It was peaceful there in the shallows, where the flat-bottom boats and the Down-easter’s gently jostled with the wind, begging to fish. Scott and Anita stood at the end of the dock and soaked in the moment. He felt at peace for the first time in months.
After a while, Charley, Scott’s old friend, and the Shepherd brothers broke the silence as they walked along the dock. Charley was wearing shin-high white rubber boots, lovingly referred to as “Harker’s Island house slippers.” His sunburned face was the product of a successful shrimping season, and his stained white T-shirt an expression of his gratitude for a feast well served.
“We are going to hit the flatfish tonight. You up for it, bro?”
“Maybe tomorrow,” Scott said with a tired smile. His friends nodded, winked, and walked back alon
