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“Annoying? Infuriating? Invading?” Avery countered, biting his bottom lip in thought.
“Disarming,” Ethan breathed. “It’s disarming,” he repeated, eyes coasting across the still surface of the water. “To be able to make strangers smile.”
“But I made you sad first. It was only when I started rambling that you laughed.” Avery brushed his right hand through his wet hair, a few drops of water settling on the shoulders of his sky-blue t-shirt.
“But you didn’t know that thinking of Matty would make me sad. You couldn’t have known.” Ethan’s stare fixated on a small branch bobbing on the surface of the water. “I’m mostly sad when I think of Matty. I miss him like crazy.” Ethan bit his lower lip, searching for his own discarded t-shirt. Why he felt the urge to open to this guy he’d met only just yesterday, he couldn’t yet decipher. But it didn’t scare him. It enticed him.
“Mattie?” Avery’s voice sounded almost wistful, his blue eyes darkening. “Your friend’s name is Mattie?”
“Yeah.” Suddenly Ethan’s own sadness gave way to another feeling. Regret poured from Avery’s body and transferred through to his own until it settled in Ethan’s chest like a clenched fist around his heart. Avery looked away, out at the still water.
“My sister’s name is Mattie,” Avery murmured, voice coarse with what sounded like withheld sadness. “Well, Mathilde really. But I always called her Mattie.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Matty – Then
“AND HOW OLDdid you say you were?” The lobsterman’s bulky frame towered several inches over him as he took in Matty’s crumbled t-shirt and worn tennis shoes.
“Eighteen?” Matty squinted at the bearded giant in front of him, the mid-morning sun reflected on the surface of the sea.
“Is that a question or a fact?” The fisherman bent over a large container filled with today’s catch which he’d just placed on the dock when Matty had approached him. He removed a few strings of bright-green seaweed from one of the lobsters, inspecting it, before looking back up at Matty.
Matty squirmed under the scrutinizing gaze of the middle-aged man. He didn’t look like a guy you could bullshit. But he’d given off a vibe of openness, kindness even, which was why Matty had approached him in the first place out of the several other fishermen on the docks. Taking a deep breath Matty looked directly at the weather-beaten face of the older man, while he forced his voice to appear steady.
“Fifteen and ten months,” he replied, determination coloring his voice, without looking away, fists clenched at his sides.
The lobsterman wiped at the sweat which had settled below the edge of his red, knitted hat. Weird wearing a knitted hat in the middle of August but Matty guessed it might be a lot colder out on the open sea. The wind had been brutal this morning when he’d woken up on the beach to the sound of screaming seagulls and waves crashing against the shore. It had settled a bit since then, turning into a nicer, cooler breeze.
“Look, kid. I stopped counting my years out in months a long time ago… This is hard work. Dangerous at times. This ain’t no job for a kid.” His deep voice was kind, but the message was clear as day. To him, Matty was just a kid and of no use.
Only, he wasn’t, was he? A kid didn’t travel all the way across the country all on his own, did he? A kid would’ve been out riding his bike with his friends by now or perhaps doing his house chores. Or maybe, if it were a lucky kid, he’d be scarfing down a piece of peach cobbler, chasing it with a glass of cold milk while his mom was looking at him fondly or his dad was peeking over the top of his newspaper. But Matty wasn’t a kid. He hadn’t been one for a long time.
“I’m strong,” he stated firmly, trying his best to keep the tremble out of his voice. “And I ain’t afraid of nothin.’ I’ve had my fair share of broken bones and they weren’t from climbing trees or riding bicycles.” Matty felt the traitorous tears building along with his desperation and he bit his lower lip to fight them off.
“Easy there, Rambo,” the fisherman smiled at him, a stain of oil smeared under his left eye. Maybe he’d tried to wipe sand from his eyes at some point. “I believe you. You look pretty fierce to me,” he winked.
