Chapter 19: Ansel's POV: The Pen

Ansel's POV

Constance's lawyer left at nine.

I sat alone in the truck at the end of the Point road until the lights went out in the loft.

The lawyer had come with a letter.

It was a cease and desist from Pettengill Marine, with the foreman's photographs of two people running out of the yard.

It threatened trespass charges against both of us.

Gen had read it on the porch by the yellow bulb, folded it in thirds, and said, "Good."

"Good?" I'd said.

"Now they've put it in writing that they're afraid of what's in that shed."

She had gone in and shut the door.

I understood that she was not talking to me.

I started the truck and drove, and I did not go home.

The yard at midnight was black and quiet, and the foreman had gone.

I used the side gate and left the truck on the cove road.

I walked down the cinder path in the dark, because I could do it blind.

I had done it a hundred times.

In the shed I did not turn on a light.

I stood in front of the hull with my hand against the dead stem.

I listened to the water slap the foot of the ways.

I thought about the pen.

I was twenty-six, and it was a Tuesday in March.

My father had called me into the office at the front of the yard, a small paneled room that smelled of pipe tobacco.

Armand's name was on the door, still, in gold.

My father had stood behind me.

He had put his big hand flat on my back, between the shoulder blades, as he had done when I was a boy learning to row.

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