Spartina by John D. Casey

it turned out. He dug out a potato and a small steamer, dipped them in the edge of the water, and held them out to her. “I’ll put all this stuff in the washtubs,” he said, “and you use that camp stove to melt butter. Smells pretty good. If this was August we’d have corn too, but this ain’t too bad.”
    She touched the steamer and pulled her hand back. “Oh dear!” Dick put his glove between his knees and pulled the clam meat out for her with his finger, holding it by the tough neck. Schuyler and Elsie arrived in time to see her lean over and nibble on the clam. Dick pulled away the tough part of the neck. Mrs. Van der Hoevel reached for it. Schuyler said, “You don’t eat the foreskin, dear.” Mrs. Van der Hoevel blushed. She kept on chewing. She said “Good” out of the corner of her mouth. She reminded Dick of his wife again, though she was prettier. She was thin and jumpy—Dick could see Schuyler had her licked. But she kept herself together. Her white shorts had sharply creased pleats and a neat cuff, each leg a miniskirt flared around each narrow thigh—in the same way her hair flared out around her face made it seem even longer and narrower. At least Schuyler kept her in pretty clothes. Dick felt a pang of guilt about May.
    Elsie got a pair of long vinyl gloves and high rubber boots and shuffled into the seaweed to help fill the tubs. She was about the same height as Mrs. Van der Hoevel, but a good bit sturdier and harder. The big black boots and gloves flippering around in the seaweed while she crouched down in her red swimsuit made her look like an agitated ladybug. Every so often Dick and Elsie had to take a few steps into the water to cool off the soles of the boots. Then back into the pile, digging for the potatoes and stray clams, flipping them so quick they were making the washtubs clank and ping like a dieseling engine. It was decent of Elsie to help out. He looked over at her as she bent over the hot seaweed. Her thighs between the boot tops and bathing suit were steamed pink, but had good hard lines. He could see what Charlie’d been looking at.
    When they got through, Elsie shucked her gloves and boots, ran into the water, and dove out into a long glide. Dick was just wishing he’d brought a swimsuit when Joxer brought him another bottle of beer.
    “If you’re like most of the fishermen I know,” Joxer said, “you’d rather get wet inside than out.”
    Dick said, agreeably, “If you spend enough time wet when you don’t want to be, you don’t swim so often.” Dick scooped some water onto his face and neck. “The water’s warm for June.”
    Joxer said, “Okay by me.”
    “Waterskiing season for you and Mrs. Goode.”
    Joxer laughed. “Nope. If lobsters thin out, my red-crab prices go up too. I’m about to buy a pair of refrigerator trucks, do my own hauling to New York and Boston.”
    “You got enough skippers going out for you?”
    “Not yet.” Joxer tilted his head back. “I hear Parker’s got a boat.”
    Dick said, “Yup.” He couldn’t get himself to raise the subject of his own boat.
    Joxer said, “She doesn’t look like she could take much. Isn’t she awfully flat-bottomed for around here?”
    Dick nodded. “She won’t be comfortable, but she’ll do. For summer. We’ll run a few pots. Might do red crabs if the price is good.”
    “If you and Parker go out, stop at my office. I’ll tell you the price.”
    Dick said, “Can you guarantee—”
    “I can’t guarantee. But the price looks good—in fact, it’s going up.”
    “I hear Captain Texeira—”
    “Captain Texeira has two big boats and he’s a senior skipper, and I can count on him. If you and Parker start hauling on a regular basis, I’d be happy to move on to that next subject.”
    Joxer looked away toward the guests filing by the food. Eyes back to Dick. Joxer said cheerily, “You certainly did the job here. This is first-rate.”
    Dismissed. Joxer wasn’t a bad guy, but he was still