Page 4 of Tide Over

“No,” I say, starting another pot of coffee. “Just need to refuel.”

She nods as her eyes slowly trail down my dirty shirt and pants with a small smile tugging at her lips.

“I didn’t have time to go home first,” I say. “It took longer than anticipated at the buyer’s station today.”

Mom tilts her head with a smile. “You know I don’t mind. Your father used to come in here all the time right off the boat. In a way, I kind of like the smell.”

“That’s weird,” I mutter, dropping down to sit on the stool behind the counter and wave to Melinda, one of our regular customers, as she enters the store. “I can only stay for a few hours today though,” I say to Mom. “I have to finish installing cabinets at the Campbells’ this afternoon.”

“That’s fine,” Mom says, turning to head back into the kitchen. “I’m almost done baking for the day then you can go.”

“Ok, thanks,” I call to her as she retreats into her happy place.

That woman could bake all day and night, and never get tired of it. And the town definitely appreciates it. We sell out of freshly baked bread, rolls, muffins, and more every day.

Melinda approaches the counter, setting her regular Wednesday order of milk and bread on the counter. “You’re a busy boy, Theo. You shouldn’t work so much.”

I huff out a laugh as I pour her usual cup of coffee to go and slide it over to her. I’ve known Melinda since I was a kid, and she was our neighbourhood watch as we played on our bikes in the streets. And even with a new crop of kids in town to look out for, she still keeps an eye on all of us as we’ve grown up.

“I don’t really have much of a choice,” I say, as I ring up her order. “Fishing doesn’t pay bills in the off-season. Carpentry at least fills that time.”

She hands me cash to pay for her order, then dramatically peers out the window. “Looks likeonseason out there to me.”

I chuckle, putting her items in a bag and passing it to her. “Yeah, but also, if I didn’t do it, who would have built your bookshelves?”

She tsks at me as she takes her bag and coffee. “You’re young, you should be having fun.”

I shrug and slap on a smile. “Who says I’m not?”

With a playful roll of her eyes, she heads to the door. “Bye, Cynthia!” she calls out as she pulls it open.

“Talk to you later, Melinda!” Mom calls back to her.

When the store is quiet again, I drop down on the stool again and listen to the faint sounds of Mom’s mixers in the kitchen, and the old man crew chatting out on the porch. And I finally take a moment to just breathe. I lean back against the wall and look out the window, watching as a few more boats return to the cove. But my gaze slides past them, where the cove opens to the wide expanse of the Atlantic ocean.

A sigh escapes me as I keep my eyes on the massive body of water that I go out in every day. Where I work my ass off and hope it’s all going to be worth it. It could lead me anywhere… but I always come back here, to my tiny hometown of Torrin Cove, with a population of about three hundred. Because I always knew I’d be here forever. My grandfather and my dad worked too hard to build up the fishing business, and it was always the plan for me to inherit the boats, equipment, and fishing licences. But lately… I feel like I’ve been starting to question it all.

Every morning, I wake up at the ass crack of dawn and take myself and my crew into potentially dangerous waters to complete a dangerous job. Then we unload our haul to be paidan amount determined by market demands, and not based on the insane amount of fucking work it takes to actually complete this job. The cost to keep the crew and boat running increases every year, and it all just seems so… pointless.

Except it’s not.

I rub a hand over my face and sigh again.

I like what I do. I like fishing, I like carpentry, I like helping out at the store with my family. So why the fuck do I feel so… empty? Stuck? Unfulfilled? I don’t even fucking know… it’s an unsettling feeling that I can’t make sense of. Every day, I do the same thing. Fish, build, sleep, repeat. And it seems like the payoff for all of this is getting to be less and less. And I’m not talking about the money.

But there’s no point in even thinking about it. As mundane as it might feel, and as frustrating as it can be, this is my life.

My eyes slide to the retired fishermen on the porch as they drink their coffee and watch the boats come in, and I blow out a breath.

I guess that’s what I have to look forward to.

THREE

It’s been almosttwo hours since I left Halifax, and I don’t want to stop. I need to keep going, and get as far away from everything as I possibly can. But I’m almost out of gas, which forces me to take the next exit in search of a gas station. Once I’m fuelled up again, I’ll keep going.

I need to keep going.

The exit takes me onto a long and winding road, passing farmland and quaint houses nestled among large trees, until I finally reach the main street of a little town. And I meanlittle.

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