Stormy Cove (22 page)

She picked up the cod book.

“Can’t Will Spence tell you more about it? He knows everybody here.”

Reanna rolled a stone back and forth with the toe of a boot.

“He’s too busy, that’s why he wants me to take care of it. You don’t know the archaeologists?”

What did Reanna already know? She must have discovered that Lloyd Weston was leading the dig. So why had she come to pester Lori?

“My book has to do with fishing life, Reanna.” She lifted up the book. “Cod is taking up all my time.”

She laughed like this was a funny joke. Fortunately, Patience appeared, carrying a plastic bag.

“Can you pop in,” her neighbor called, “if you’ve got a minute?”

Lori went toward her.

“Sure can, I’m coming right now.”

She waved good-bye to Reanna, who was still standing beside her car, went upstairs with Patience, and took off her shoes. Patience pulled a bowl out of the bag and set it down on the table.

“This is a mousse I made with crabs from the freezer. Not as good as when I make it fresh, but the gals like it a lot, and Aurelia told me you’re going to the potluck tonight, and I’m disappointed I can’t because I’ve got to help get the fire hall ready for a birthday party. You can take the mousse, if you like, so you don’t have to cook anything.”

The bush telegraph was working fast today. Lori was delighted all the same.

“That’s so sweet of you, Patience! I was really at a loss about what to bring. Who’ll be there tonight?”

“All the really nice gals. Nobody you know, but that’s OK. We always have a great time together. What did that blond want?”

“Oh, she’s an intern with the
Cape Lone Courier
. She was with us yesterday when we went out to the icebergs. She’s trying to sniff out a story, like reporters always do.”

“She wants to be like you, Lori. She’s telling everybody she wants to make a book of photographs.”

“Oh, she does, does she? Then she’d better learn photography first.” Lori tried to sound casual, but Patience’s remark touched a sore point.

“Why did Ginette go after you today?”

The question came out of the blue, and Lori almost dropped her cod book.

“Oh, she just made some noises about how I shouldn’t stick my nose in her business. She probably was referring to Noah.”

The words popped out so fast that it took a second for her to realize that it was a bit of a lie.

“What kind of noises?” Patience’s otherwise round face looked almost pointy with curiosity.

“She said Una would never have run off by herself because she had something going with a man and wouldn’t have left without him. And I asked who it was and Ginette said: You can’t even see what’s staring you in the face. And so I wondered if she meant Noah. Though I really can’t imagine she did. Maybe she’s only trying to spite me.”

Not a peep from Patience. Had she put her foot in her mouth? Was all this too candid for Stormy Cove? She looked at her friend, whose face was now drained of all color. Lori felt a pain in her chest.

“Was it Noah, Patience?”

Please don’t let it be Noah!

Patience, startled by Lori’s imploring tone, laid a hand on her arm.

“No, no, it was certainly not Noah, absolutely not. Ginette lies like a rug—you can’t believe anything she says. She knows—”

At that moment, the phone rang.

Patience picked it up.

“Go ahead,” Lori said, “I’ve got to get back anyway. See you tomorrow.”

She was afraid Reanna was still staking out the house. But there wasn’t a trace of her.

The phone rang in Lori’s place too.

She wasn’t surprised to hear Lloyd Weston’s voice.

“We’re flying in with the chopper on Friday. Are you good to go?”

“Yes, where should I be?”

“I’ll pick you up at your place. We want to keep the site as hush-hush as possible.”

Lori almost laughed out loud. Keeping something secret in Stormy Cove—that was a sheer impossibility, especially if Weston was coming to her house. Surely the archaeologist couldn’t be that naïve. But something was on the tip of her tongue.

“A reporter from the
Cape Lone Courier
came over to my place a while ago. She’d heard you were bringing me along to take pictures and wanted to know exactly where the dig was.”

“What? Who did she hear that from?” She could hear the concern in his voice.

“Somebody or other told Will Spence, the editor, about it. She claims she doesn’t know who it was. The strange thing is . . .”

“Yes.”

