Swimming Lessons. Mary Monroe Alice

a burly man in jeans and white rubber boots leaning against a wood pillar, smoking.

      “Usually the place is jumping, just swarming with fishermen and shrimpers bringing their catch in to be weighed and packed.”

      “It’s not very big.”

      “Don’t let the size fool you. On a busy day in the season, thousands of dollars of fish go through these doors, packed in ice and shipped out to restaurants and markets all across the country. Used to be there were a number of fish houses in these parts, but this is the only one left. Sign of the times, I guess.”

      Ethan wasn’t dressed in his usual Aquarium uniform of khaki. On his day off he was slumming in olive green shorts, a stained white T-shirt and scuffed leather boots that had seen plenty of wear. His dark hair was an unruly mass and dark stubble coursed along his jawline. It occurred to her he looked right at home here on the docks.

      “I’ve never actually met shrimpers before,” she told him. “Should I be nervous?”

      Ethan appeared puzzled. “They’re just folks.”

      “Ethan, I’ve heard the stories,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. “How they hate anyone connected with turtles. I’ve heard the names we’re called, too—turtle kissers, turtle Nazis…”

      His lips twitched but he only shrugged.

      “I know there’ve been some pretty strong words between the two camps over the years. I just want to know if I’m going to have my head served on a platter in there.”

      “That was before—sure, there were some, well, unfriendly feelings between some shrimpers and those folks who were demanding that the boats put those TEDS on their nets.” He scratched his neck and added wryly, “Time was, shrimpers called the Turtle Excluder Devices ‘Trawler Elimination Devices.’ Safe to say it was a touchy subject.”

      “To say the least.”

      “Hey, the bottom line is, those TEDS cost money.”

      “But it wasn’t about the money.”

      “It was to the shrimpers who had to put out money they didn’t have.”

      “Yes, I see what you mean. But, what’s different now?”

      “Well, for starters they’ve got the TEDs on every net they own now. And, those turtle shooters work. Hey, they never wanted to hurt the turtles and I think that’s what riled them the most. They were painted as being bad guys when they were doing their best to make a living—a damned hard one—and not getting a break from anywhere.”

      “Why are you so defensive? You’re a turtle kisser, too, you know.”

      He laughed. “I am. But I see their side of the story, too.”

      She turned to look out over the fishery and sighed. “So, no one’s going to bite my head off out there today?”

      She felt his gaze sweep over her.

      “I think they’ll be enamored.”

      A short laugh escaped. “Enamored?”

      “Sure.” He reached across her legs to lift the door handle and open her door. “Some of these guys have been out on the sea for weeks. You look a sight better than a turtle.”

      She pushed open the door. “Thanks a lot.”

      She followed Ethan into the dim, narrow halls of the fish house. Behind glass windows in the large room, the rusting machines lay still. Here and there she’d spy rubber boots but no man to fill them. Only when they neared the office did she catch the scent of burnt coffee and hear the hum of voices, punctuated by a woman’s hearty laugh.

      When Ethan stepped into the small, wood paneled office, all talk stopped. Two middle aged, deeply tanned men—one weathered and tall, the other short and paunchy—leaned against a Formica counter covered with stacks of paper. Both wore white rubber boots over their jeans. Across from them, sitting at an ancient wood roll top desk was a sweet faced, robust woman of the same age in a blue floral dress and shiny black flats. They turned to face him, and like lightning, their faces lit up.

      “Lookee here! You son of a…sea horse,” the woman sputtered. “Where’ve you been?”

      She had to be at least sixty but she leaped up like a woman half her age to wrap soft, fleshy arms around Ethan in a bear hug.

      “Shame on you for making yourself so scarce. If I didn’t see you at church from time to time I’d think you’d gone off traveling again.”

      “I’ve been busy,” he replied, accepting the rebuff good naturedly. “But you knew I’d be coming home for your barbecue tomorrow. I couldn’t stay away.”

      “Your mama’s been cooking pies all week so you’d better be there.” The shorter of the men had eyes the color of sea glass and a thick gray beard that swaddled his cheeks like a wreath. He stepped forward to deliver a few good slaps on the back and mutter words of welcome.

      In contrast, the tall man in a worn but ironed flannel checked shirt straightened slowly to his full height. His once dark hair was now mostly gray and his tanned, weathered face had deep lines coursing across his brow, at the corners of his brown eyes and from dimple to chin. He didn’t smile but his dark eyes pulsed with emotion as he extended a callused hand.

      “Hello, Ethan.”

      She looked at Ethan and saw that he was looking at the man with the same intensity in his stormy brown eyes. And then it struck her how very much alike the two men looked.

      “Hello, Dad.” Ethan reached out to take the hand. They held tight for a moment and the emotion in the room was palpable. Then the older man jerked his arm and drew his son into a quick, fierce embrace.

      In another minute, everyone was talking and coffee was served, hot and bitter and loaded with sugar. Toy hung back by the door, peeking in. It was a cozy space, as worn and well used as the fishery itself. The paneled walls were covered with small, black framed photographs of the fishery and shrimp boats that dated back fifty years or more. She tried not to eavesdrop but she caught that the other man was Ethan’s Uncle Will and the woman was his Aunt Martha and that Ethan was catching hell for missing church and not visiting his mother in the past few weeks.

      His father, Stuart, was quiet in comparison to his sister and her husband, but his affection for Ethan was nonetheless obvious, as was the pride shining in his dark eyes. It was clear to Toy that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree in the Legare family.

      Ethan, while never boisterous, was as relaxed as she’d ever seen him. He clearly enjoyed being with his family. Smiles came readily, as did the laughter.

      Then her name was called and she was brought into the room. Introductions were made and hands were shook. They couldn’t have been nicer or more welcoming and she pretended she didn’t see the suggestive eyebrow wriggling of Uncle Will to Ethan as he nodded her way. She ducked her head and took a swallow of her horrid coffee. There was a matchmaker in every crowd.

      She was spared more chit chat when a gruff looking man with a cap over greasy hair shuffled over to poke his head in through the doorway.

      “The Miss Peggy’s coming in!”

      “That’ll be us,” Stuart said and set down his coffee.

      Immediately they filed out of the cramped office into the fresh, salty air. Toy lagged behind. Ethan looked back over his shoulder and catching her eye, waved her closer. When she caught up, he bent close to speak softly in her ear.

      “That wasn’t so bad, was it? No head chopping or bruises?”

      She turned to him “Why didn’t you tell me they were your family?”

      “And spoil all the fun? Nothing I love more than to drop the bomb that I come from a long line of shrimpers after listening to a tirade from a Turtle Nazi.”

      “I owe you