front-left compartment.’
I found a new one and handed it over and waited while he fitted it. There was no use negotiating or haggling with him.
He said, ‘We’re having Tracy over for tea and pie.’
‘Evelyn told me.’
‘Did she now?’
‘She was acting pretty mysterious about something.’
He looked at me, and I could tell by the look that he was in on it, whatever it was.
‘It’s important to Evelyn. I suppose you want to skip that, too.’
‘Tracy is working the night shift, so won’t stay late. I could go after.’
He was twisting the nut back on, turning the wrench in swift rotations. On his upper forearm he had this tattoo of a heart, pink and sun-faded, which shifted with each movement.
‘I can’t give you permission to do that, Tim.’
I stared at the oil rag, at my bad hand.
‘I figured that would be the case,’ I said.
‘But if you slip away – say after we’re all down – I might look the other way.’
‘Thanks, Albert. Thanks for that.’
‘I ain’t doing you no favours. If you get caught, or they see you, I’ll come down hard on you just the same.’
He tightened the nut the last few turns, snugging it into place. On the last twist the wrench trembled with tension and the muscles in his forearm flexed. When it was done he nodded, satisfied, as if that had decided it.
Before dinner, while we waited for Tracy, I hopped on dish duty. I wanted to get a head start, and I suppose make amends in advance for what I intended to do later. So I stood at the sink and scrubbed away at Evelyn’s pots and pans. In the window above the sink I could see the reflection of the others sitting at the galley table behind me, their images transparent and ghost-like. There was Sugar and Albert and Evelyn and Big Ben, Sugar’s nephew: a quiet kid with a buzz cut and a scar across his nose, who’d joined the crew the same season as me. The four of them were talking about hockey and listening to Gram Parsons. It was one of Albert’s scratchy old cassettes, and the ragged vocals always reminded me of Jake, the way Jake used to sing.
Evelyn still hadn’t said any more about her little secret. She’d told me I had to wait till Tracy got there. Since I was at the window I spotted her first: clambering over the port-side gunnel. Like her mother she was strong and solidly built and at ease on the boats and water. When she straightened up she saw me and smiled, her cheeks burnished red from the cold.
‘Company’s here,’ I said.
Albert got up and hurried to open the door for his daughter, reaching it just as she did.
‘Should have called out,’ he said. ‘Would have helped you aboard.’
‘I’m training to run this boat, Dad. Reckon I can board it myself.’
Big Ben shook her hand and Sugar told him that was no way to greet a lady, then demonstrated by wrapping Tracy up in a bear hug and lifting her right off the ground. He’d known her since she was six years old and could make that kind of thing seem completely natural. I shuffled over to join them, and when it came my turn to greet Tracy I hugged her as well, though with me it was different. I hugged her cautiously, as if she were a cousin or a formal acquaintance. I always worried, hugging her, that it would seem improper in front of Albert.
‘Let’s all sit down,’ Evelyn said.
‘I just got the pots to finish.’
‘Oh, leave the dishes, Tim. We have company.’
We sat around the galley table, pulling up a pair of extra chairs for Tracy and me. Evelyn put on her oven mitts – these mitts in the shape of flippers we got her two seasons back – and brought the stew over to the table, along with homemade buns and a bowl of salad. This was all dished out, plate by plate, and the plates were handed around the table to the person on the end: Sugar, in this case. That was how we did it. Everything we did on the boat had its own ritual, and eating dinner was no different.
As we ate we chatted about the herring season. Tracy had already heard from Evelyn that we’d made our quota, and that the rest of the company had, too. Sugar and Albert shared the licence but operated through Westco in a collective. We told her about where we’d cast our nets that year and some of the stories we’d brought back: the skiff that had run aground and the yahoos on the Western Rider who’d gotten gooned and overslept and nearly missed the fisheries window. We moaned a little about the weather and how hard Albert worked us.
‘Your dad sure gets his money’s worth out of his poor crew,’ Sugar said.
‘Don’t I know it,’ Tracy said.
‘These fellows,’ Albert said, shaking his head, ‘would sleep through a hurricane if I let them. They would sleep through the End of Days.’
After the stew came the pie, and when that was done we got out the cards and played High Chicago for pennies, which was another ritual. Sugar lost quickly, and after declaring bankruptcy he palmed the table-top to push himself up. He’s six-four and two-twenty, and in the close confines of the deckhouse he moved slowly, carefully.
‘You coming for a walk?’ he asked his nephew.
The way he said it wasn’t a question. Big Ben folded his hand and followed his uncle outside. We played a few more rounds and Evelyn made a pot of coffee and we got to talking about payday and the cheques we all had coming our way. Albert was going to install a new furnace in their place out in New West, and Evelyn, she was putting some of her share away for a trip to Palm Springs. But even then I had the feeling that it was all preamble. I was still waiting for whatever it was they were going to spring on me.
‘What about you, Tim?’ Tracy asked. ‘You got any big plans once this taskmaster sets you loose?’
‘Ah, you know me. I ain’t got much imagination.’
‘No raising Cain?’ She elbowed me. ‘No lady friend to buy pretty things for?’
‘Well, there is one.’ Evelyn stopped sipping her tea. They all looked at me, waiting. ‘Old woman by the name of Evelyn,’ I said. ‘Might need a new dishwasher.’
Evelyn got up and slapped me with her flipper mitt.
‘No sir,’ Albert said, playing along. ‘Nobody buys my woman a dishwasher but me!’
The joke ran its course, and as Evelyn settled back down she said, ‘Albert – why don’t you tell Tim. Tell him what we were talking about.’
‘Oh no,’ Tracy said.
Albert frowned at her, and cleared his throat, and then spread out one hand to stare at the fingernails.