“I just think it’s strange that Will isn’t taking over such an important story himself. The reporter’s just an intern.”

“What’s her name?”

“Reanna Sholler. She’s from Ontario.”

“Sholler? S-h-o-l-l-e-r?” There was a pause while Weston noted the name.

“Well, we don’t want that paper up there yet. And no lady from Ontario either. We have an arrangement with Will Spence—that much I can tell you. When we’re ready, he’ll get his story, but not yet. You’re still with us, though?”

“I think I should get my publisher’s permission, pro forma; they’re paying for the book, after all. But it shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve already told the person responsible, so I’m sure that it’ll be all right.”

“I’m counting on you, Lori, I think our cooperation is an opportunity for us both.”

CHAPTER 29

Lori swung her backpack over her shoulder. It was filled with leftovers from the potluck—they’d been pleased to watch Lori stuff herself all evening. How could she have resisted the crusty rolls, the pasta salad with coconut and exotic spices, the chicken casserole with creamy cheese sauce, the incredibly fine lasagna, the sweet berry soufflé, and the innumerable tempting desserts?

“Where do all these delicious things come from?” she asked time and again. “Did you pull them out of a hat?”

That evening, she had to throw all her prejudices regarding Stormy Cove cuisine overboard. And her prejudgment of the women who had very carefully studied their recipes and ordered ingredients on the Internet that weren’t available locally. Lori was ashamed she’d never thought of doing that herself. She’d mourned for her delis and exotic restaurants in Vancouver instead of using her imagination. These women might be living in a remote place, but they weren’t lacking in imagination. In that merry circle, she’d learned how much she’d missed until now. For instance, the name of the dealer in St. John’s who paid the most for handmade wall hangings (still far too little in Lori’s opinion, but she kept mum). Or in whose homes there was drug dealing. She also learned which couples weren’t so keen on fidelity and that it was common in the Hardy Sailor to get your butt pinched or your breasts groped.

No mention of her run-in with Ginette, though Lori was sure they all knew about it. She pitched in with stories about Vancouver, about citizens fighting to raise chickens in their urban yards, about residents protesting against the light in their bedrooms from neon signs, and about the Celebration of Light—the international fireworks competition at English Bay.

The women laughed and gossiped right along with her, and Lori wondered why she’d never met any of them on the street before. She concluded that social life here mainly took place behind closed doors, and you had to be invited inside. She realized on the way home that, to her great relief, none of them had so much as hinted at Noah. As if obeying a code of honor.

Lori was just putting a camera around her neck when she caught sight of Noah pacing around on the wharf. It was patently obvious that he was afflicted with cod fever. Elated, she walked down to the boats, her heart beating with expectation. Nate was bustling around the
Mighty Breeze
. Before she could reach him, though, Archie blocked her path.

“You’ll have to come with us today,” he said.

Lori couldn’t tell if he was serious. She tried humor.

“Oh, what a nice feeling; everybody wants me. Fortunately, the season is long.”

“But you’re coming with us for the first day—sure to bring us luck.”

Right then, a female figure walked past her, headed for Noah’s boat. Lori watched while Nate helped Reanna on board. It happened so fast that she’d stayed nailed to the spot beside Archie, unable to utter a syllable.

She looked over at Noah. He met her gaze, paused indecisively for a second, and then came over to Archie’s boat.

Archie shouted, “She’s coming out with us today. You can have her afterward for as long as you want.”

He grinned, but the expression on Noah’s face was serious. He took off his chunky gloves and looked at Lori.

“Are you OK with that?”

“Do I have a choice?” she shot back.

Archie laughed.

“I’ll find you a life jacket. And you’ll need rubber boots.”

Noah put his gloves back on. He frowned as he shot her another quick look and turned around briskly.

Lori followed Archie into the shed, where he handed her an orange life jacket, but he couldn’t scare up any rubber boots.

“Just stay out of anything messy,” he advised.

If only I could,
she thought.

