Becker likes his boat clean, real clean. Gene likes Becker because he’s a young guy with a lot of talent, and he works hard every day. I like him because when he comes over to our boat, he always talks to me too, like I’m one of the guys.
“How you hittin’ ’em?” Becker asks. I can see him counting our bags out of the corner of his eye. “Geez, Jake, you catch all them littlenecks?”
“Yup,” I say straight-faced as I continue my
ca-ching, ca-ching.
“What do you think of my new picker?” Becker smiles as he looks back at the other guy, who is frantically scrubbing down the deck of the boat.
“Morning, Bainsey,” Gene says, giving the guy a slight nod.
As soon as he says “Bainsey,” I recognize him. Jeff Baines. He’s a short, muscular guy with this facial tic that makes him touch his chin to his shoulder every so often. He’s been in the diner a few times. And I know for a fact that Gene doesn’t like him because he’s always spouting his mouth off about who caught what where and how much they caught. I’m wondering what he’s doing on Becker’s boat, and I think Gene’s wondering the same thing.
“You heard what happened to my boat, right, Gene?” Bainsey asks, dropping the scrub brush and coming right up to the bow. “Came loose from its mooring in that storm, got trashed up the Barrington River.”
I’m nervous now, because I’m wondering if his engine got salvaged as well.
“I think it was cut loose, that’s what I think.” Bainsey is twitching more than usual now. “Just before the damn beach opening! Can you believe that crap?”
“It’s not right,” Gene says.
“Don’t feel bad for him, Gene.” Becker spits into the water. “He’s actually making more money working as my picker.” Now they’re all laughing, even Bainsey, and I’m relieved they aren’t talking about missing engines.
The rake feels nearly full, but Gene always tells me never to pull up when someone’s paying you a visit. I can barely move it anymore.
Forget it.
I slowly start to haul it up.
“Gene, I’m only covering for Dave’s picker today. You want me to work the beach with you when it opens? It’s gonna be a long day out there,” Bainsey says.
Now I start to pull the rake up faster, because I’m ticked off.
What a jerk, to ask Gene right in front of me!
My rake is just breaking the surface, and I put all my muscles into shaking the sand and clay from the basket. The guys are all looking too, and the rake is three-quarters full of beautiful, shiny littlenecks.
“No, thanks, Bainsey, I got Jake here. He’s all I need,” Gene says, all proud.
“Woo-hoo! You got that straight! You stuffed it, Jake!” Becker says.
Now I’m feeling great, and even though it’s real hot out, I’ve got goose bumps on my arms. I just pulled up a nearly full rake right in front of Becker and that jerk Bainsey.
Becker pushes off, and I can hear him yelling at Bainsey to get the bags ready and to pick up a shell from the bottom of the boat.
“Thanks, Gene,” I say with a big grin.
“Don’t worry about it. ’Sides, I never liked Bainsey one bit. That guy shoots his mouth off every time he catches more than a twenty shot. I’d have people camping on top of me every day if that guy ever came on board.” He pauses and adds, “You and me, Jake, is all we ever need.”
I’m actually busting because I have the feeling like my dad isn’t really missing; he just picked up, left the diner, and is here with me, right now in Gene’s body. I can feel my shoulders start to slouch and a fist-size lump growing in my throat. I can’t seem to take a breath.
“I know what you’re thinking, Jake. I miss him too. We all do.”
“Hey, Gene, how come you never initiated me?”
“I don’t know.” Avoiding the question, Gene rolls his strained neck as he pushes the handle of the rake with his hips to keep the boat moving.
“C’mon. You remember, a few weeks ago with that kid, Randy. Billy Mac’s
“How you hittin’ ’em?” Becker asks. I can see him counting our bags out of the corner of his eye. “Geez, Jake, you catch all them littlenecks?”
“Yup,” I say straight-faced as I continue my
ca-ching, ca-ching.
“What do you think of my new picker?” Becker smiles as he looks back at the other guy, who is frantically scrubbing down the deck of the boat.
“Morning, Bainsey,” Gene says, giving the guy a slight nod.
As soon as he says “Bainsey,” I recognize him. Jeff Baines. He’s a short, muscular guy with this facial tic that makes him touch his chin to his shoulder every so often. He’s been in the diner a few times. And I know for a fact that Gene doesn’t like him because he’s always spouting his mouth off about who caught what where and how much they caught. I’m wondering what he’s doing on Becker’s boat, and I think Gene’s wondering the same thing.
“You heard what happened to my boat, right, Gene?” Bainsey asks, dropping the scrub brush and coming right up to the bow. “Came loose from its mooring in that storm, got trashed up the Barrington River.”
I’m nervous now, because I’m wondering if his engine got salvaged as well.
“I think it was cut loose, that’s what I think.” Bainsey is twitching more than usual now. “Just before the damn beach opening! Can you believe that crap?”
“It’s not right,” Gene says.
“Don’t feel bad for him, Gene.” Becker spits into the water. “He’s actually making more money working as my picker.” Now they’re all laughing, even Bainsey, and I’m relieved they aren’t talking about missing engines.
The rake feels nearly full, but Gene always tells me never to pull up when someone’s paying you a visit. I can barely move it anymore.
Forget it.
I slowly start to haul it up.
“Gene, I’m only covering for Dave’s picker today. You want me to work the beach with you when it opens? It’s gonna be a long day out there,” Bainsey says.
Now I start to pull the rake up faster, because I’m ticked off.
What a jerk, to ask Gene right in front of me!
My rake is just breaking the surface, and I put all my muscles into shaking the sand and clay from the basket. The guys are all looking too, and the rake is three-quarters full of beautiful, shiny littlenecks.
“No, thanks, Bainsey, I got Jake here. He’s all I need,” Gene says, all proud.
“Woo-hoo! You got that straight! You stuffed it, Jake!” Becker says.
Now I’m feeling great, and even though it’s real hot out, I’ve got goose bumps on my arms. I just pulled up a nearly full rake right in front of Becker and that jerk Bainsey.
Becker pushes off, and I can hear him yelling at Bainsey to get the bags ready and to pick up a shell from the bottom of the boat.
“Thanks, Gene,” I say with a big grin.
“Don’t worry about it. ’Sides, I never liked Bainsey one bit. That guy shoots his mouth off every time he catches more than a twenty shot. I’d have people camping on top of me every day if that guy ever came on board.” He pauses and adds, “You and me, Jake, is all we ever need.”
I’m actually busting because I have the feeling like my dad isn’t really missing; he just picked up, left the diner, and is here with me, right now in Gene’s body. I can feel my shoulders start to slouch and a fist-size lump growing in my throat. I can’t seem to take a breath.
“I know what you’re thinking, Jake. I miss him too. We all do.”
“Hey, Gene, how come you never initiated me?”
“I don’t know.” Avoiding the question, Gene rolls his strained neck as he pushes the handle of the rake with his hips to keep the boat moving.
“C’mon. You remember, a few weeks ago with that kid, Randy. Billy Mac’s
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