“And my wife’s credit card!” another voice added, as a blast of fish smell wafted across us.
I smiled. “It’s okay, then? We’ll stay out of your way.”
“Yeah, why not,” the guy said, shaking more ice out of a bag. “Just be sure to get my good side, okay?”
I nodded at Theo, who slipped out the camera and turned it on. Then I moved back, giving him room, as he carefully panned the counter, taking in each of the piles as the fisherman worked over them. Around him, the conversation, razzing, and jokes continued as he slowly documented the entire scene, moving easily around his subjects. I had to give him credit. He might have stood out like a sore thumb in this crowd initially, but in work mode, he managed to almost disappear, separating himself cleanly and easily from what he was taking in. After about fifteen minutes, he walked back over to me.
“This was great,” he said, putting the camera back into his pocket. “Ivy keeps saying that we need more local b-roll. But whenever we try to film, people get skittish.”
“Maybe it’s your approach,” I said, as we started towards the door.
“Meaning what?”
I looked over my shoulder at him. “Just from what I’ve seen, Ivy doesn’t exactly have the best people skills.”
He immediately got that sort of flustered look I’d already come to recognize when he was feeling defensive. “I’ll admit she comes on strong. But she’s actually really good at what she does.”
“As good as she is at condescending to just about everyone she interacts with?”
“She’s not like that with everyone. It’s just that that the people here . . .” He trailed off suddenly. I took another couple of steps, waiting for him to continue. He didn’t. I turned back.
“The people here what?”
He swallowed. “They’re not what she’s used to.”
We were at my car now, facing each other over the roof. “Meaning, they’re ignorant and stupid?”
“No. They just take her demeanor personally. And it’s not personal.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“No offense, Emaline, but you haven’t exactly put out the welcome mat for her either.”
“I don’t even know her,” I said.
“Exactly. Which has not stopped you from assuming a lot, and none of it good. She’s not the only one who’s stereotyping here.”
Hearing this, I felt that strange mix of annoyance and shame. Like when you hear something you don’t want to be true, but have a feeling probably is. I kind of had to give Theo credit for pointing it out. He wasn’t so easy to read, after all.
“This is my home,” I told him now. “I’m protective of it.”
“And Ivy’s my boss and my mentor,” he said. “Even if she could use some etiquette lessons. Okay?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Okay.”
“Thanks.”
I opened up my door and got in, and he did the same on his side. As I started the engine and pulled out of the fish house lot, neither of us spoke. I was wondering if it was going to be weird from then on, when Theo said, “Can I ask you what I hope is a not-insulting, not-personal question?”
“When you preface it like that,” I replied, “I don’t know how I could say no.”
He smiled, then pointed at my right hand, which was resting on the gearshift. “I’ve seen those bracelets a lot lately. On you, your sister the other day, the guys who helped us move in. Are they a local thing?”
I looked down at the thin braided piece I was wearing. It was studded with red beads and a single scallop shell, and was frayed so badly in places it would take hardly a tug to break it free. The other one I’d been wearing since about Valentine’s Day had just broken off the week before.
“Yeah,” I said. “You could say that.”
“Local as in private,” he replied, confirming. “Off limits?”
“No.” I put on my blinker. “Just sad.”
* * *
It was just about fully dark when we pulled into Gert’s Surf Shop, a small combination tackle/convenience/gift shop that was one of the last surviving businesses in North Reddemane. Open twenty-four hours, it was a landmark I always looked for on my way back from Cape Frost. That was the biggest town on the island, where we traveled to go to the (admittedly still small) mall and a wider variety of restaurants, among other things. It was thirty miles from Colby, and the only way to get there was to take a two-lane highway with nothing much to look at but beach on one side and sound on the other. North Reddemane, and the always-on light at Gert’s, broke up the monotony of the ride back, always letting me know I was that much closer to home.
“Gert’s,” Theo said, as we got out of the car. “Short for Gertrude?”
“Nope.”
I walked over to the door and pulled it open. Bells overhead jangled. Inside, it smelled of burnt coffee, as always. Behind the counter, a heavyset man sat watching a portable TV, drumming his fingers on the counter.
“Hi, Mr. Gertmann,” I said as we walked past him, and he nodded at me, then turned his attention back to the small screen. Unlike the Gas/Gro and just about every other convenience store I knew, the lighting was dim, the aisles narrow. Gert’s sold a little bit of everything: tackle supplies, groceries (mostly canned, many expired), beer (stocked regularly, unlike the groceries), and touristy crap like visors, beach chairs, and sunscreen. As we walked past an old Coca-Cola cooler stocked with glass bottles, I heard Theo let out a low whistle.