Archie’s boat was bigger than the
Mighty Breeze
, and she discovered a portable toilet on her tour of the deck. No worry on that score at least. She saw two rifles on the wall outside the wheelhouse. She bumped into Coburn, Noah’s oldest brother, along with two other men: Bill and Ezekiel, “Ezz” for short. Coburn identified them as “my second and third cousins.”

“Why do you need the guns?” Lori wondered.

“To scare off the gulls,” Coburn explained. “We don’t want them to shit on the boat.”

She was in a surprisingly good mood by the time they reached the open sea, the coastline behind them still clearly visible. She couldn’t escape the pull of the unending mass of water and what it concealed. What did these men feel, she was curious to know, since they never swam or dove in the ocean? Noah told her he’d wanted to go on the boats even as a little kid, but his father didn’t take him out until he was twelve. Since then, all he wanted to do was fish. One of the first times they really talked, she’d asked him what happiness meant to him. He said, first, fishing, second, living in Stormy Cove, and third, a wife to share his table and bed. At the time, she thought it advisable to play it cool in order not to arouse false expectations.

Noah’s boat followed them at first, and Lori managed to snap some pictures without Reanna in them. She was probably talking to Nate in the wheelhouse.

The thought that Reanna would be spending a whole day around Noah irritated her. But the
Mighty Breeze
disappeared from view, and the thought that Noah knew Lori was in the company of four men filled her with spiteful satisfaction.

The day got better and better. A loud, hard smack made everyone on board jump.

“Over there!” yelled Ezz, a young man with whiskers and steely arms.

“A humpback!”

They all waited in suspense for the whale to reappear. And indeed, a gray colossus breached a mere sixty feet from the boat. Lori was so stunned that she almost forgot to click the shutter. Then she let the camera run automatically to capture a series of pictures. Archie stopped the boat. Lori knew that the men couldn’t wait to make it to their nets, and she was grateful for his patience.

The humpback breached again, right beside the boat this time. It must have gone underneath. Through her lens, she could see white lines on its dark skin, as if somebody had mindlessly drawn a tangle of loops with chalk. Some of the lines must have been open wounds, because pockets of water hung from them. The black-and-white spotted edges of its tail fins brought to mind one of her mother’s fashionable silk scarves. Masses of yellow barnacles were stuck around its mouth. Lori was bowled over by the whale’s fishy odor.

But then she lost her eye for details because the whale’s breaching held her completely in thrall. The mighty animal shot out of the water like a torpedo, executed a half turn in the air, and fell like an enormous sack of lead back into the water. Maybe there was more than one, because the time between breachings grew shorter. The beasts made an astounding amount of noise when their tails slapped the water; it sounded like the slamming of a hundred car doors. Lori thought about shooting some video, but right then, photographs were more pressing.

“Why are they doing that?” she shouted as a whale leapt once more into the air with incredible agility.

“Probably having lunch,” Archie roared.

Afterward, Lori couldn’t say how long the spectacle had lasted, but she knew she’d gotten some fantastic pictures of it. She’d also captured the concentration on the fishermen’s faces, men who’d probably seen this many times before but were still impressed by the gigantic creatures sharing their fishing grounds.

Archie started up the engine again. They reached the first nets two hours later. Lori couldn’t make out the brightly colored buoys until they were practically on top of them.

“Look out! It’s gonna be wet and slippery!” one of the men shouted. She couldn’t distinguish one from another in their heavy, green rubber clothing, brilliant blue gloves, and black baseball caps. The boat rocked fiercely as the wheel of the hydraulic winch in the bow began to haul the heavy nets on board. Lori had her camera at the ready and fought fiercely to keep her balance. She saw only water at first, then something white glittered below the dark surface. Fish bellies. Many, many fish bellies. The men grabbed the nets and plucked the fish out one at a time. They were almost three feet long and thicker than a man’s thigh. So
that
was cod.

Lori zoomed in on a fish flopping around on the deck. Its back was covered with small dark spots broken along its length by a striking white line. The brown coloration was stronger on the head, in marked contrast with its bright lips. Lori spotted the sharp teeth in one of them. A very photogenic fish.

