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‘Trawler Elimination Devices.’ Safe to say it was a touchy subject.”
    “To say the least.”
    “Hey, the bottom line is, those TEDS cost money.”
    “But it wasn’t about the money.”
    “It was to the shrimpers who had to put out money they didn’t have.”
    “Yes, I see what you mean. But, what’s different now?”
    “Well, for starters they’ve got the TEDs on every net they own now. And, those turtle shooters work. Hey, they never wanted to hurt the turtles and I think that’s what riled them the most. They were painted as being bad guys when they were doing their best to make a living—a damned hard one—and not getting a break from anywhere.”
    “Why are you so defensive? You’re a turtle kisser, too, you know.”
    He laughed. “I am. But I see their side of the story, too.”
    She turned to look out over the fishery and sighed. “So, no one’s going to bite my head off out there today?”
    She felt his gaze sweep over her.
    “I think they’ll be enamored.”
    A short laugh escaped. “Enamored?”
    “Sure.” He reached across her legs to lift the door handle and open her door. “Some of these guys have been out on the sea for weeks. You look a sight better than a turtle.”
    She pushed open the door. “Thanks a lot.”
    She followed Ethan into the dim, narrow halls of the fish house. Behind glass windows in the large room, the rusting machines lay still. Here and there she’d spy rubber boots but no man to fill them. Only when they neared the office did she catch the scent of burnt coffee and hear the hum of voices, punctuated by a woman’s hearty laugh.
    When Ethan stepped into the small, wood paneled office, all talk stopped. Two middle aged, deeply tanned men—one weathered and tall, the other short and paunchy—leaned against a Formica counter covered with stacks of paper. Both wore white rubber boots over their jeans. Across from them, sitting at an ancient wood roll top desk was a sweet faced, robust woman of thesame age in a blue floral dress and shiny black flats. They turned to face him, and like lightning, their faces lit up.
    “Lookee here! You son of a…sea horse,” the woman sputtered. “Where’ve you been?”
    She had to be at least sixty but she leaped up like a woman half her age to wrap soft, fleshy arms around Ethan in a bear hug.
    “Shame on you for making yourself so scarce. If I didn’t see you at church from time to time I’d think you’d gone off traveling again.”
    “I’ve been busy,” he replied, accepting the rebuff good naturedly. “But you knew I’d be coming home for your barbecue tomorrow. I couldn’t stay away.”
    “Your mama’s been cooking pies all week so you’d better be there.” The shorter of the men had eyes the color of sea glass and a thick gray beard that swaddled his cheeks like a wreath. He stepped forward to deliver a few good slaps on the back and mutter words of welcome.
    In contrast, the tall man in a worn but ironed flannel checked shirt straightened slowly to his full height. His once dark hair was now mostly gray and his tanned, weathered face had deep lines coursing across his brow, at the corners of his brown eyes and from dimple to chin. He didn’t smile but his dark eyes pulsed with emotion as he extended a callused hand.
    “Hello, Ethan.”
    She looked at Ethan and saw that he was looking at the man with the same intensity in his stormy brown eyes. And then it struck her how very much alike the two men looked.
    “Hello, Dad.” Ethan reached out to take the hand.They held tight for a moment and the emotion in the room was palpable. Then the older man jerked his arm and drew his son into a quick, fierce embrace.
    In another minute, everyone was talking and coffee was served, hot and bitter and loaded with sugar. Toy hung back by the door, peeking in. It was a cozy space, as worn and well used as the fishery itself. The paneled walls were covered with small, black framed photographs of the fishery and shrimp