Read Online Swimming Lessons by Mary Alice Monroe - Free Book Online
Authors: Mary Alice Monroe
Ads: Link
one.” He rubbed his jaw. “I don’t seem to be on this decision tree, or you’d know what my answer would be.”
The prospect of a second turtle was exciting, but the fact that Jason and Ethan had given the okay was thrilling.
“Yes, I do. And yes, I am. Bring it on in!”
“All right, then. I’ve already rustled up another holding tank. It’ll be a tight squeeze, but we’ll make it. Are you ready to go?”
“Go? Go where?”
“To get the turtle, of course. It isn’t going to crawl in on its own.”
“I thought you said that the fishermen were bringing it in.”
“To the fishery, yes. But not all the way here. They’re already doing us a favor by cutting their day short to bring the turtle to the dock.”
“Oh, sure. Fine.” She looked at the food dish in her hand as her mind spun around all she had to get done. “I just have to feed Big Girl first, and clean out her tank.”
“You feed. I’ll sweep.”
His enthusiasm was contagious. The corners of her mouth lifted to a smile as she felt the tension of the early morning bubble to excitement.
Cherry Point Seafood Company had been in business on Wadmalaw Island since the 1930s. It was a family business that once upon a time had transported passengers as well as seafood and local crops between the Sea Island plantations and Charleston. Back then, local folks could travel to Charleston by either water or horse, and most preferred a boat trip to a long, hot horse ride. Today, there were no more passengers. The long wooden structure with docks that stretched along Bohicket Creek was used strictly for commercial fisherman. It was home to the dozens of shrimp boats and fishing boats that brought in their daily catches.
“Sure seems quiet today,” Ethan said, pulling the Aquarium’s white pick-up truck into the parking lot. The bed of gravel and shells crunched beneath the tires. He cut the engine and the truck shuddered to a halt.
“Well, it is a holiday,” she said, looking out the window. “Likely most folks took the day off.” The fishery looked like a big, roughened wood shack. Along one side was a high loading dock fit for trucks, a smattering of heavy iron equipment, bales of rope, and farther down was the dock. She spied a burly man in jeans and white rubber boots leaning against a wood pillar, smoking.
“Usually the place is jumping, just swarming with fishermen and shrimpers bringing their catch in to be weighed and packed.”
“It’s not very big.”
“Don’t let the size fool you. On a busy day in the season, thousands of dollars of fish go through these doors, packed in ice and shipped out to restaurants and markets all across the country. Used to be there were a number of fish houses in these parts, but this is the only one left. Sign of the times, I guess.”
Ethan wasn’t dressed in his usual Aquarium uniform of khaki. On his day off he was slumming in olive green shorts, a stained white T-shirt and scuffed leather boots that had seen plenty of wear. His dark hair was an unruly mass and dark stubble coursed along his jawline. It occurred to her he looked right at home here on the docks.
“I’ve never actually met shrimpers before,” she told him. “Should I be nervous?”
Ethan appeared puzzled. “They’re just folks.”
“Ethan, I’ve heard the stories,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. “How they hate anyone connected with turtles. I’ve heard the names we’re called, too—turtle kissers, turtle Nazis…”
His lips twitched but he only shrugged.
“I know there’ve been some pretty strong words between the two camps over the years. I just want to know if I’m going to have my head served on a platter in there.”
“That was before—sure, there were some, well, unfriendly feelings between some shrimpers and those folks who were demanding that the boats put those TEDS on their nets.” He scratched his neck and added wryly, “Time was, shrimpers called the Turtle Excluder Devices
The prospect of a second turtle was exciting, but the fact that Jason and Ethan had given the okay was thrilling.
“Yes, I do. And yes, I am. Bring it on in!”
“All right, then. I’ve already rustled up another holding tank. It’ll be a tight squeeze, but we’ll make it. Are you ready to go?”
“Go? Go where?”
“To get the turtle, of course. It isn’t going to crawl in on its own.”
“I thought you said that the fishermen were bringing it in.”
“To the fishery, yes. But not all the way here. They’re already doing us a favor by cutting their day short to bring the turtle to the dock.”
“Oh, sure. Fine.” She looked at the food dish in her hand as her mind spun around all she had to get done. “I just have to feed Big Girl first, and clean out her tank.”
“You feed. I’ll sweep.”
His enthusiasm was contagious. The corners of her mouth lifted to a smile as she felt the tension of the early morning bubble to excitement.
Cherry Point Seafood Company had been in business on Wadmalaw Island since the 1930s. It was a family business that once upon a time had transported passengers as well as seafood and local crops between the Sea Island plantations and Charleston. Back then, local folks could travel to Charleston by either water or horse, and most preferred a boat trip to a long, hot horse ride. Today, there were no more passengers. The long wooden structure with docks that stretched along Bohicket Creek was used strictly for commercial fisherman. It was home to the dozens of shrimp boats and fishing boats that brought in their daily catches.
“Sure seems quiet today,” Ethan said, pulling the Aquarium’s white pick-up truck into the parking lot. The bed of gravel and shells crunched beneath the tires. He cut the engine and the truck shuddered to a halt.
“Well, it is a holiday,” she said, looking out the window. “Likely most folks took the day off.” The fishery looked like a big, roughened wood shack. Along one side was a high loading dock fit for trucks, a smattering of heavy iron equipment, bales of rope, and farther down was the dock. She spied a burly man in jeans and white rubber boots leaning against a wood pillar, smoking.
“Usually the place is jumping, just swarming with fishermen and shrimpers bringing their catch in to be weighed and packed.”
“It’s not very big.”
“Don’t let the size fool you. On a busy day in the season, thousands of dollars of fish go through these doors, packed in ice and shipped out to restaurants and markets all across the country. Used to be there were a number of fish houses in these parts, but this is the only one left. Sign of the times, I guess.”
Ethan wasn’t dressed in his usual Aquarium uniform of khaki. On his day off he was slumming in olive green shorts, a stained white T-shirt and scuffed leather boots that had seen plenty of wear. His dark hair was an unruly mass and dark stubble coursed along his jawline. It occurred to her he looked right at home here on the docks.
“I’ve never actually met shrimpers before,” she told him. “Should I be nervous?”
Ethan appeared puzzled. “They’re just folks.”
“Ethan, I’ve heard the stories,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. “How they hate anyone connected with turtles. I’ve heard the names we’re called, too—turtle kissers, turtle Nazis…”
His lips twitched but he only shrugged.
“I know there’ve been some pretty strong words between the two camps over the years. I just want to know if I’m going to have my head served on a platter in there.”
“That was before—sure, there were some, well, unfriendly feelings between some shrimpers and those folks who were demanding that the boats put those TEDS on their nets.” He scratched his neck and added wryly, “Time was, shrimpers called the Turtle Excluder Devices
Similar Books
