I added pastries and savory pies from the harbor bakery and returned before noon.
Caleb smelled the food before I opened the break-room door.
“What did you do?”
“I brought lunch.”
“That is not an answer.”
Owen came in behind Noah.
Noah used the cane. Graphite darkened his fingers, and a narrow smear of sealant marked one wrist.
He looked at the boxes covering the table.
“Are we celebrating?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“The payment arrived.”
His face brightened.
“Today?”
“This morning.”
I opened the boxes and set out vegetable tarts, meat pies, and pastries.
Then I pointed toward the machine concealed beneath a cloth at the end of the counter.
Caleb pulled the cloth away.
Silence.
Owen placed one hand reverently on the stainless-steel casing.
“This is not sensible.”
“It is morale.”
“It has a pressure gauge.”
“Yes.”
“Do any of us know how to use it?”
“No.”
Noah leaned on his cane.
“We repair marine electronics.”
Caleb looked at him.
“That means no.”
