Page 34 of My Heart Still Beats
“This is Tessa,” I say. “Tessa, this is Charlie, one of the shuckers.”
“Nice to meet you.” Tessa moves her gaze to the star of the show at the oyster bar—the impressive display of fresh oysters. The counter showcases the day’s selection of oysters on ice, their shells glistening with seawater.
I inhale the briny and slightly sweet scent of the raw oysters—one of my favorite aromas. Nothing quite like slurping a fresh oyster between your lips.
I look around at the exposed wooden beams, low ceilings, warm lighting, and maritime decor. Seriously, Ilovethis place.
Charlie wears a traditional white apron, and his graying hair is pulled back into a net. He wears an oyster glove and holds the oyster securely in his other hand with a white towel. With his oyster knife, he expertly breaks the seal of the oyster shell, cuts the muscle, and then pries the two halves apart. He inspects the oyster for any debris or shell remnants and then hands it to Tessa.
“For you, pretty lady.”
She blushes slightly and looks down, but then she takes the oyster and slurps it expertly into her mouth. “Delicious,” she says once she swallows. “You make that look so easy.”
“It’s not easy,” I say. “Braden and I once—”
“You told me,” Tessa says.
Right. I did. Today at lunch. So much I’d like to talk to her about, but I’m afraid something I say may inadvertently upset her.
“That’s a Wellfleet,” Charlie says to Tessa.
“From Wellfleet in Cape Cod,” Tessa says.
“Give the pretty lady a star.” Charlie smiles. “You know your oysters.”
“I’ve lived in Boston my whole life,” she says. “Do you have any Chincoteague today?”
“Not today.”
Tessa frowns. “That’s too bad. They’re my favorite.”
“I like them, too,” I tell her. “They’re so briny and minerally.”
“They are, plus they’re from Chincoteague Island, where the wild ponies live.”
“You like horses?” I ask.
“Love them.” Her dark eyes light up. “They’re such gorgeous creatures.Misty of Chincoteaguewas one of my favorite books when I was a kid. My nana used to read it to me.”
Her dark eyes soften when she mentions her nana.
“Your nana?”
“Yeah. My mother’s mother. I was named after her. Teresa Maria. Teresa after Saint Teresa of Avila, a Spanish mystic and writer, and Maria after…well, after the Virgin Mary.”
“You’re Catholic?” I ask.
“Was,” she says, her mouth tightening a little. “I left the church after college.”
“Teresa Maria,” I say, letting the syllables flow off my tongue as if they’re poetry. “That’s beautiful.”
“My grandmother was a beautiful woman. And a beautiful person.”
“As are you.” I smile.
Tessa looks away from me, a rosy blush on her cheeks.
“Give us a dozen of the Wellfleet,” I say to Charlie. Then I turn back to Tessa, urging her to meet my gaze. “Tell me more about your grandmother.”
