When my number is called, there is way more food than I ordered.
Dave gives me a reassuring wink before he rushes back inside the truck and calls out to his assistant, “Eric, more orders up!”
I’ve got zero clue how I’m going to carry all this—nonetheless eat it—but apparently someone else can see my panic.
“Need some help?” A woman with thick, dark French braids peels off thick gloves.
“I really could,” I say gratefully.
Together, we carry trays to a large table, and it’s then I notice her obviously waterproof overalls and big boots.
“Oh, you work on a lobster boat, yes?”
“I do.”
Before she can say more, Dave’s assistant yells out. There are now two more trays to collect, and the smells are killing me. Bisque, all the fried seafood, shrimp and scallop wontons, baked oysters loaded with spinach and Parm, and mussels in red wine broth. We both pivot.
“What has he done?” I ask as I wobble back and follow her to the table. The spread is insane. “I can’t eat all this.”
“Don’t worry. It’s for all of us.”
She does one of those cool whistles between her fingers that I could never master, and suddenly, all these big dudes just come running. I have to laugh. All of them are wearing the same kind of gear she is, and they fill the picnic table.
“Lobster guys?” I ask.
“And fishermen.”
“Dave told me how they never get sick of seafood, and I didn’t believe it,” I muse. “Now I do.”
“Heya! More tartar sauce!” someone calls out.
After my savior downs an oyster, she looks at me with a little grin. “You must be Diana.”
“I am.”
“I’m Anjanette. And go ahead and film this shit.” Before I can even pause for a heartbeat, she smiles. “I know who you are. They also do.”
So, I film. Only because this beautiful spread has to be shared. And when the guys see me with my phone up, they holler to be on camera as they gulp down everything, and I laugh when they demand more food from Dave’s truck.
“What? No lobster rolls this time? Made too many for your girl before?”
While I try not to look back, I can’t help it, and I see Dave slightly blush as he scrambles away.
I guess I’m the girl they’re referring to?
After too many platters come out and I’ve bought the guys a few rounds of beer, they begin talking, and I learn a bit about this small town and life on the water. Sure, I’ve watched my share of documentaries, but that’s nothing like being with these guys in person. And so I have questions.
I throw back an oyster as I scan the muscular and sort of beat-up crew before I ask, “Why do you all keep doing what you do? From what little I know, this is a brutal, scary business. Like, it’snot as though anyone can even go to school to get into this world. It’s always a family thing. You guys are raised to do this, right?”
“Damn straight. It’s family to the core. Or we bring in young and eagers and train them. I’m Jimmy.” He holds a hand over the array of food to shake mine.
“Pleasure,” I say.
This Jimmy guy, with a shaved head and a jovial smile, pulls a scrawny kid against his chest. “This here is Smallie. Knows nothing, but he wants to learn how to survive in this hardcore life.”
I nod my head at Smallie, and then I learn about the rest of his crew.
Jacob, a giant of a guy who looks like a linebacker, is divorced and has been in this wild world for thirty-four years. Flynn reminds me of Alan Ritchson ofReacherfame—he’s that huge of a human. These two guys are physically intimidating. Odum—early thirties, bald, and his first baby due in a month—shows pictures, and I swoon, of course. And I also think of Patrick and his baby and lost baby.
