A Day in the Sun

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On Sunday morning Vince got up and went down to do some more work on the Croaker. Simmons had let him tie her up at his dock until Vince could get a place of his own. Everybody had been decent about it. He guessed it was a sort of game with everybody to see if he could actually get her running. Over at Garnell’s Basin they had hauled her out for him. He’d scraped the bottom, done a good paint job on it. Micky Garnell was the one who’d got the old marine engine running, charging him only for parts. You take a twenty-foot tub about twenty years old, and it needs a lot of work if nobody ever took good care of it.

It was hot in the April sun. He stripped off his shirt. He was seventeen, sun-baked, lean, stringy and towheaded, with pale eyes and square brown hands that looked too big for him.

Simmons’ place was just inside the inlet, other side of the highway bridge. Cars roared by, rattling the bridge boards. Tough place to sleep at night, he thought, but he guessed old Simmons was used to it. Probably didn’t even hear it any more.

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