“Screw this,” Matty mumbled in front of him. “You’re just like the rest of them. You see what you wanna see. Sorry for wasting your time, sir.” He reached for his duffle, brushing at the tears which were now slipping from the corners of his blue eyes.
“Hold on, now, kid.” A large hand landed on his left shoulder, the weight grounding him at once. “I didn’t say I couldn’t use a hand around here. But you aren’t stepping foot on that boat before I say so. Hell, I don’t even know if you can swim.” He pointed out at the dark-red, mid-sized wooden lobstering boat behind him.Harrietwas painted in white cursive along the side.Boats are always shes.
“I can swim just fine, sir,” Matty blurted, blue eyes lighting up with eagerness. “I’ll do anything you throw at me. I ain’t picky. I used to work in a hardware store doing all sorts of manual labor.” The words came tumbling from Matty’s lips, a faint spark of hope building in his chest.
“Alright, alright, easy now.” A broad smile revealing large, even teeth spread on the older man’s wrinkled face. “It’s peak season now, so I could use an extra hand with gettingHarrietready in the mornin’ before headin’ out and cleaning it in the afternoon and such.” He pointed at the deck of the boat which clearly needed sweeping and tidying. “And Millie—that’s the missus—I’m sure she has an entire list of odd jobs around the house. Always bugging my tired ass—pardon my French—as soon as I show my irresistibly handsome face around the house.”
“I can do that! I can start on the list right now… Or the boat.” This was the fourth place Matty had been to this morning. He’d lost the overall count by now. Over the past few weeks, since arriving in Saco, Maine, Matty had been hitchhiking between small coastal towns asking for work. No one wanted to take on a kid. Maybe ten years ago, sure. But with the safety regulations these days, it was just too risky, he was told again and again. No one wanted the authorities up their asses. Besides, lobster fishing was a struggling business and most of the fishermen that he’d encountered were just scraping by as it was. Or at least, that’s what they’d told him. Maybe they just saw the same useless boy that his father kept telling him that he was.
His savings had dwindled into a handful of bills and for the past few nights, he’d slept on the beach. It wasn’t too cold, but he knew that he couldn’t keep this up. He hadn’t brought any winter clothes since he didn’t own any. Never had. West Texas never got so cold that you were in the need of winter gear. Most of the year, his worn denim jacket had been sufficient. But the East Coast was different. Soon cool August evenings would turn into freezing fall nights, the ruthless wind chilling him to the bone.
The fisherman cleared his throat, glancing out at the sky where clouds were gathering, moving at a fast pace towards the coast.
“Nah, kid. There’s rain headed our way, so we’re done for today. You can help me load the truck instead.” Pointing at the stacked containers with lobster, he continued. “I need to drop these off at some local restaurants. Let’s see what you’re made of, Rambo.” He winked at Matty, who inspected the large stack of containers. “Then we’ll get you settled in at the house. See what Millie’s cooking for lunch.” Throwing an empty case onto the boat, the fisherman wiped his large, tanned hands in his coveralls before he held his right one out towards Matty. “The name’s Will, by the way. Will Hart. And I assume yours ain’tKid.”
Matty couldn’t help grinning as he grabbed Will’s hand and shook it eagerly. It was strangely warm but with callouses from what Matty assumed was years of hard work in all sorts of weather. Matty’s stomach growled at the mention of lunch, reminding him that he’d skipped breakfast, wanting to save his last cash for a hot meal later in the day.
“I’m Matthew. Matthew Carter,” he spoke timidly, the increasing wind blowing the sentence away as soon as the words had left his mouth. Strange how the weather changed from one minute to the next here by the ocean, whereas back home one devilish hot day seemed to bleed into the next without any major changes.Carter.He’d decided to drop the nameCraigduring the bus ride to Saco. Leave it behind, along with the rest of his old life. It wasn’t his name anymore. It was his father’s name.
“Good to meet you, Matthew.” Will dropped his hand and nodded at the duffel on the dock. “Where’s the rest of your stuff?”
