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Sox hat and holding it to his chest with both hands like he just entered church. He nods over to me and I smile back.
    Gene’s not big like most quahoggers. In fact, if it weren’t for his thick, calloused hands and his weathered, sun-freckled face, you’d think he had a desk job, like one of those real-estate guys who come in for the lunch special on Sundays. But I know Gene has never had a job like that. He’s a quahogger through and through. Quahoggers have salt water in their veins and barnacles on their backs; that’s what my dad always says. I must have salt water in my veins too; that’s probably why I feel more at ease on the water and totally Unco on land.
    Everybody’s staring at the little TV that’s attached to the wall above the register. Darcy is standing on a chair and wrapping aluminum foil around the coat hanger that is sticking out of the back.
    “A little to the left.”
    “No, to the right.”
    “That’s it right there.” The fishermen yell out instructions.
    “Where’d you get that crap antenna, dahlin’?” Mel Ghist asks, pointing with his coffee cup at the TV.
    “I called in specialists from NASA . . .
daaaahlin’,
” Darcy shoots back at him. Everyone applauds as the picture comes onto the screen. Darcy takes a bow and leaps from the chair.
    The TV picture is crystal clear as a reporter shows the damage caused by Hurricane Marion. Shaky camera shots of trees ripped out of the ground, downed telephone poles, and capsized boats fill the screen. Dean Clements, the local postman, gives out a painful
Oooohhh!
every time they show a damaged boat, almost as if it were his own, but he doesn’t even own a dinghy. I’m half hiding behind the counter, pretending to be looking for something, crazy scared that they might show some of the boats that Captain and I “salvaged” last night.
They might even interview the DEM cops.
    “Can you believe this?” a fat guy named Red yells out as they show another overturned sailboat. “You’d think when those rich bastards heard the weather report, they’d have half a brain to pull their hundred-thousand-dollar sailboats outta the water.”
    “They’ve got them insured up the wazoo. They’ll just buy another one tomorrow,” Johnny Bennato says without even looking up from his paper.
    “You sure that wasn’t your boat, Johnny?” Red says with a nervous laugh that makes everyone uncomfortable.
    “My sailboat has been on dry land since Saturday. I’m well-off, but I’m not an idiot.”
    Johnny Bennato’s parents died in a plane crash and left him millions. He could spend the rest of his life on a beach somewhere, but instead he gets up early every morning and goes out digging quahogs on Narragansett Bay like the rest of us. He says he just likes the adventure of it. Most people don’t understand why he does it, but I do.
    “Are you just about done down there?” Trax is looking at me as I rearrange the coffee mugs for the third time. “You better get out there and help the girls, ’cause you’re just getting in my way, Skipper.”
    “Yeah, sorry, Trax. I was just looking for something.” I get up slowly and head out from behind the counter. I start making my way from table to table, clearing plates and placing them in a large black tub.
    Darcy leans over and whispers into my ear. “Maybe all this extra business today will convince your mom to keep this place.”
    “Doubt it.” Darcy doesn’t know about the loan sharks from the Italian-American Club and the ten grand that’s due by the end of the month. I want to pull her outside and tell her everything. I want to tell her I was out in the middle of that hurricane last night, stealing engines with some crazy dude who might know my dad. I don’t know if she’ll think I’m nuts or heroic or just plain stupid, but part of me really wants to tell her.
    I push the thoughts of last night out of my brain and continue to clear tables. I notice Gene sitting alone at a small table near