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I know Shiloh got quite a bit of criticism when he hired me. Even I was surprised that he took the chance, having fully talked myself into the likelihood that he’d turn me down when I asked. I wasn’t born into a fishing family like he was. I didn’t grow up on the sea. My family is a trade family, though, and although I grew up learning carpentry and mechanics and plumbing, I longed for what some of the other boys had. I wanted to be on the boats. I wanted to work out in the open air, not squeezing into crawl spaces looking for pests, or kneeling in bathrooms to fix plumbing. I’ve always known a trade was in my future, but as everyone who’s ever desired anything can attest to, I wanted the one I couldn’t have.

I know I could have been happy with the life I had—working side by side with my father until the time came to take over. And I probably would have been, had I not been down at the wharf that day and come across Shiloh. I’d seen him there, the lobster boats rocking gently in the water, the smell of fish and ocean and fresh air invading my senses. The gulls had been loud, swooping overhead and making a nuisance of themselves the way they always do. I hadn’t felt fully in control of my own movements as I’d approached, footfalls loud on the wooden planking. I remember hoping he wouldn’t remember who I was and that I wouldn’t stutter and remind him.

“Hey, Nils,” Shiloh had greeted me the moment I was near enough to his boat for him not to need to shout. I’d almost turned around right then. Of course he remembered me. Hard to forget the big, stuttering idiot you went to school with. Hard to forgetthe only person in my class who didn’t finish or graduate from high school. I’d wanted to abandon my half-baked plan, but I’d stayed, because I’d never known Shiloh to be a bully, and right then, he’d sounded so unbearably sad. Even if he turned me down for the job, I felt very acutely that he needed company anyway.

“He-e-e-e-e-ey,” I’d stuttered back, body hot with shame.

I could feel it there in my throat—the stress of talking that always made the stutter worse—a tight ball of anxiety that only got bigger and bigger the harder I tried to swallow it. I wanted to walk away so badly, to wire my own jaw closed and give up on the only dream I’d ever allowed myself to have. Shiloh, kneeling next to one of the lobster tanks and staring up at me with patient, sad blue eyes, had waited. People never waited for me to talk. Even my own family would eventually lose patience and start filling in the blanks. It bothered me, but I didn’t blame them. I hated listening to myself, too.

But Shiloh waited. He didn’t fidget or roll his eyes or go back to whatever he’d been working on. He sat there and watched as I forcefully tugged words from my throat, painful and halting.

“N-n-n-n-e-e-e-d he-he-he-help?”

Do you need help on the boat? Are you hiring? Can I interview for the job?I’d added on desperately in my mind, hating myself for being physically unable to say any of it out loud. I really didn’t know Shiloh well; the few times we’d interacted had been quick and unmemorable, and I remember standing there worried about what kind of man he was. There were only two kinds of boys I grew up with—the ones who kept to themselvesand the ones who went out of their way to make my life harder. Shiloh had been one of the former as a teenager, but that didn’t mean he was still that way as a man.

Standing, he’d moved closer to where I was waiting on the dock. His hands were streaked with grease, dirty in a way that was familiar enough to me to ease some of the tension in my shoulders. Both working men, even though Shiloh at least had a high school diploma under his belt. That slip of paper felt like a chasm between us just then—proof in writing of how much better than me he was.

“Dad wants to retire soon,” he’d told me, and back then, I’d thought maybe that was why he sounded so bummed out. “His hip is bad, you know?”

I did know, but only because my mom told me, and she knew from her hairdresser. I’d nodded. Unlike seemingly everyone else in the world, I was very good at waiting for people to finish speaking without interrupting them. Patience was never a struggle for me.

“So, yeah, I could use some help.” A pause, and then, a little more shyly, “But I don’t know how much we can pay you…”

“I don’t need much,” I’d said, shocking myself back into silence with how smooth and stutter-less the sentence was. It was true, too. I could live on practically nothing. What I wanted in that moment—more than money or anything else—was to work on a boat.Thisboat. I wanted a chance.

“Okay, I…” Shiloh had blinked, cheeks ruddy from more than just the wind chill. “Well, do you…do you want to come out with us tomorrow?”

“Ye-e-e-s,” I’d agreed, nodding. Yes, I certainly did want to go out with him and his dad tomorrow. Had I ever been on a boat a day in my life before? No. Did I know the first thing about commercial lobster fishing? No. Was I going to be able to say any of that, possibly talking him out of his offer? Definitely not. I nodded again to show my eagerness, and Shiloh smiled.

