tiny as she was, she looked like she could kick your ass to the
ground if you crossed her. But then she tapped one of the buckets
* 62 *
Stay
with the tip of her shoe. I saw inside—a mound of curved black
shells. Mussels.
“I will. Thanks,” I said.
I got the hell out of there. It had taken me a long time to get
down that trail, but it took me no time at all to get back up. It
was stupid, but my heart was beating fast. She’d spooked me. I
remembered that feeling, possible danger, how it made you both
clumsy and focused in your need to flee. My hand shook as I tried
to fit the car key in the lock. I got inside and locked the doors
around me and I sat there and calmed down. It was so stupid,
because somewhere inside I knew I had nothing to fear from
some old woman who lived in a shack.
See, though? This was where I was now. An old woman, a
branch scraping on glass, wind in trees that was only wind, any-
thing at all had the ability to fling me to that place where I was
so frightened, so, so frightened, and where his hand was around
my ankle at the top of those stairs. It was about that hand. It was
about car lights in my rearview mirror. It was about not knowing
what might happen next. It was not about an old lady with orange
gardening clogs.
And that was part of why we were here, I knew. Another part.
So that a tree branch and the wind and strange old ladies could
become only themselves again.
I bought Dad the funniest colors of taffy. The pink ones with blue
stripes. Yellow with green. Purple. The really gross colors. Our
mystery host with his fine taste would never think to have those
colors in the smooth wood bowl on his dining table. Perfect.
* 63 *
Deb Caletti
I was lying to myself, though, I knew. I didn’t come back to
town for taffy. I came back to circle around the idea of Finn Bishop.
I knew, because I brushed my hair and checked how I looked
before I got out of the car, and you didn’t do that for the ladies
at the taffy place. After I came out of the shop, I stopped at the
food booth right by the docks. The Cove . I looked up at the menu
posted on the wall behind the counter.
“Variations on a cheeseburger,” the girl behind the counter
said. She was a little older than me, I guessed. Long brown hair
tied back, eyes that didn’t take shit. Either it was just my day, or
the ocean made people tough around here.
“I’ll have a cheeseburger,” I said.
“Good choice. Fries?”
“That’s okay,” I said.
“You gotta have fries. They’re fantastic. On the house. Don’t
feed them to the seagulls, though, okay? They come around and
make my life a living hell. Cove combo two,” she said to the cook
in the back. “Look at him.” She pointed to one of the picnic tables
set out front. A seagull stood on it, plucking at something under
his wing.
“He doesn’t seem to be going anywhere,” I said.
“Gulliver. That’s what I call him. I can’t get rid of the guy.
He’s like a stray dog. He tries to follow me home.”
I laughed. In a few minutes my lunch was ready, and I took
the bag and carried it to the grass that overlooked the marina.
Obsession was not moored there, but I looked out over the water.
I could see it not far off, and I ate slowly and watched it move in.
The girl was right. The fries were fantastic.
* 64 *
Stay
The boat eased to the end of the dock. It was as beautiful as I
remembered. The guy who had been high up on the mast before,
the one I had guessed was Finn’s brother, was steering a huge sil-
ver wheel. He eased forward, backed up, and landed neatly along-
side the dock, where Finn jumped off and grabbed the ropes to
tie it down. I remembered my driving test, how the whole parallel
parking thing seemed as complicated and frustrating as teaching
cats to play Monopoly. But these two guys got this huge sailboat
where it needed to be as smooth as anything.
I watched as Finn leaped down, whipped those ropes
ground if you crossed her. But then she tapped one of the buckets
* 62 *
Stay
with the tip of her shoe. I saw inside—a mound of curved black
shells. Mussels.
“I will. Thanks,” I said.
I got the hell out of there. It had taken me a long time to get
down that trail, but it took me no time at all to get back up. It
was stupid, but my heart was beating fast. She’d spooked me. I
remembered that feeling, possible danger, how it made you both
clumsy and focused in your need to flee. My hand shook as I tried
to fit the car key in the lock. I got inside and locked the doors
around me and I sat there and calmed down. It was so stupid,
because somewhere inside I knew I had nothing to fear from
some old woman who lived in a shack.
See, though? This was where I was now. An old woman, a
branch scraping on glass, wind in trees that was only wind, any-
thing at all had the ability to fling me to that place where I was
so frightened, so, so frightened, and where his hand was around
my ankle at the top of those stairs. It was about that hand. It was
about car lights in my rearview mirror. It was about not knowing
what might happen next. It was not about an old lady with orange
gardening clogs.
And that was part of why we were here, I knew. Another part.
So that a tree branch and the wind and strange old ladies could
become only themselves again.
I bought Dad the funniest colors of taffy. The pink ones with blue
stripes. Yellow with green. Purple. The really gross colors. Our
mystery host with his fine taste would never think to have those
colors in the smooth wood bowl on his dining table. Perfect.
* 63 *
Deb Caletti
I was lying to myself, though, I knew. I didn’t come back to
town for taffy. I came back to circle around the idea of Finn Bishop.
I knew, because I brushed my hair and checked how I looked
before I got out of the car, and you didn’t do that for the ladies
at the taffy place. After I came out of the shop, I stopped at the
food booth right by the docks. The Cove . I looked up at the menu
posted on the wall behind the counter.
“Variations on a cheeseburger,” the girl behind the counter
said. She was a little older than me, I guessed. Long brown hair
tied back, eyes that didn’t take shit. Either it was just my day, or
the ocean made people tough around here.
“I’ll have a cheeseburger,” I said.
“Good choice. Fries?”
“That’s okay,” I said.
“You gotta have fries. They’re fantastic. On the house. Don’t
feed them to the seagulls, though, okay? They come around and
make my life a living hell. Cove combo two,” she said to the cook
in the back. “Look at him.” She pointed to one of the picnic tables
set out front. A seagull stood on it, plucking at something under
his wing.
“He doesn’t seem to be going anywhere,” I said.
“Gulliver. That’s what I call him. I can’t get rid of the guy.
He’s like a stray dog. He tries to follow me home.”
I laughed. In a few minutes my lunch was ready, and I took
the bag and carried it to the grass that overlooked the marina.
Obsession was not moored there, but I looked out over the water.
I could see it not far off, and I ate slowly and watched it move in.
The girl was right. The fries were fantastic.
* 64 *
Stay
The boat eased to the end of the dock. It was as beautiful as I
remembered. The guy who had been high up on the mast before,
the one I had guessed was Finn’s brother, was steering a huge sil-
ver wheel. He eased forward, backed up, and landed neatly along-
side the dock, where Finn jumped off and grabbed the ropes to
tie it down. I remembered my driving test, how the whole parallel
parking thing seemed as complicated and frustrating as teaching
cats to play Monopoly. But these two guys got this huge sailboat
where it needed to be as smooth as anything.
I watched as Finn leaped down, whipped those ropes
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