It looked like so many other piers she’d visited with Pop. She could still remember the hat he wore to keep the sun off his face, the black-rimmed sunglasses he had, and the large white bucket he used. She could see it swinging from his hand, his strong fingers wrapped around the handle.
She hadn’t thought about crabbing in years, and reflecting on it now made her sentimental. She had been raised differently than her friends, and when it came to activities around town, she didn’t always know what to do, but Pop had been so gentle with her, so patient, coaching her one tiny step at a time until she got it right. She always felt perfect around him, even when she was trying something new. She didn’t feel like she needed to please him, she just needed to listen to him and she’d be okay.
She took another sip of wine and stepped over a branch on the ground just before climbing the steps to the pier. The crickets were just starting to chirp in the woods as Catherine set down the bucket next to a net, a box with some weights, a ball of string, and other odds and ends. Catherine unrolled a very long piece of string and snipped it with a pair of scissors. Libby sat down next to her, slipped off her flats and hung her legs over the edge, her feet dangling above the rippling water. She took a sip of her wine and she felt the heat in her face from the alcohol and the setting sun.
“So how’s the cottage coming?” Catherine asked, reaching into the smaller bucket she’d brought from the refrigerator, retrieving a small piece of chicken and tying it to the end of the string. She handed it to Libby.
“It’s going well. I’m painting and taking down wallpaper.”
“Once you get it all done, won’t you be tempted to stay?”
“I can’t.”
She worried. How could she explain to Catherine why she wasn’t staying? It was so difficult to put into words what she enjoyed about the high-pressure environment in New York—particularly when she considered how calm and peaceful Catherine’s life was there by the sea. She took a sip of wine just as she felt a tug on her string.
“Can you hand me the net, please?” Libby pulled the string straight up, pinching it hand-over-hand until a crab dangled above the water. Carefully, she grabbed the net and scooped it right in. She still remembered the way Pop had taught her to tap the net against the bucket to get the crab off the string. Then, with a plop, it let go and fell into the bucket.
“Do you like living in White Stone?” Libby asked.
“I love it. I wouldn’t live anywhere else.”
Libby was happy for her friend. It was nice to hear that Catherine was content and settled. The two of them were so similar in many ways, but as Libby looked around at Catherine’s surroundings—the rough wood of the pier, the sun glistening off the water—she realized how dissimilar their worlds were.
“Once you sell the cottage, what will you do then? Move back to New York? Can you hand me the net now? I’m feeling a pull.” Libby gave her the net, and Catherine drew another crab from the water.
“That’s the plan.” She wished she could steer the conversation elsewhere.
“I hope you aren’t leaving too soon,” she said, turning the net over and dropping the crab into the bucket with Libby’s.
“Well, I hope we can get together again before I do. This has been so nice! I’m really enjoying it,” she said and took another sip of her wine. It was true. As much as she was itching to get on with her life, she loved seeing Catherine and Jeanie, Helen and Pop… and most of all Pete. Even being with her mother was getting better. But, she reminded herself, she needed to be back in the city, with a purpose, a focus. Without that, she felt out of sorts.
After they’d caught enough crabs for everyone, they carried the two buckets back with their glasses of wine. “Scott’ll pick up the rest of our things when he goes fishing in the morning,” Catherine said, which was good because they were out of hands.
When they got back, Catherine started the steamer in the garage. She looked at her watch. “Let’s just cook these up, and I’ll put some away for Scott when he gets home.” She tipped the bucket and dropped the crabs in. “Let me tell the ladies we’re back. I’ll get us some more wine and a pile of newspaper, and we can eat outside.”
“Well, look at that!” Esther said, holding the railing and making her way down the three stairs to the garage. “Y’all caught a bunch of crabs, didn’t you?” Celia and Leanne followed. They walked outside to the picnic table and sat down, the warm sun bearing down from its spot on the horizon. Without the proximity of the water, the air didn’t move as much, and the humidity hit them like a wet towel. Celia tugged on her blouse, fluffing it out, the air flowing in and around it.