What I didn’t love was tuna-spearing. The twelve-foot aluminum harpoon dart was connected to a long wire that ran through the shaft, back to the ship. There was something sad, poetic, about shooting that dart: the jolt it gave my father, the uncomfortable knowledge that it speared a living thing beneath the ocean and sent an electric current through its cells to stun them, the indisputable fact that this action would feed my family, heat our home, in the months to come.
Once they could afford to co-hire a spotter pilot twice a week—a company Caleb’s father lucked into, which vaulted the Mariners into a new socioeconomic stratosphere—spotters flew hundreds of feet above the sea, searching for tuna. He told no stories those days. The other days were spent with him sitting up high, searching for flashes of white just below the surface.
Right now, here at my familiar, comfortable childhood home, I wasn’t sure if it was my father or the memories of those darting fish, but one thing was certain: the promise of the night brought a current down my spine. My insides burned with something smoky and exciting—a firework, a spark, a campfire.
“I can’t believe there are no stains on this,” I teased, brushing my mother’s neckline.
Mom’s face broke into a grin. “Hey! I’m notthatbad.”
“Sally and Harold!” Wells said. He rocked up on the balls of his feet. “So great to see you. Thanks for having us. What a treat. A real treat.”
I shot him a look. A real treat?
“Anyone who brings Olivia home is fine by me,” Mom said. Ever the diplomat.
“Mmm-hmm,” Dad said, waiting an extra beat to take Wells’s hand.
I’d prewarned my parents about Wells’s return into my life, but their greeting was so painfully perfunctory no one even tried to pretend it was warm. At least it was over. “Natalie and Caleb are here!” I said. I was reaching back through time, as eager to smooth things over for my parents as I always have been. They both hugged Natalie, then turned their attention to Caleb.
“Caleb Mariner. As I live and breathe!” Mom exclaimed.
“Welcome,” Dad said. “Always knew you’d come back around.”
“This is way better than going home,” Caleb said. “Brought you a box of those fancy Chatham candies.”
“You shouldn’t have,” Mom said. “Remember when you two ate a whole box, and you both got sick?”
“We watched Maury Povich on the couch together,” I said, grinning. “Totally worth it.”
“Don’t be too excited. I swiped them from my parents’ counter.” His return smile was impish.
Inside, the same-smell of home washed over me. I was convinced that the memory portal lived in the scent of my living room: laundry, light charcoal, the lemony-peppermint cleaner Mom made with vinegar. “You rearranged?” I ran a hand along the back of the couch.
A smile flashed across my mother’s face. She tucked a strand of hair into her ponytail. “Oh, it’s temporary,” she said. “Viewing party for your special later. I hope everyone gets an okay seat.”
My stomach hollowed. “Great idea.”
My parents led everyone out back, but I detoured into the kitchen, where I checked the cupboards for snacks, the fridge for its stock, same as I always did. The refrigerator held giant glass pitchers of filtered water. Mom drank more water than any other human on earth. I was always trying to keep up with her. I fingered the scuff on the overhead cabinet from the time Dad scraped it with a fishing rod. Same, same, same. I wanted to pull it over me like a warm coat.
“Mom,” I called on my way out back. “What happened to replacing that cab—” I froze when I took in the scene before me.
My parents had gone all out. Red-and-white tablecloths covered the picnic tables on the screened-in porch. The fire pit Dad had dug twenty years ago smoldered and steamed; orange glowed around the edges of a specialty tarp. Beneath it, I knew, were large rocks, wood burning on top, plus a thick layer of rinsed seaweed.
“You didn’t,” I breathed. My fingers pulsed to grab my phone, but I dismissed the idea of going for it. I didn’t want to share this. It was mine.
Dad gave me his genuine smile.
I grabbed Caleb’s forearm. He’d gotten a couple new freckles from our walk earlier.
“Yes,” Caleb said. Slowly, he pumped his fist.
“What is it?” Natalie asked.
“Clambake,” I answered. “Oh, my god. I’ve never been more excited in my life.”
“I’d forgotten you do this.” Wells rubbed his hands together and hesitated. “Anything I can do to help?” he asked my mom. “I can, um. Shuck? Or clean up something?”
“It’s all prepped,” Dad said.
