Page 33 of Rhodes

"Yeah, you told me about that the other day. How can I help?"

"The timing's got us locked in with the low tide and the permit line up on Friday. If we miss it, the next slot's weeks out and the bank keeps eating the whole time."

"Uh, huh."

"Everyone called out on us tomorrow. Jo and I can't do it alone and troll the boat up the line."

"How many bags?"

"Enough." My fingers go tight on the phone case. "They're wet. Each one's over forty pounds. Takes two people to move one and seat it right so it doesn't just slide off into the mud. Jo's borrowing her uncle's center-console for the day, and it has to happen tomorrow."

I make myself say the rest fast, before it grows.

"I'm not waiting on the org to schedule paid crew, and I'm not calling home so somebody can throw money at it." I square my shoulders. "I need one person who can lift and listen and do the work. That's it. So I'm asking you."

There, it's out.

Rhodes doesn't answer right away. He wipes the blade on a paper towel, and the quiet goes on a second too long.

"I've got a group-project meeting Friday morning," he says. "I don't know yet if I can move it. Let me find out whether the other two can push it to the afternoon, and I'll⁠—"

Heat goes up the back of my neck before he finishes, up into my face, and I hate that it moves that fast, that I wanted the yes before my head caught up.

"You know what, actually, forget it." I'm already sliding my phone into my back pocket. "I think we can swing it. I shouldn't have made it your problem."

"Tallulah—"

"No, really." I grab my backpack off the chair and swing it up. Looking busy is suddenly the most important thing in the world. "You've got your thing. I'll figure something else out. Jo probably knows another guy."

She doesn't. There isn't another guy. But saying it makes the ask smaller, makes it something I can set down, and that's all I want right now.

Rhodes stays where he is by the counter, the apple half-cut, watching me the way he watches the Pelicans get their ass handed to them on TV.

"Seriously, I'll handle it," I tell him. "Don't change your meeting."

I'm down the hall before he can say anything else.

The alarm goes off at four fifteen, and I'm already awake, staring at the ceiling in the dark, running the list. I've got to make sure my waders, gloves, the good marsh boots, not the ones with the hole at the pinky toe, are in the back of my Cruiser. I'm meeting Jo there so she can get the boat.

I sit up, swing my legs off the bed, and the floor is cold under my feet. I grab the socks I put on my boots before bed last night and pull them on.

Then there's a knock on my door. I go still with one sock half on.

"Yeah?"

The door opens a few inches. Rhodes stands in the hall with the light behind him, and it takes me a second to sort out what's wrong with the picture. He's dressed, and not for class but for work. He's got on faded canvas pants, a long-sleeve shirt gone soft from washing, and his boots already laced. His hair's wet at the edges, indicating he's been up long enough to shower.

Coffee drifts in behind him, and it isn't yesterday's pot. It's fresh.

"I moved the meeting," he says. "I'm in."

Something drops in my chest before I can catch it and turn it into anything sensible. It's relief and shame in one, and it spreads under my ribs like a rock dropped in still water.

"I told you that you didn't have to move anything." It comes out sharp, and I don't soften it.

"Do you have a third set of hands? Doesn't matter, you can always use an extra hand. It will make the job go faster. Plus, I want to see what you're working on out there."

I don't have anyone else. Jo and I decided we would move inches, drop anchor, set the shells, and then move up a few more inches. It would have taken us all day, but we figured we could do it.