Page 83 of The Oscar Escape
“That’s a lobster trap?” she asked, taking in the slim slats.
“That’s how we do it here. It’s how they were made in the late eighteen hundreds when Homer and Evangeline Havenmatch settled on the island. Making these traps is a skill—an art form. My mother and Etta knitted the heads on most of mine.”
“The heads?”
“The netting part.”
She nodded, taking in the craftsmanship of the trap. “They’re marvelous.” She wasn’t lying.
Del tossed her a wink, then hoisted the water-logged box onto the rail.
Aria gasped. Lit by the golden light, multiple pairs of beady, black eyes stared out at her with a chorus of snapping claws.
Del opened the trap. “Now, sternman,” he began, and holy hell, she’d made it to sternman. “We sort.” Without an ounce of pomp or circumstance, he nonchalantly chucked a lobster back into the sea.
“You didn’t like that one?” she remarked, watching the creature hit the water and disappear into the blue-green depths.
“There are rules. Important rules. Throw back the ones with punch tails,” he instructed, holding up a wriggling creature with a triangular notch cut in its tail.
“What’s wrong with that one?”
“Nothing,” Del answered, looking at the crustacean like he would smack a kiss to its lips—if it had lips. “It’s a breeding female. That’s what the V-notch means. You pay a hefty fine if the Department of Marine Resources catches you with one of those. Go ahead. Send her back.” He handed her the lobster.
She kept the lady lobster at arm’s length. “Take it easy, girl,” she chimed, easing the gal into the water like she was handling a stick of dynamite.
“You work on this pot, sorting these bugs. Put the keepers in that bin.” He pointed to a pair of rectangular plastic receptacles. “I’ll band them after I prep the bait, so we can get this trap back in the water. Word to the wise.”
“Yeah?” she replied.
“Don’t let them get you with their claws.”
“Why?”
He offered her a wry grin. “It hurts wicked bad.”
“Don’t you dare snap at me, lobsters,” she warned, eyeing the beasts writhing in the shallow depths of the water-logged trap. Gingerly, she plucked a hearty specimen from its confines. “You’ll make a great dinner for somebody,” she confided to the creature, unsure exactly what one was supposed to say to the fresh catch. Probably nothing. Going with the silence-is-golden motto, she sorted the lot one by one until she plucked a glob of seaweed off the last bug in the trap. She threw the slimy strands overboard and then raised an eyebrow at the remaining resident. She’d never seen a lobster like this. “What should I do with the blue one, Del?” she asked, holding up the bluish-purple crustacean. She admired the gorgeous water beast. “Aren’t you a looker!”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Del breathed, wide-eyed.
She continued to admire the lobster. “Is this one not done yet? Is that why it’s blue? It looks about the same size as the keepers. Should I throw it back?”
“Absolutely not,” Del got out, his jaw nearly hitting the floor. The man appeared downright starstruck. He removed his cap and held it to his heart.
She focused on the crustacean’s shimmery shell. “What am I missing? This is a lobster, right?” She checked the tail. “There’s no notch. And it’s bluish purple.”
“There’s no notch, but she’s a female,” he replied with a giddy chuckle. “You can tell by the shape of her tail. It’s wider and broader than a male, so she can carry plenty of eggs.”
“Is that a cotton candy lobster?” Oscar asked, coming in hot with his camera, looking just as awestruck as Del. “I’ve only seen them in pictures.”
“That is indeed a cotton candy lobster,” Del confirmed, returning his cap to his head. “Homer Havenmatch was the first and only person to catch one of these beauties in the waters off the island,” Del shook his head, grinning and swooning over the creature.
“So . . . she’s rare?” Aria asked, admiring the lady lobster. She returned her attention to Del and found him . . . crying. This guy was a mess. Smiling, laughing, and now he was awash in lobster-blubbering emotion.
“They’re as rare as you can get. Probably one in a hundred million,” Del answered, tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Holy lobster rolls! That’s incredible!” She drank in the sea dweller. As far as lobsters went, this gal seemed pretty chill—almost as if she understood her significance and was basking in their adoration.
Del sniffled. “I’ll contact the conservancy folks. They’ll want to know about this.”
