerness alongside all the way. Once in the front seat, she snarfed the food as he jammed the truck in reverse and raced back to the tide.
* * * *
He’d lost way too much time. Some of his nets were already under so much water that if they were fouled, he really couldn’t do anything about it now. “Crap,” he muttered, throwing the truck into park fairly near the high-water mark, seeing that Barb and Tweed and Woody were already throwing some equipment into the backs of theirs in preparation to move them in some. On a moon tide like this one, so much of the grant was exposed that it was worth it to move the truck two or three times, farther out and then back in some on the flats rather than leave it in the shallows and have to trudge back and forth. It was their most valuable work time of the month, not that tomorrow’s tide wouldn’t be good, too, but last night had been the full moon, so from now on it wouldn’t be quite as good, and now he’d missed it when there might be repairs needed, on top of the digging and picking he’d planned to get done to fill the weekend orders down in Chatham.
Lizzie bounded out of the truck and immediately—he could have predicted it, having given her no time in the yard—did her business on the beach. Rid winced, hoping the owner whose precious sand Lizzie was polluting wasn’t doing an eagle-eye patrol behind some enormous expanse of window. He’d not thought to bring a plastic bag to pick it up with; maybe someone had one lying around his truck. Rid was always careful—all of them were—about antagonizing the upland owners. Sometimes when he was early and waiting for the tide to drop enough so he could work, he’d play ball with Lizzie in the shallows, always scrupulous to keep her off the beach, and while he worked, he kept her in the truck. He reminded himself: don’t forget to clean that up as he pulled his waders on and hooked one of the shoulder straps.
“Where the hell you been?” It was Mario, shouting from in front of the big rock that handily marked the border of his grant. He looked at his watch in an exaggerated motion. He’d already thrown his bull rake in the truck, which meant he’d dug the quahogs he needed to fill immediate orders. Behind him, the wind whipped the surface of the bay into frothy whitecaps. The mottled sky kept moving.
Rid wasn’t going to take the time to answer. “Got held up,” he shouted back, and slung the first two nursery trays he’d pulled from the water last night over his shoulder to carry out and reset. “Much damage last night?” he yelled as he slogged out.
“Some. Not too bad,” Mario called, from closer. Mario didn’t believe in pulling stock before storms or even burying his oysters in a pit for winter. Most of the time he got away with it, but when he didn’t, he lied about it. He was crossing to Rid’s grant, zigging to avoid oyster cages and skirting the edges of Rid’s netted-over raceways. “Hey, d’ja talk to Tomas since the second tide yesterday?”
“Nope.” Rid kept moving, to be clear: man,
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