The captain cut a wide arc around several buoys and came to a gentle stop between them. He had thick gloves in one hand, and long metal rods with hooks on the end in the other. He pointed to the buoy, and then a stack of plastic bins on the deck. "I'll haul 'em up, and then we'll sort 'em," he said. "Watch out for your fingers if you want to keep 'em."
When the lobster trap surfaced, the captain yanked it onto the deck. Thick whips of seaweed clung to the trap, and when he popped it open, dozens of lobsters spilled out into the sorting tray. He offered a quick lesson in maneuvers to get rubber bands over their claws, and a high-level overview of sorting them into two groups: canners and markets.
"You got all that?" he asked while simultaneously banding two claws and tossing them into bins without looking.
Nick scratched his chin. "No problem," he said. "It's like cutting the herd, but much smaller and"—he held up a hissing lobster—"meaner."
"All right, captain," I said, moving quick to keep my fingers away from the snapping grasp of these angry crustaceans. "What's your salty sea story? Where're you from and how many sharks have tried to eat your boat?"
"Maine," he murmured, shaking his head while he sorted. "And none."
"Okay, you have to work with me here. I'm trying to give the good doctor an experience he'll remember. Are there any mermaids in these parts? Oh, and have you noticed fuller high tides recently? The media keeps using the term 'king tide' but that's a lot like naming winter storms. Pointless."
"You went fromJawsto mermaids to high tides," Nick murmured, his gaze focused on the lobsters. "There is no way I'll forget this."
"Toss that one over," the captain said, jerking his chin toward the lobster I was attempting to wrangle. It was wrapped in seaweed, and I couldn't get enough of a grip to slip a rubber band over its claws. "We don't keep the mamas."
"That might be the tagline for my entire life," I murmured. He grabbed the lobster, seaweed and all, and flung it right over my head.
"Wow," Nick said, laughing. "I hope you didn't strain yourself reaching for that one. I thought we weren't moping, Skip."
I snapped a rubber band at his head, but instead of connecting with his made-for-TV hair, it sailed straight over his shoulder. He followed its path and then looked back at me with an unimpressed smirk that vaporized my panties.Poof.They were done and gone.
"Don't ever castrate a bull with that aim, Skipper," he warned, his light hazel eyes trained on me.
I reached into my back pocket for my imaginary pencil and paper. "Let me make a note of that," I murmured. "Cancel the bull castration. Got it."
"She's a wise ass, this one," the captain muttered.
"Yeah, she is. But I'll keep her," Nick said, and then nodded toward the bin of market lobsters. I glanced between him and the captain, half amused, half affronted. "What's the going rate for these big guys?"
"Less than you'd expect," the captain said. "Much less."
"What about the high tides?" I asked. "Does that come up much, you know, among your fishermen friends?"
"The tides are higher," the captain said. "The water's been warmer, too."
"Yeah, that's not great," I said, humming to myself. "I want to know about the life of the lobsterman. Do you travel much? Sailing just for the enjoyment of it? Do you like Maine? Any special summer plans?"
The captain huffed out a breath, and Nick and I exchanged an amused glance. We were driving this poor guy fucking crazy.
"I know what you're thinking," Nick said to me. "And let me correct you, Skip. This was all your idea.You'rethe instigator."
"Stop it," I said, snapping another rubber band at Nick's head. Missed again. "We're giving the captain over here one hell of a story. We're the best things that could've happened to him today."
"I'm officiating a marriage tomorrow night," the captain said, and it sounded as though he was extraordinarily distressed by my questions.
"A seaman's life is never boring," I said. "So, I'm curious about the whole marriage at sea thing and—"
"Are you evernotcurious?" Nick asked.
That gave me pause. My existence boiled down to one question after another, forever in search of explanations for…for everything, really.
"No," I admitted, "but there are far worse things to be."
"'Be curious, not judgmental,'" the captain said under his breath.
I looked up at him, smiling. "Whitman?"
