He lowers himself behind the wheel and then we’re on the road.
We listen to his favorite playlist and within a few minutes, I recognize the direction we’re headed. It’s toward the cave the boys took me to that first day I slipped inside their car.
God, that day seems like so long ago when, in reality, it wasn’t.
It’s a shitty reminder that time flies.
We park where we did before and walk down to the cave.
There are blankets and what looks like a bag of garbage in the corner, the firepit now has half-burned wood inside it, and there’s a tiny piece of a take-out box that didn’t char sticking out on the side of it, indicating they’ve been here recently.
I almost wonder where I was when they were here, but I shake it off and turn to Arsen when he jerks his chin.
He’s grabbed a backpack that must have been stuffed somewhere and we slip out into the open air again.
He starts to remove his shoes, so I do the same, and he stuffs them inside the pack, my purse and keys with them.
Together, we walk along the beach, and it’s the most relaxing of silence. As we reach the curve of the hillside, the pier in the distance comes into view and a smile breaks free.
“Oh man.” I follow the length out into the ocean. “I haven’t been over here in years.”
Arsen looks to me and I shrug a shoulder.
“The girls say it’s too crowded, vacationers and whatnot.”
He nods, slips his hand in mine and with quicker steps, leads us straight for it.
Just before the pier, there are several small stores and privately owned restaurants. Arsen gets in line at a small deli for something to drink, so I snag my wallet and pop into a board shop next door, buying an outfit my mother would die if she saw. A matching sweatsuit with ‘California’ printed along the chest and down the left leg. I even grab some flip-flops to throw on with it.
It’s a total tourist purchase, but I couldn’t wear my “Anthony approved” nylon skirt and blouse any longer. This is comfortable, and apparently, that’s what I need right now.
Comfort.
The store owner is nice enough to let me wear it out, and when I reach Arsen, he laughs at my outfit.
“Hey, it was either this or a tie-dyed onesie with a giant marijuana leaf on the front, okay?”
He lifts his hands, fighting a grin, and I steal one of the lemonades from his hand, shoving him with my other. We stuff my wallet and clothes with my other items in the backpack, and then his arm comes around me and he steers us toward the pier.
Walking all the way out, we look over the edge at the deep dark waters, but then he curves us around the other end.
The moment we do, I spot two familiar figures.
Ransom and Beretta, among several others, are tugging on a large red rope. They each seem to have their own and as the ropes pile higher on the wooden dock beneath us, a loud clanking fills the air. An aluminum cage of some sort comes into view and they lift it up and over the railing.
My mouth drops open when I spot the half dozen crabs inside.
“Holy shit,” I say out loud, and at the sound of my voice, both their heads jerk our way.
Ransom frowns, looking from me to Arsen, but then his eyes come back to mine and lower. It’s Beretta who laughs first.
“Don’t even.” I chuckle, stuffing my hands in the pocket in the front of the hoodie.
Wiping the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, Beretta empties the contents of his cage into a large ice chest with holes in the top and then tugs his gloves off, tossing them to the ground, while Ransom moves over to the next station, helping them with theirs.
Beretta’s grin is wide as he walks over. “Hey, I’m into it. You almost look like you belong.”
“Uh-huh, sure.” I look beyond him at all the crabs Ransom shakes from the little trap box.
“Pretty cool, huh?” Beretta asks.
“Yeah, I never would have thought. Is this, I mean, is it—”
“Legal?” He raises a brow, fighting a grin.
I nod.
That’s a solid five-hundred dollars’ worth of crab, if not more, and that’s just what’s in front of me.
“It is, but there’re some restrictions,” he shares, looking around at all the others, some fishing, some doing as he was. “It’s how a lot of people around here feed their families.”
“Well, they eat well then.”
He licks his lips, coming closer, his voice lowering. “They don’t eat them, Trouble, only sometimes for special occasions will they do this for themselves.”
I frown and he adds, “They sell the crabs for way too fucking cheap if you ask me, but a buyer is a buyer. With the money, they get the things that make more sense for their households: rice, flour for bread and pasta. Things that can make more for less.”