Ezz and Coburn swiftly cut the cod’s throat, slit open its belly, and pulled out the guts. Screaming gulls appeared all around the boat and swooped down at the slimy waste arcing toward the water. Many birds caught their meal in midair. Lori was relieved that nobody actually fired warning shots to shoo away the gulls; they performed fantastically for the camera.

The boat filled up with cod. Lori had to be careful not to step on the twitching, gasping fish. Some had already died in the nets, the thin green nylon cords cutting into their soft flesh. She snapped them in front of a scuffed-up wall, hoping to recreate the effect of a Dutch Renaissance painting she’d seen in Amsterdam—a somber still life in shades of brown.

Lori was struck by the contrast between the colors of nature and the fishermen’s shiny cobalt-blue rubber gloves. They disentangled sculpins from the nets and tossed them back into the sea because they were out of season; the same for mackerel, herring, and a lone sturgeon. Coburn took pains to teach Lori the different species.

The gutted fish landed in plastic boxes, and Ezz shoveled ice on top of them. Archie grabbed a huge cod in each hand and posed with his trophies for Lori’s lens. Even with his powerful arms, he could only hold up the heavy fish with great effort. The muscles in his red neck bulged, and his jaw trembled. Lori quickly clicked the shutter to help him out, and that got him talking. He said he’d set out his nets at different spots.

“I used to have a hundred nets, but those times are long gone. These days the Ministry of Fisheries only allows us six nets.”

She’d be with them until day’s end; there was no escape. The distant coastline was just a narrow strip.

A surprise awaited the crew at the third station.

A massive steel-gray body was thrashing back and forth in the net and splashing water into the air.

“A shark!”

The words shot through Lori like a jolt of electricity. She bent over the rail to see what was going on. Her enthusiasm instantly morphed into anxiety. The shark’s tail fin was tangled up in the net, and no matter how it twisted and flailed about, it couldn’t get free.

“A porbeagle, a mackerel shark,” Coburn shouted.

Lori watched the shark go under and resurface.

“Are they dangerous?”

As if to answer, the struggling shark turned on its back and opened its jaws wide.

She instinctively stepped backward.

The men laughed.

“They’re pretty aggressive, yeah, and they might attack people.” Ezz held her by the arm for a moment, as if to lend his words more emphasis.

“But you’re not going to kill it.”

“No, that’s illegal. But we’ve got to calm it down, or we’ll never get the ropes free.”

Lori had no time to think about what that might entail. She snapped away as Ezz and Bill drove hooks on wooden poles into the shark’s rough skin; it put up a fight, but to no avail. They pulled the shark up the side of the boat, and Archie grabbed its tail. Coburn sawed through the nylon cords with a sharp knife, one at a time. With two hooks in its body, the shark was at the mercy of the men. The instant Coburn cut the final cord, the fishermen yanked their hooks out of the shark’s blood-covered body. It bolted and disappeared in the ocean.

Lori lowered her camera; only now did she process what she’d just observed.

Archie read the shock on her face.

“It’ll survive,” he said. “He was lucky.”

Lori looked intently over the water as if she might still spot the shark out there.
He was lucky.

Maybe that’s what life ultimately boils down to,
she thought
. Some people are lucky, and a whole lot aren’t.

Maybe she was like that shark and had got entangled and been wounded—and now she was free. But Jacinta didn’t make it. And maybe Una didn’t either.

Toward two o’clock, their boat neared an island where she spotted hollows and niches and fissures in the cliffs. Though none of the men identified it, Lori recognized the silhouette. The Isle of Demons. The engine cut out.

Archie joined her.

“We usually don’t break for lunch, but with a lady on board, we’ll make an exception.”

He smiled when he saw how delighted she was. Lori was so hungry she could have snacked on one of the cod.

She sat down on an overturned bucket, like the fishermen, and shared the ample provisions in her backpack. The men were happy to accept and covered up their surprise with jokes.

“We’ll take a woman out anytime if she’ll run a restaurant on the boat.”

“Then you’d have to tip, mister.”