Page 73 of Homecoming

“They don’t worry about their vehicles getting stolen?”

“Nah, no one would dare touch them. They all know each other.”

In a small inflatable boat with a ten-horsepower outboard motor on the back, Buster delivered his mother and then came back for Dan and Kara.

Kara turned her face into the breeze and closed her eyes as a million memories of days on the water reminded her of who she was and where she came from. When she opened her eyes, Dan was watching her with a curious look on his face.

“What?”

“I was thinking it’s a bit of a revelation to see you here in this place you’re from.”

“A big part of me still lives here, which is what I’ve come to see since I’ve been back.”

“They say you can’t go home again…”

“Which simply isn’t true.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Buster said.

Though she still felt apprehension about the possibility of being the subject of local gossip, Kara smiled at her beloved uncle. “So am I.”

Dan was unsettledby the inquiry from the reporter and Kara’s friends’ criticism of her. While he understood where she was coming from by feeling guilty over their hurt feelings, he also remembered in vivid detail the closed-off, shattered person she’d been when they first met. He’d had a front-row seat to the courage and resilience she’d shown in forging a whole new life for herself. She bore no resemblance to that version of herself these days, and it pained him to hear that others were hassling her for doing what she’d needed to at the time.

As Buster delivered them to theBig B, Dan was determined to make sure Kara had a great time doing one of her favorite things. There’d be time later to stew over the other stuff. For now, he wanted to learn about lobster fishing.

“Tell me everything. Don’t leave anything out.”

Bertha laughed as she fired up the boat’s engine and turned on a series of electronic devices, including a VHF radio that came to life with chatter from others out fishing.

“Diesel or gas?” Dan asked.

“Diesel for the win,” Bertha said.

Dan stood back and watched as she and Buster went through an obviously well-practiced routine of casting off the mooring line and steaming out of the harbor.

“We’re getting a late start today because of the fog,” Bertha said.

“It’s seven o’clock,” Dan said.

“We’re about two hours late, but we were also waiting on the slack.”

“Between tides,” Kara asked. “The Downeast coast of Maine has some of the most intense tides you’ll see anywhere. They’re so strong that they pull the buoys underwater, making it impossible to spot them. You’ll hear lobster people refer to ‘hauling a slack’ or ‘heading out for a slack.’”

“Ah, okay. So um… How long does it take for the fog to lift?” After being in a serious boating accident in dense fog, he had a serious aversion to being on the water in a low-visibility situation.

Kara tuned right into his distress. “The last of it will burn off fast now that the sun’s peeking through.”

“Good.”

She sent him a warm smile. “Nothing to worry about. I promise.”

Comforted by her assurances, he said, “Two more questions. How can you tell which buoys are yours, and what does Downeast mean?”

Bertha glanced at Kara, brow raised. “You got this, my love?”

“You’ll let me know if I get anything wrong?”

“As if there’s any doubt.”

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