Page 33 of The Wild Beneath

Walker seems to have tuned out, scanningGalene’s hull and mast. He hops aboard as soon as they tie off. On the foredeck is a cage of crabs, their pincers clicking against metal wires.

“Hand me that pot over there,” Ruth says to Walker as she climbs aboard.

Annie feels stuck to her seat. “I’ll stay in the dinghy.”

“And the gloves on the table, too,” Ruth adds.

Walker passes the cage and the gloves to Ruth, who hands both down to Annie. “Teach him a thing or two,” she says. What she means is: Don’t get stuck in the darkness.

Annie puts on the gloves and opens the pot. The taps and clicks grow louder. “You check the shape of their apron.” She points to a flap on the underside of a crab. “You want the ones with the long pointy aprons, they’re the males. Throw the females back.” Annie hands Walker a small one over the lifelines.

It lies still in his palm, as if it’s asleep.

“Huh,” she says. “He likes you.”

“Throw back the small ones... they’re not ready to eat,” Ruth says.

Walker tosses it into the water.

Henry comes up from below. No pleasantries. The gruffer he is, and the more armour he appears to put on, the fonder Annie feels of him. She wonders if he’s cried since the tsunami. It seems as if some adult men have forgotten how to, but somewhere inside Henry must have a well of tears waiting to come out.

“You must be the greenie. Ever deckhanded before, son?” Henry says.

“I have not.” Walker’s voice doesn’t waver.

“Can you swim?”

“Maybe better than me,” Annie answers.

Henry rubs his head. “I don’t have time for liabilities out here, Ruth.”

“He’ll be fine,” Ruth shushes.

“And what about you, little fish?” Henry asks. “Any chance you want to help out this old sea dog?”

She’s tempted. She looks atGalene, bobbing in the tide, as ordinary and reassuring as it is terrifying. Her stomach does somersaults. “Not me,” she says. “Not yet.”

“I might sink the thing without you.”

Annie can’t help but smile. “You might.”

Henry smirks. “So is that a yes?”

“It’s not a yes.”

Ruth reaches over to hold Annie’s hand.

“Fine, fine.” Henry zips his fishing vest up to the neck. He glances at Walker. “Don’t expect me to make small talk, greenie. We’ve got people in town to feed.”

Ruth stands at the edge of the bluff on her own once they’re back fromGalene.

After all that rain, a cobalt sky stretches before her. Shewatches the placid water and steadies herself against the trunk of a cedar.

She had wanted to create some distance between Annie and Walker.

Despite her composed demeanour, never faltering in front of Annie, a few things are gnawing at Ruth.

Their situation is precarious. They are alone, in the middle of nowhere, living off the land, smoking fish and peeing in the outhouse again like fifty years ago. No help has arrived yet. Fall is round the corner, more rain, and the cold that will certainly come within weeks. But Ruth is self-sufficient, and difficult situations seem to bring the best out in her.