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“All year round,” Nate said. “Those babies grow out there all year round. We grow and fish them out in fall, winter, spring, and summer, too. Summer’s our best time of year. Owners of raw oyster bars are chomping at the bit for deliveries. Summer tourist demand and a plentiful local supply make for the perfect combination.” He smiled. “No more shipments from the Chesapeake Bay for Hope Creek. Uh-uh. This island’s summer harvest is local, straight from the creek to the table, regardless of wild oyster season.”
Royal’s expression fell. “A season that’s about to be over.”
Beau shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Here they were, boasting of their young farm’s success while Royal was staring at the end of the line for his oyster harvest. Since April had just given way to May, his harvest was about to end, while theirs was just revving up.
A fine mist dampened their faces and Royal glanced up, frowned at the clouds. “What happens when the storms come? Them waves will break those cages up as easy as they do a boat.”
“We prepare as best we can for that.” Beau gestured over his shoulder toward the poles at each end of the lines of floating cages. “Our system’s rigged so we can lower the cages to the bottom of the creek when necessary. The crop is safer from storm surge, debris, and wind damage down there.”
“But it’s the time it takes,” Royal said, skepticism in his eyes. “Storms don’t wait on no prep. Teague Cottage has weathered more than its fair share, and almost every time, no matter how good we board the place up, we come out on the other side with a busted window or roof.” He lifted his chin toward the creek. “That’s what you’re missing here. Them clusters out there . . .” He shrugged. “Nature has its own way of protecting at the same time it destroys.”
“Not always,” Beau said. “Hope Creek’s wild oyster population is in decline. Has been for years. If things don’t change, bountiful oyster beds like the one Kit took us to won’t just be rare. They’ll be nonexistent.”
Royal’s lips twisted. “And you’ll be their savior, huh?”
Beau bit his tongue.
“Here, Royal.” Nate fished an impressive deep cup out of the pile of oysters on the table and nudged it in Royal’s direction. “Try one. Tasting is believing, and I’m telling you, these oysters will rival the very best you’ve ever pulled out of the creek.”
Beau pulled his gloves from his back pocket and tugged them on, grabbed his oyster shucking knife, and took the oyster from Nate. He cracked the shell open, revealing a full, fleshy oyster on the half shell, and presented it to Royal.
Royal stared at Beau for a moment, then the oyster, but finally took it, tipped it into his mouth, and rolled it over his tongue before swallowing it whole. His eyes drifted shut, and a look of surprised pleasure appeared on his face. Then he opened his eyes and studied the empty shell in his hand.
“Viv did that,” Beau said.
Royal’s eyes met his. “Did what?”
“Raised that oyster.” He motioned toward the pile of oysters on the table. “Those too. That entire line’s worth of cages, actually. That’s her crop.”
Royal’s attention shifted to Viv, a look of pride crossing his face. “I’m not surprised,” he said softly. “My girl always did have a way with the water and everything in it.” His chin trembled. “Couldn’t be more proud of her if I tried.”
Viv’s arm brushed Beau’s, and he glanced over. His smile grew as she blushed and a small grin made its way to her face at her father’s praise. That smile was a welcome sight.
“Thing is, though,” Royal said loudly, clearing his throat. “You can’t beat the flavor of a cluster of wild oysters steamed fresh over a flaming pile of wood.”
Nate scoffed. “Our deep cups roast just as well as wild ones. Taste better, too.”
“Bull.” Royal tossed the empty shell on the culling table. “Ain’t no way these fat suckers—”
“Dad!” Mackey jabbed Royal in the arm, glaring.
Royal held up a hand and softened his voice. “Ain’t no way these oysters of yours steam open as sweet as mine.” He jerked his thumb toward a stack of stainless-steel pots sitting at the end of the dock. “’Specially since they’re cooked in those contraptions over propane.”
Nate stiffened. “Want to put it to the test? I’ll feed you an oyster so fat, juicy, and perfect that it’ll choke you!”
Someone snorted behind Beau, the noisy outburst a mixture of shock and humor. “Pop!”
Beau turned to find Cal and Kit standing behind him, looking over his shoulder at Nate and Royal. Cal sported an enthralled excitement in his eyes. Kit look downright horrified.
She shook her head at Royal. “Dad, what in the worl—”
“All right, then.” Royal smacked the culling table with the palm of his hand. “You’re on. You got enough blocks and wood hiding around this place for me to build a fire?”
Nate harrumphed. “More than enough.”
Royal stuck out his hand. “You want it?”
Nate thrust his hand in Royal’s and shook it vigorously. “It’s on!”
