The Lobster Kings by Alexi Zentner Read Free Book Online Page A

because he looked over his shoulder and yelled out, “Second. Get off him,” but as he yelled at Second, the
Queen Jane
caught a wave. The boat gave an unexpected bounce, and it wasn’t clear if Second stumbled into Scotty or if Second jumped onto Scotty, but the results were the same: the trap that Scotty was balancing on the rail went over, and Scotty fell in the tangle of ropes on the deck of the boat.
    I wish I could say that something spectacular happened, that it was a scene from one of Brumfitt’s paintings. I wish I could say that the ocean flattened into glass, sea turtles rose to encircle the
Queen Jane
, the weather crackled black, and the winds cursed at us, ripping a hole in the clear blue sky as water spouted into the air like hissing serpents. And I’d like to believe that we all had a chance to realize what was going to happen, that Scotty and I locked eyes, and that Daddy, in that moment, understood that the promise Brumfitt Kings had been given when he married—that the Kingswould receive the bounty of the ocean, but that our sons would be at the mercy of the sea—was being fulfilled. But I know better than that. There was nothing to set this moment aside from all of the other moments that came before and all of the other moments that came afterward. There was no magical marker to delineate then and later, no animal from the deeps reaching out and drawing Scotty away from us. It was just an accident. It was just the ropes.
    Scotty fell to the deck, slipping in and under the ropes, the first trap hitting the water and yanking tight the lines to its twin. The warp snapped against Scotty, and I could see a piece snug across his throat, his body slamming into the trap, and then the whole mess—line, trap, Scotty—crashed into the rail and flipped over and out into the water. The buoy line that hadn’t tangled up with my brother smoked over the rail and left a scar that still marks the
Queen Jane
seventeen years later. The buoy smacked against the rail, the last thing out of the boat, bouncing into the air and then settling in the water. The traps, and Scotty with them, were already under the water.
    Second, barking, went over the stern and into the water to save Scotty, unable to leave him alone even after he’d knocked my brother overboard. There wasn’t time for Daddy to try to throw the boat hard in reverse—from Second knocking Scotty down to the time he was in the water wasn’t even enough for a blink, like a car crash or a bullet wound—and instead Daddy did the only thing he could do, which was to slam the throttle full forward and crank the wheel, turning the
Queen Jane
nearly on her edge. He reached out to me and grabbed my shoulder, and it was suddenly like I had woken from a daze. “Turn her around,” he said. “Line me up.”
    He moved back to the rail, and for a minute I thought he was planning to go in after Second, after Scotty, but he had already recognized that with the cold of the winter water and the weight of the traps and Scotty’s body, he was best off in the boat.
    Even though I was still short enough that I could barely see through the glass—I didn’t really grow until I was in eleventh grade, and then I shot up five inches in a year, heading to my fullheight of five-seven, just like Momma—I kept the wheel hard to starboard. The boat turned against the waves and, though the sea was calm for that time of year, I glanced back to see Daddy stumble as he went for the gaff.
    I stood on my tiptoes and could see Second moving swiftly across the water toward the buoy. The sky was clear and the sun hung up so that it bounced off the water, Second’s black fur glistening in the light and the wet. A series of shadows cast through the water and under Second, a school of fish or just a play of darkness.
    “Off the throttle, honey,” Daddy called, and his voice sounded so calm, so reassuring, that I half wondered if I was in some sort of a dream, if Scotty was in a mermaid’s