“Okay, cool. Tomorrow, then. Four?”

I nodded again. It sounded like he was asking whether that was a good time, not telling me that’s when I needed to be there. Already, I’d been planning to show up at the harbor at three thirty, unwilling to leave anything to chance and not wanting to run the risk of being late. I smiled back to let him know I was excited.

“Tha-a-anks,” I muttered, fast losing steam on this much conversation. I needed a break.

“That’s all right,” he’d replied easily, swiping a dirty palm along the side of his leg, smearing grease down his jeans. “Here, give me your number.”

I’d taken the proffered phone, tapped in my number, and mumbled my way through an awkward goodbye. That evening, I’d spoken with my father, who’d taken my resignation with a slightly perplexed shake of his head and let me know that there would still be a job available to me next week. He hadn’t expected things to work out with Shiloh. Part of me hadn’t expected it either. Even when Shiloh had texted me later that night—correctly assuming that the easiest and most judicious way to communicate with me was through writing—I’d still sat and waited for him to carefully take back his offer of a job. I’dlain awake that night, wondering if Shiloh had even realized I’d been asking for one, since it’s not as though I’d been able to say the actual words.

My first day working on theDrifterhad been exhausting and exhilarating in equal measure. I’d talked more than I’d ever talked in my life, learned new skills and new ways to utilize skills I already had. I didn’t know it then, but I’d gotten two things that day that I’d never had before: a job I’d always wanted and a friend.

Now, I look over at the man who gave me a chance when not a single person in Siren’s Point would have. I like to think I pull more than my fair share of the weight around here, but even still, I’m certain I get more from this than he does. I love this job. I love cleaning the barnacles off the lobsters and smelling like dead fish and listening to the wind swing Oliver’s voice around. Shiloh catches me watching him and nods a goodbye as he heads toward his truck, eager to get home to Ewan. I look back at my hands, stowing my things in the back of the truck.

“How are Tutu and the gang?” Oliver asks, pausing beside me on the way to his own vehicle, shoulder bumping against mine and eyes bright against the winter sky.

“Good.”

They’re in the coop, safe and warm, and will be the first thing I check once I get home. Oliver grins like he can read that from my one-word answer. Maybe he can, since he never does seem to have trouble understanding me.

“What do you feed them? I was reading up on keeping chickens, and there are all sorts of different options available.It’s wild how fancy pet food is these days, right? One of my cousins buys this raw dog food that can only be refrigerated for a week before it goes bad. He spends so much money on it. I think the dog eats better than he does.”

I listen as he continues to talk. Every now and then, he glances over at me and pauses as though he’s trying to decide whether or not I’m sick of him yet. His first few months on the boat, he was constantly doing the same thing. Like a temperature check on Shiloh and me, making sure we weren’t annoyed. Funnily enough, it was never the singing, humming, or constant chatter that bothered me. Rather, it was the way he kept worrying about it. It makes me wonder who had complained enough about him that he felt like his personality needed a warning label. Even still, after all this time, he watches the pair of us with slightly cautious blue-green eyes, like he’s waiting for the day we finally snap at him. I want to tell him that it’ll never happen. If Shiloh can stand my stuttering, nothing will annoy him.

And truly, nothing about Oliver does bother me. I like the way he talks. I like that he seems to enjoy talking to me, specifically. He’s always been pleasant company, and for as long as he lets me, I’ll continue to enjoy it. I doubt he’ll be long for working the boat, though. Not when he’s so smart and talented. Sure, he might not know the difference between a wrench and a screwdriver, but he can cook like a dream, and his thirst for knowledge seems pretty much unquenchable. He has an incredible memory, not to mention the creativity needed to create recipes from scratch. Which I know he does, because he’ll tell us when boat lunch is one of such concoctions. They’venever once been bad.

No, Oliver is well and truly above the rest of us and far too good to be getting his hands dirty in work like this. I want to ask him why he does work here, but it’s not just the stutter that stops me. It’s none of my business why he wants to haul lobsters. A lot of people questioned why I wanted to do the same thing, so it’s not as though I have a leg to stand on. Maybe, like me, he enjoys working in the open air with sea spray in his face. What more reason could someone need?

“Want to meet them?” I ask carefully, chest a little tight with nerves from having to speak a sentence I didn’t practice. Oliver pauses for breath. He’s still talking about the fancy-pet-food phenomenon. I hadn’t even known there was one.