Returning to Shore by Corinne Demas

when it was Richard’s turn to say something. But he didn’t. He just stood there, not extending himself to help the conversation. But if Steffi was disappointed by his lack of social grace, his inhospitality, she didn’t let on.
    â€œI work with Rich on the terrapin project,” she said, her voice cheerful and excited. “On
his
terrapin project, I should say. He’s our guiding light.”
    â€œHardly,” said Richard dryly.
    â€œYou know how modest he is,” said Steffi to Clare.Clare nodded as if she knew, but she didn’t know at all. “The project was his idea; he got the grant money; he organized the volunteer network—I’m just a volunteer; I’m not a real naturalist.
    â€œI’m not trained as a naturalist, either,” protested Richard.
    Steffi ignored him. “And when journalists want to do a story about the project, he won’t take any credit for what he’s doing.”
    There was another long pause. At this moment Clare would have expected Richard to offer Steffi something to drink—but he didn’t. They all stood there, and Steffi smiled brightly at Clare. She was remarkably resilient. Perhaps she was so familiar with his awkwardness she didn’t take it personally.
    â€œSo, you’ll be helping out with the turtles while you’re here, I bet.”
    â€œI guess so,” said Clare.
    â€œThat’s great,” said Steffi. “Nesting season, you know, is the busy time; we can use all the help we can get. Have you done this before?”
    Clare shook her head.
    â€œBut you’ve been to the island before?”
    â€œOh, yes,” said Clare. “Of course.” She stole a look at Richard, and he caught her eye. His mouth moved slightly, not quite a smile, and he gave just the slightly hint of a nod.
    Again there was a pause. Steffi took in her breath, pulled up her shoulders. “I’ve got to be going,” she said, “great meeting you, Clare. We’ll be seeing each other, no doubt.” She turned towards Richard and touched his elbow. Her three fingers rested for a second on the fabric of his blue work shirt, then pressed cloth against skin. “I have some cages in the car I could use your help with,” she said. Her flip-flops slapped against the soles of her feet as she walked off. Clare felt a touch of —what was it? jealousy? and on whose behalf? Steffi was the kind of woman who would have irritated Vera, a woman who seemed as if she hadn’t put a lot of work into looking attractive, but who was attractive anyway. But it wasn’t Vera whom she was feeling for; it was herself, for the fact that this woman seemed to know her father better than she did. Clare sat down and opened her book. She didn’t want them to think she was watching them to see how they dealt with each other when they weren’t with her. She didn’t know what was betweenthem. It seemed clear that Steffi was interested in her father—but was he interested in Steffi?
    When he came back to the deck, he said, “Ready to go for pizza now?” Nothing about the visit from Steffi. So she didn’t bring it up, either.

10
    It felt strange to Clare to be going up and over the wooden bridge, leaving the island behind. Out on the main road Blackfish Island seemed as if it was a continent away. People speeding along to other parts of the Cape would never know that it existed, perhaps would not know that a place like it
could
exist.
    The restaurant was noisy with big ceiling fans that swirled the air around but didn’t do much to cool it. The teenagers who were working there looked sweaty and tired. Still, Clare envied them. It would be fun to have a real summer job, to be working with a bunch of friends and get to wear one of those red shirts that said“Dave’s Crew” across the back and had a name tag on the front. You probably had to be at least sixteen to get a job like