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“So are we going lobstering?” I ask

“Nope,” he says, handing me into the little boat

The s, the bait lobstermen use for their traps, is musty and thick, but it’s a sh ainst the hull of the dinghy, sprayingname,” I comment as we approach the boat Malone’s face creases into a smile “Who’s Anne?”

“My grandmother,” he says

“And does she know that you’ve immortalized her this way?”

“Ayuh” He s out his hand to me “Have a seat,” he says

A lobster boat is all about work, nothing about comfort There are no chairs, just an area in the middle where you can sit if you’re so inclined, which the lobstermen aren’t and therefore don’t The pilot house is crammed with equipment?a couple of radios, the GPS equip tank for the lobsters If Malone was going out to check pots, there’d be ten or twelve extra traps stacked on deck and ht, the lobsterht now I sit on the gunwale, not wanting to get in the way

Malone does his preflight check, as it were, and then starts her up and releases the Ugly Anne fro The wind is brisk as we head out to sea Malone steers us past Douglas Point, dodging Cuthman’s Shoal Colorful buoys illustrate the water, so thick you could walk home, as Billy Botto a maze It takes us about twenty minutes to hit clear water, and even then the Maine coast is loaded with abrupt shoals, tiny islands, currents and tidal dangers Once we’re out a bit, Malone sets the wheel and glances over at me

“Are we going to check your traps?” I guess, pulling the hood of my coat on

“No”

“Where are we going, then?”

He adjusts the controls, then looks over to where I sit on the gunwale, insecure enough that I’ a thermos lid “Want some coffee?”

He pours me a cup?black?but I don’t complain (or mention the fact that I just knew he took his coffee black) Then he turns his attention ahead, and I tilt ulls and cor for some bait Colonel would have loved this, I think The s foul, a pastime he loved above all others

The sound of the ed with salt and the slight s in an appearance, then reconsiders, and strands of fog still hug the rocky, pine-dotted shoreline

I sip my coffee and study the captain, who see I’ve rarely seen in Malone He checks the instrument panel occasionally, makes adjustments to throttle, steers steadily and with confidence Because the door of the pilot house is open, the wind ruffles his hair and jacket “You doing okay?” he asks

“Sure,” I answer

Malone points out a group of puffins, the fat little black-and-white birds toddling on the shore of a small island I ask him a few questions about the boat, but othere don’t talkquiet The dark head of a seal pops up about ten yards off the port side It watches us for a , then slips noiselessly beneath the surface My hair blows around my face until Malone offers me an elastic, one of the thousands he has to slip over the strong claws of the lobsters The h to drown out the cries of the gulls that follow us, or the slapping of the waves as we cross a wake or current

After an hour or so, we once again encounter a sea of offshore buoys Malone slon, navigating carefully through them, and heads to a wooden dock where about a dozen other boats are tied

“Where are we?” I ask

“Linden Harbor” He doesn’t look at me

“And what are we doing here?”

He shrugs, looking a little sheepish “Well, there’s a thing here A luht like to see it” He secures a line and steps onto the dock, then reaches a hand back for me

“A lu off the boat

“Ayuh You know, tree cutting, axe throwing, the like There’s a little fair, too Ga Good food, too”

Is he blushing? He turns for the gangplank before I can tell for sure

“Malone,” I call

“Yeah?”

“This sounds suspiciously like a date, you know” I smile as I say it “Sounds like you actually planned this”

His eyes narrow at ly carny toys or not?”

“Oh, I do, I do,” I answer, tuckingup the dock “The question is, can you?”

“Of course I can, Maggie,” he says “The question really is, howit?”

It’s alloomy old Malone Arm in are and lovely new feeling as we head toward the tents on the town green The s deliciously cinnamon

“Looks like the rod and gun club’s selling breakfast,” Malone says “You hungry?”

“God, I’ood”

Malone orderssandwich, a cinnamon roll and a cup of coffee, then the sa people

“Can’t say I’ve ever seen you eat much, Malone,” I comment around a mouthful of what is surely the best breakfast sandwich ever made

“Almost every day,” he says “Come on, let’s walk around”

For this part of Maine, it’s a pretty big event We’re too far south to have driven along the coast…it would have taken us hours, but by boat ere able to go in a fairly straight line There’s a so-round to the Ferris wheel, tugging their parents’ hands, asking for ames The happy sound of a fair washes over us in waves, the hter of parents Before I think about it, I slip my hand into Malone’s He turns his head to look at me, and as the corner of his mouth pulls up in a smile, my heart pulls, too

“Win a prize for the lady!” calls a carny “Shoot the target just three tiuns lines the counter

“Oh, goody,” I say “Here’s your chance, Malone Prove your osh, let’s see…how about that blue stuffed rat?”

“You sure? Don’t you want that the pink zebra instead?”

“Oh, no I’irl”

“Blue rat it is, then”

Twelve dollars later, I aliest stuffed animal I’ve ever laid eyes on “Thank you, Malone,” I say, kissing my prize