been at Newpark since they bought out Todd’s Shipyard, and I was at Todd’s for fifteen years before that. Been a welder and industrial diver. Got my harbor pilot’s license but the money here’s better. I bought a condo over there a couple years ago, right after my divorce. Neighbors on either side seen my work clothes and figured I was trouble.” He lit a cigarette and breathed out smoke. “Fuck ’em, though, right?”
“Let’s talk about Allison Clayborn.”
“I started seeing her around Strand Street and Warf Street right after I moved there. Sometimes on Seawolf Park Road on Pelican Island. She’d jog in the mornings, see? I put in for daytime shifts in the winter time, so it must have been winter. Sometimes I get up early and walk to work—it’s only a couple miles—and I’d see her jogging. Beautiful girl. I’d wave, she’d wave back.”
“Ever talk to her?”
“Later we talked a few times. You know Sampson & Son’s?”
“Seafood place, right behind her condo.”
“Yeah, right there.” Hutchinson pointed across the channel and they could see the low concrete building. Fresh red paint advertised shrimp, crabs and fish. Direct from the boat to you , the sign said.
“I go in there sometimes in the morning. These days, for me, that’s like dinner time. I might pick up half a pound of shrimp and some gumbo crabs. Some oysters. Stuff like that. I’d run into her sometimes. She’d be in her jogging clothes still, probably shopping for dinner. They’re only open in the morning, so if you want to go there, you go in the morning.”
“And you talked?”
“Sure, I’d say hi. We recognized each other by then, passing on the bridge over to Pelican Island so many times. She liked stuffed flounder. She’d get that a lot.”
“How’d you know where she lived?”
“We walked out of Sampson’s once. Me with my shrimp and crabs and her with her flounders. You know, I’m in my fifties, look like a working man, just got divorced. She’s in her twenties, probably educated as hell. Looks like a movie actress. I know it’s not going anywhere and I’m not trying to make it go anywhere. Just passing the time of day, being friendly. She’s friendly back. It’s a clear morning, smells like salt and ocean. I been up all night on a rig—different rig, not this one—and I’m going back to my new place to put in some cabinets. I’m tired, but I feel good. You know, here’s this pretty girl walking beside me, talking with me, next day is my day off so I can stay up late into the morning. Maybe have a shower and go down onto Strand Street and get a beer. I remember because it felt good talking to her.”
“Talking about what?”
“I guess recipes. Seafood recipes. I asked her how many miles she jogs every morning, she tells me five or six. Then I tell her she might want to consider going back and getting a few more of them fillets if she’s burning calories like that. She laughs. She asks how I’d cook them and I tell her, and then she asks if I’m a fisherman. No, I say, I’m a welder but I work on rigs and ships. Then she lifts her hand to wave and turns towards her building. She says something like see ya, and I say yeah. I see her around some after that, but that was probably the longest conversation we had. From up here on other nights I could sometimes see her through her windows, even from way up here and this far back, I could tell it was her. She had red hair and I could see that. But I didn’t watch her like that. That wouldn’tve been right, you know, like peeping. I just looked out and saw her a few times. Knew which windows were hers. And that was fine, felt fine, you know?”
“Because you liked her.”
“Yeah, I liked her. She was friendly. I see her in the window at night sometimes and she’s inside and safe—probably cooking flounder fillets, pouring a glass of wine or whatever—and everything’s okay. Like I got my whole world, and she’s a little piece of it
“Let’s talk about Allison Clayborn.”
“I started seeing her around Strand Street and Warf Street right after I moved there. Sometimes on Seawolf Park Road on Pelican Island. She’d jog in the mornings, see? I put in for daytime shifts in the winter time, so it must have been winter. Sometimes I get up early and walk to work—it’s only a couple miles—and I’d see her jogging. Beautiful girl. I’d wave, she’d wave back.”
“Ever talk to her?”
“Later we talked a few times. You know Sampson & Son’s?”
“Seafood place, right behind her condo.”
“Yeah, right there.” Hutchinson pointed across the channel and they could see the low concrete building. Fresh red paint advertised shrimp, crabs and fish. Direct from the boat to you , the sign said.
“I go in there sometimes in the morning. These days, for me, that’s like dinner time. I might pick up half a pound of shrimp and some gumbo crabs. Some oysters. Stuff like that. I’d run into her sometimes. She’d be in her jogging clothes still, probably shopping for dinner. They’re only open in the morning, so if you want to go there, you go in the morning.”
“And you talked?”
“Sure, I’d say hi. We recognized each other by then, passing on the bridge over to Pelican Island so many times. She liked stuffed flounder. She’d get that a lot.”
“How’d you know where she lived?”
“We walked out of Sampson’s once. Me with my shrimp and crabs and her with her flounders. You know, I’m in my fifties, look like a working man, just got divorced. She’s in her twenties, probably educated as hell. Looks like a movie actress. I know it’s not going anywhere and I’m not trying to make it go anywhere. Just passing the time of day, being friendly. She’s friendly back. It’s a clear morning, smells like salt and ocean. I been up all night on a rig—different rig, not this one—and I’m going back to my new place to put in some cabinets. I’m tired, but I feel good. You know, here’s this pretty girl walking beside me, talking with me, next day is my day off so I can stay up late into the morning. Maybe have a shower and go down onto Strand Street and get a beer. I remember because it felt good talking to her.”
“Talking about what?”
“I guess recipes. Seafood recipes. I asked her how many miles she jogs every morning, she tells me five or six. Then I tell her she might want to consider going back and getting a few more of them fillets if she’s burning calories like that. She laughs. She asks how I’d cook them and I tell her, and then she asks if I’m a fisherman. No, I say, I’m a welder but I work on rigs and ships. Then she lifts her hand to wave and turns towards her building. She says something like see ya, and I say yeah. I see her around some after that, but that was probably the longest conversation we had. From up here on other nights I could sometimes see her through her windows, even from way up here and this far back, I could tell it was her. She had red hair and I could see that. But I didn’t watch her like that. That wouldn’tve been right, you know, like peeping. I just looked out and saw her a few times. Knew which windows were hers. And that was fine, felt fine, you know?”
“Because you liked her.”
“Yeah, I liked her. She was friendly. I see her in the window at night sometimes and she’s inside and safe—probably cooking flounder fillets, pouring a glass of wine or whatever—and everything’s okay. Like I got my whole world, and she’s a little piece of it
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