her. “I’m sorry, I don’t have time to visit just now. I gotta use the tide, y’know?
“I understand. I know about the lawsuit, too, and I was just wondering if we could get together sometime, to talk.”
Rid stiffened. What the hell did she want, this soon-to-be waterfront landowner? Maybe he was spoiling her view, too.
“Yeah. Well, I’m pretty busy with this right now.”
The sky was lightening and beneath his feet the sand was draining. Almost dead low.
She looked down. “I thought maybe I could help. And I wanted to talk to you.”
“No thanks.” Tomas’ injunction was still ringing in his head. He was treating her like a washashore, which was ridiculous because she was native. He had no reason to assume she’d think of her hometown as a postcard rather than a working place—that she’d try to take that away. But she’d left, and only come back when she had to. That made her suspect.
CiCi’s head snapped up, startled, her eyes rounded like targets. “No thanks what?” Her bangs blew the wrong way in the wind and she held them out of her eyes with one hand which made her forehead look high and bald. Behind her, the revetment was solid, unyielding, a wall of carefully fitted boulders rising at a steep slope. Random loose rocks lay embedded in the sand around the high water mark. When the tide was full, there was virtually no beach here.
Rid met her eyes, not backing down. Again, he noticed she looked haggard in spite of the makeup, and felt himself soften. She must be going through hell with her mother. He was being a prick. But there was Tomas’s truck just then, jostling over the rough patch from the access road onto the beach and it fortified him to stay the course. Too much was at stake.
“No thanks, I don’t need help. And I’m sorry, I just don’t have time to talk. I’ll try to give you a call sometime. Uh, thanks for the offer.” He turned then and walked between two raceways, grabbing his bull rake and several buckets out of the bed of his truck as he passed it. October was a big harvest month. He needed to dig six hundred fifty oysters and four hundred clams for two weddings and a small raw bar today. And deal with Mario, plus whatever Tomas assigned him. Enough was enough.
* * * *
She’d made a fool of herself. Her feet were wet and here she was carrying the untouched thermos of coffee. He’d blown her off. Whatever had she been thinking? Hadn’t she been humiliated adequately the first time, when she’d been pathetic enough to stand out on the porch and call out after him? He’d kept right on going then, hadn’t he? So why had she expected anything else? Or hoped.
On the other hand, at least she’d tried. It made the decision to have an abortion easier, really.
Caroline looked up from the cultch-strewn sand just ahead to her mother’s house in the middle distance. The horseshoe cove was fully drained now, the tide all the way out. How could she be this exhausted from walking over to Rid’s grant and halfway back? It couldn’t be a half-mile round trip, and only some of it had been in soft sand. She had to pee desperately, otherwise she’d just go lie down hidden up by the beach plums and scrubby wild vegetation that scalloped the beach between the access road and where the revetment began its steep ascent.
She stopped just to breathe. Then she swung and walked backward for a moment to have the wind at her back. All up and down Indian Neck, trucks were parked like giant beetles on the sand and the detritus of the sea farmers was uncovered, the stacked oyster cages and Chinese hats, a couple of dinghies and random buckets. The farmers themselves were out in force. They must have been arriving steadily while her back was turned. Caroline felt a quick stab of guilt. He’d said he had to work. Possibly she had been keeping him, like when she used to waitress and a friend would drop by and expect her to be to stand and chat. Still, that didn’t explain his
“I understand. I know about the lawsuit, too, and I was just wondering if we could get together sometime, to talk.”
Rid stiffened. What the hell did she want, this soon-to-be waterfront landowner? Maybe he was spoiling her view, too.
“Yeah. Well, I’m pretty busy with this right now.”
The sky was lightening and beneath his feet the sand was draining. Almost dead low.
She looked down. “I thought maybe I could help. And I wanted to talk to you.”
“No thanks.” Tomas’ injunction was still ringing in his head. He was treating her like a washashore, which was ridiculous because she was native. He had no reason to assume she’d think of her hometown as a postcard rather than a working place—that she’d try to take that away. But she’d left, and only come back when she had to. That made her suspect.
CiCi’s head snapped up, startled, her eyes rounded like targets. “No thanks what?” Her bangs blew the wrong way in the wind and she held them out of her eyes with one hand which made her forehead look high and bald. Behind her, the revetment was solid, unyielding, a wall of carefully fitted boulders rising at a steep slope. Random loose rocks lay embedded in the sand around the high water mark. When the tide was full, there was virtually no beach here.
Rid met her eyes, not backing down. Again, he noticed she looked haggard in spite of the makeup, and felt himself soften. She must be going through hell with her mother. He was being a prick. But there was Tomas’s truck just then, jostling over the rough patch from the access road onto the beach and it fortified him to stay the course. Too much was at stake.
“No thanks, I don’t need help. And I’m sorry, I just don’t have time to talk. I’ll try to give you a call sometime. Uh, thanks for the offer.” He turned then and walked between two raceways, grabbing his bull rake and several buckets out of the bed of his truck as he passed it. October was a big harvest month. He needed to dig six hundred fifty oysters and four hundred clams for two weddings and a small raw bar today. And deal with Mario, plus whatever Tomas assigned him. Enough was enough.
* * * *
She’d made a fool of herself. Her feet were wet and here she was carrying the untouched thermos of coffee. He’d blown her off. Whatever had she been thinking? Hadn’t she been humiliated adequately the first time, when she’d been pathetic enough to stand out on the porch and call out after him? He’d kept right on going then, hadn’t he? So why had she expected anything else? Or hoped.
On the other hand, at least she’d tried. It made the decision to have an abortion easier, really.
Caroline looked up from the cultch-strewn sand just ahead to her mother’s house in the middle distance. The horseshoe cove was fully drained now, the tide all the way out. How could she be this exhausted from walking over to Rid’s grant and halfway back? It couldn’t be a half-mile round trip, and only some of it had been in soft sand. She had to pee desperately, otherwise she’d just go lie down hidden up by the beach plums and scrubby wild vegetation that scalloped the beach between the access road and where the revetment began its steep ascent.
She stopped just to breathe. Then she swung and walked backward for a moment to have the wind at her back. All up and down Indian Neck, trucks were parked like giant beetles on the sand and the detritus of the sea farmers was uncovered, the stacked oyster cages and Chinese hats, a couple of dinghies and random buckets. The farmers themselves were out in force. They must have been arriving steadily while her back was turned. Caroline felt a quick stab of guilt. He’d said he had to work. Possibly she had been keeping him, like when she used to waitress and a friend would drop by and expect her to be to stand and chat. Still, that didn’t explain his
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