A young waitress whose dark brown hair was tied back in a tight bun balanced three glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice on a circular brown tray toward them. Mike watched her weave in and out of the packed outer seating area of Wreckers, one of Charlestown’s many small and privately-owned eateries. She finally reached their table after avoiding a myriad of various obstacles such as pushed out chairs and carelessly abandoned bags and placed the three glasses down, one in front of Mike, another in front of Tara and finally one onto a coaster where Scotty sat.
It was a little after eleven AM on Wednesday morning, the tide was up, and the water of the quay danced in thousands of tiny sparkling ripples that shimmered across its surface. The day was idyllic, and the fresh smell of the sea c
