wait. I will be ready.
A windy winter morning. Frieda packed a school lunch for Bea and tended to Silver, who’d been down with a cold. Wrapped in blankets, he sat on the divan and blew his nose into an old handkerchief. “Got work for today?” he said as he folded the handkerchief and set it in his lap.
She turned and studied him. His face was grayish, his nose red and raw, and his eyes rheumy and tired. “Not yet. Have to go see if I can rustle up a job.”
“Winter’s tough on the boats. Ought to be some fishermen needing repairs.”
“Yep,” she said.
“Yep,” Silver replied, then adjusted his position on the couch and suffered through a coughing spell.
Concerned, Frieda filled the Thermos that Silver always used and brought it to him. “I might not be gone long. I’ll come back and check on you, even if I land something.”
“I’m OK,” he said croakingly.
Frieda stood still.
Silver gazed up at her through bloodshot eyes, as if some new knowledge had just come to him; as if something had shifted. His voice soft now, he said, “Did I tell you I’m proud of you?”
She gazed down. They weren’t the sort of family to heap praise on each other. Many things were known but not said.
“I hear tell you’re the best mechanic out there these days.”
Frieda shrugged as if it meant nothing. Only it meant a lot.
“I’m proud of you, what you’ve made of yourself.”
Frieda studied her boots and finally whispered, “Thank you,” before leaving.
Dockside, she asked around, but no one needed any repairs or maintenance that day. Bad weather was slowing things down. The winter had been brutal so far, and many of the smaller shore boats had been unable to go out. It was as if the weather itself knew strange business was stirring.
She spoke to all the locals, with the exception of Hawkeye. She’d been able to avoid talking to him for two years now, because he didn’t own a boat any longer. Lost it somehow, and so he worked as relief man for the other dockmaster, something he had done before, and he crewed on other fishermen’s boats. But his demeaning interest in her and in everything she was doing had not waned. Often he followed her around with his piercing eye, as if he were judge and jury presiding over her life. She’d heard from some of her customers that he’d asked how well she was working out as a mechanic. The nerve! His nickname was perfect; he was like a circling hawk, waiting to attack.
At Bahrs she sat on a stool, ordered Florence Bahrs’s clam chowder, and then looked around. The tables were covered with sheet metal, and there were no tablecloths, menus, or napkins. But some of the clammers’ wives sported new fur coats against the cold of winter and wore diamond rings on their weathered fingers.
When Hicks came in, he took a seat beside her. Dressed in his fisherman’s coveralls, a woolen jacket and muffs on his ears, he brought with him the briny smell of the sea mixed with the scent of sweat seeping through wool. He took off the muffs and set them on the table.
Improbably, Frieda had come to like Hicks. They’d grown close over the past two years, like siblings or best friends in her view. But she had the uneasy feeling that he still had a crush on her. It came during awkward silences, when their hands accidentally brushed against each other, and when he did things like drape his coat over her shoulders when a cold wind began to blow. Sometimes she glanced up and saw that old longing in his eyes, and it made her both sad and a bit scared for him. But she pushed her concerns aside. They had so much to do, and when they worked together, which was rare now, they often found they were thinking the same things. They finished each other’s sentences. Being around him made her feel warm, as if a coal lay in her core. During a few peculiar moments Frieda had felt a momentary burn, as if the coal could spark to flame, but the sensation slipped away as fast as it had
A windy winter morning. Frieda packed a school lunch for Bea and tended to Silver, who’d been down with a cold. Wrapped in blankets, he sat on the divan and blew his nose into an old handkerchief. “Got work for today?” he said as he folded the handkerchief and set it in his lap.
She turned and studied him. His face was grayish, his nose red and raw, and his eyes rheumy and tired. “Not yet. Have to go see if I can rustle up a job.”
“Winter’s tough on the boats. Ought to be some fishermen needing repairs.”
“Yep,” she said.
“Yep,” Silver replied, then adjusted his position on the couch and suffered through a coughing spell.
Concerned, Frieda filled the Thermos that Silver always used and brought it to him. “I might not be gone long. I’ll come back and check on you, even if I land something.”
“I’m OK,” he said croakingly.
Frieda stood still.
Silver gazed up at her through bloodshot eyes, as if some new knowledge had just come to him; as if something had shifted. His voice soft now, he said, “Did I tell you I’m proud of you?”
She gazed down. They weren’t the sort of family to heap praise on each other. Many things were known but not said.
“I hear tell you’re the best mechanic out there these days.”
Frieda shrugged as if it meant nothing. Only it meant a lot.
“I’m proud of you, what you’ve made of yourself.”
Frieda studied her boots and finally whispered, “Thank you,” before leaving.
Dockside, she asked around, but no one needed any repairs or maintenance that day. Bad weather was slowing things down. The winter had been brutal so far, and many of the smaller shore boats had been unable to go out. It was as if the weather itself knew strange business was stirring.
She spoke to all the locals, with the exception of Hawkeye. She’d been able to avoid talking to him for two years now, because he didn’t own a boat any longer. Lost it somehow, and so he worked as relief man for the other dockmaster, something he had done before, and he crewed on other fishermen’s boats. But his demeaning interest in her and in everything she was doing had not waned. Often he followed her around with his piercing eye, as if he were judge and jury presiding over her life. She’d heard from some of her customers that he’d asked how well she was working out as a mechanic. The nerve! His nickname was perfect; he was like a circling hawk, waiting to attack.
At Bahrs she sat on a stool, ordered Florence Bahrs’s clam chowder, and then looked around. The tables were covered with sheet metal, and there were no tablecloths, menus, or napkins. But some of the clammers’ wives sported new fur coats against the cold of winter and wore diamond rings on their weathered fingers.
When Hicks came in, he took a seat beside her. Dressed in his fisherman’s coveralls, a woolen jacket and muffs on his ears, he brought with him the briny smell of the sea mixed with the scent of sweat seeping through wool. He took off the muffs and set them on the table.
Improbably, Frieda had come to like Hicks. They’d grown close over the past two years, like siblings or best friends in her view. But she had the uneasy feeling that he still had a crush on her. It came during awkward silences, when their hands accidentally brushed against each other, and when he did things like drape his coat over her shoulders when a cold wind began to blow. Sometimes she glanced up and saw that old longing in his eyes, and it made her both sad and a bit scared for him. But she pushed her concerns aside. They had so much to do, and when they worked together, which was rare now, they often found they were thinking the same things. They finished each other’s sentences. Being around him made her feel warm, as if a coal lay in her core. During a few peculiar moments Frieda had felt a momentary burn, as if the coal could spark to flame, but the sensation slipped away as fast as it had
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