Page 26 of Born for Lace

Can I make a friend?

With my hand working on the net, I gaze over at the old man. Is there an age limit or gender exclusivity on friendship? I haven’t interacted with men much, but I like him; his softer side makes me smile.

Spero suddenly hiccups and then starts to cry. So I quickly finish the last knot and stand. “I have to go feed him. Thank you for letting me help.”

The man doesn’t look up, but I swear I see his eyes droop. “Very well.”

“I can come back tomorrow.” I swirl my finger along Spero’s back as he cries, trying to distract him. “I could help with the pots. They need new ties.”

“No,” he grunts.

My heart twinges. “Oh, okay.”

I hide the rejection that buckles my brows, turning and heading toward the main path that cuts upward from the docks.

The House is about halfway up on the other side of the stone path. The girl from yesterday and another with blonde hair cross in front of me, eyes following my gait, mouths gossiping.

“That’s the Lace Girl. Lagos said she is off limits.” I hear as I dart to the side she came from.

“A Lace Girl,really?” She sniggers. “Aren’t they like pets?”

Yeah, a friend would be nice.

I do my best to ignore them and keep walking. I can see the edge of the fence line peeking out from behind another rocky dwelling.

“Here!”

I spin to see the old man hobbling toward me with the crumpled bottle in his shaky hand. “I don’t know what you want it for, but—” He starts talking, and I beam as he places it roughly into my palm. “I used to be a Trade Fisher, and that was a Trade. This is yours. Meaningful Purpose is a virtue. You can take the man out of The Trade, but you can’t take The Trade out of the man.”

“For a rattle,” I admit, smiling.

“Huh?”

“I’m going to make a rattle.”

I think he smiles at that, as if he likes the idea, but it’s such a flash expression it disappears as quickly as his attention. He is turning and leaving me standing in the middle of the main path before I can ask him again if I can visit tomorrow. He might sift more trash from the ocean floor, and I can find more treasures.

“Thank you again!” I call out to his limping form, and he waves his hand in a kind of shooing motion. I am a fly, and he is playing the bitter old man.

Right, I get it.

I press my chin to my chest, staring at Spero, whispering, “Tomorrow, we will need to find out his name.” The infant fusses and squirms. “I think he likes us.”

Then, an engine rumbles to life. Movement catches my eye. A stream of salt-kissed air from the docks mingles with smoke and oils. I gaze toward the commotion instinctually, my attention captured.

At the foot of the path, the catamaran bumps the jetty a few times before slowly drifting from the edge, heading away from The Bite.

Tomar is correcting the zipline, but Lagos is a large, looming form at the rear. Statue still. Narrowed, black eyes cut from the bottle in my hand to the direction the old man walked and back again.

I didn’t steal it…

If that is what he thinks.

Easing away from the massive Xin De male’s tangible gaze, I stride to The House, ignoring the pulsing energy that seems to stir whenever his attention is aimed at me.

* * *

As I wander downstairs the next day, two men are waiting in a line. The House Girl and the man from yesterday are at the counter again, but this time, his hand is gripping her wrist, and she is trying to tug it free.

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