CHAPTER

4

If you’re into anything mechanical, Earl’s Auto and Marine is like heaven. It’s a smorgasbord of used car and boat parts. The place is grimy and a complete wreck. I doubt the floor has ever seen a mop. But as I step inside, the scent of metal and rust and grease is like coming home.

Dad says he took me to Earl’s when I was a few days old. Mom never confirmed or denied his claim. She just rolled her eyes and smiled when he said it. But I do remember when I was about four. Running around the bins of valves and camshafts. Shoving my little hands into boxes of bolts. Gaping at the hundreds of chrome hubcaps lining the walls. Amazed by the engine blocks scattered along the floor in the back. They still make me think of metal boulders tossed by ocean waves.

Dad hasn’t come with me since I started driving. I thought of asking him this morning. But it’s a rare calm day in February. Perfect for crabbing. Dad was up and out of the house at three thirty. We won’t see him until late this afternoon.

Along with a few other guys, I’m picking through the discount boxes in the front of the store. A discount at Earl’s really means something. The boxes are usually full of useless junk. But I once found some extra lug nuts for my pickup for almost nothing. As I lift out an old wrench, Zach crosses my mind. I don’t want to think about him. I’ve been forcing myself not to think about him. But here I am, wondering if he’s into cars. I totally doubt it. But I imagine us working under the truck together. Reaching for a wrench at the same time. Our hands touching—

I drop the wrench on the floor. Take a deep breath as I pick it up. This can not be normal. I glance at the guy rummaging through the box next to mine. Does he ever think about men? And if he does, doesn’t that mean he’s gay? Because I’m not gay. I like girls. I love girls. I love Jillia.

“Hey, kid.”

I twist around. Earl, the store’s owner, is grinning at me.

“Hey, Earl,” I say.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he says, looking me up and down. “Don’t you ever stop growing? Have the Ducks recruited you yet?”

“No. I’m just a sophomore.”

“Well, they will.” Earl must be in his fifties or sixties. His Trail Blazer’s cap is practically black it’s so coated with grease. “How’s your old man?” he asks.

“Okay. Out crabbing.”

He nods. Breathes in through his teeth. “Hope he has a good day. It’s been a lousy season.”

It has? I figured it hasn’t been a good season the way Dad’s stressing over bills. But I wasn’t sure. “Yeah,” I say, like I know what I’m talking about.

“You guys getting by?”

I bite my lip. Shrug my shoulders.

He quickly says, “Sorry. None of my business. It’s just a big topic of conversation around here. This is not a good time to be a fisherman.” He claps his hands. “So. You here to see the Nissan I just got in?”

“Yeah.”

“I figured you’d be on that truck like a sand fly on seaweed. You know the way.” He pats my arm.

Another customer comes up and asks Earl a question.

“Thanks,” I tell him and head for the junkyard behind the store. It doesn’t take long to find the pickup. It’s pretty beat up. Must have been in an accident. But what I really need is an alternator. Lifting the hood, the engine compartment looks clean. The alternator is there. It’s probably worth giving it a shot. But I doubt I can afford it on my allowance. I’ll have to ask Dad for the money, and I really don’t want to do that.

I go back inside. Wait by the cash register while Earl rings up a couple of customers.

“What’s the verdict?” he asks when he’s done.

“How much for the alternator?”

He squints as he looks at the ceiling and then back at me. “For you? Thirty bucks.”

It’s less than what I’d pay anywhere else. But still more than I have.

“Okay,” I tell him. “I’ll see what I can do. Thanks.” I turn to leave.

“Hey, Brett,” he says. When I’ve turned back around, he says quietly, “I know it’s not fair. But lousy fishing is good for my business. People without much money buy on the cheap. I’m busy.”

I nod. I noticed there are more people in here than usual.

“I could use another hand. Are you interested?”

“You mean a job?”

“Yeah. Tearing down vehicles. Helping customers. We can work around your school schedule.”

I don’t know what to say. Working at Earl’s would be so cool. Like, I can’t imagine a better part-time job. “Um, yeah, I’m interested. I really am. But—”

“No need to decide right now. Talk it over with your pop, okay?”

“Okay, yeah.” I shake Earl’s hand. “Thanks for the offer. I really appreciate it.”

“You’d be doing me a favor, kid. Say hi to the old man for me.”

As I drive home, part of me knows asking Dad about the job is useless. He’s just going to say no. But if money is that tight, maybe I can change his mind. It’s about three thirty when I pull into the driveway. Dad’s not home yet. Jillia and I are going to a party later, so I’ve got a few hours to kill. When I think about all of that down time, I back the truck out of the driveway and head to the marina.

I can see the radar tower of Dad’s boat when I cruise into the parking lot. I trot down the ramp to the dock. Seagulls are swarming around his boat, hoping for scraps. If he’s tying up, that means he’s already offloaded his catch. His crewmate, Hank, waves when he sees me. “Hey, long time no see!”

“Hi, Hank. Is Dad up there?”

“Yep. Just finishing.” He leaps to the dock. “I’m out of here.” He winks. “Big date.”

I stand next to the boat. Dad’s hosing down the deck. About fifty round crab traps are stacked in the aft.

“How did it go?” I call up to him.

He kind of jumps when he sees me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I want to talk to you about something.”

He gives me a strange look. Maybe because I haven’t been near the boat in months. He grumbles, “Give me a minute.”

When he jumps onto the dock, he’s gripping a large crab in each hand. They clack their claws open and closed. “Dinner,” he says.

I walk next to him toward the parking lot, but not close enough to get pinched. “I’m going out tonight with Jillia. I don’t need dinner.”

“Oh,” he says.

“So … Earl’s offered me a job.”

“No,” he says right off.

“Dad, hear me out! He’s willing to work around my school schedule. It’ll give me money for truck parts. For gas—”

“No!” He stops walking and stares at me. “You’re just sixteen.”

“So? You were only fourteen when you started fishing, right?”

“Yeah, I was. And I wish I’d never gotten sucked into this life. Focus on school, Brett. On football. Follow your dreams—”

“But it’s just a part-time job!”

“Listen to me. You would not believe how easily a part-time job becomes a full-time job. Then, suddenly, it’s your life.” He pulls his right arm back and throws the crab he was holding into the bay. Does the same thing with the other crab.

I let him walk ahead of me as he steams his way down the dock.