Kory did as he was told and Arie popped it into the gently boiling pot.
“Oh geeze, it’s still alive,” Kory said.
“Not for long,” said Arie. “But you will be, thanks to eating well. Now, watch.” In just a few seconds, the clam’s oblong shell popped open with a sudden, audible click. Arie scooped it out immediately with a forked stick and dunked it into the cool water container. “See how easy?” she said. “Cleaning this big fellow comes next. Handy, you show them that part while I get more shells open.”
Handy flipped open his small knife and showed them, step by step, how to remove the clam’s gills, stomach, and other internalments. Talus made short work of the offal when Arie tossed it her way. Soon they had a small assembly-line going, and then a glistening pile of creamy-white clams, ready to cook.
“Last one,” said Arie. She held up Kory’s giant. “This is, without question, the biggest, most impressive razor clam I’ve ever seen,” said Arie. “Best for last.” She popped it into the boiling pot.
“I win?” asked Kory.
“No contest,” said Renna. “You are the king!”
“I’m the king!” Kory cried, pumping both fists at the sky and doing a small victory lap around their circle.
“King Clammy,” laughed Curran.
“Huh,” said Arie. “More like King Hammy. Come over here and clean your prize, your majesty. Then we can cook and feast.”
Kory, who was now running in circles with Talus, jogged over and set about cleaning the last clam, fingers surprisingly quick and nimble with a knife. Arie marveled all over again at what a quick study the boy was, how eager to learn and master new skills.
“Done!” he said triumphantly. “Can I go down there and check out the rocks?” he asked.
Arie perused the outcropping that formed a natural boundary on the south end of the strand. The huge sandstone boulders seemed to erupt directly out of a rocky bluff. They made an interconnected bulwark that towered almost twenty feet overhead and protruded far out into the surf. At the farthest point, the sea flung itself repeatedly against the stone, sending broken fans of foam high into the air. Generations of gulls had made their rookeries along the craggy spine, leaving enormous white splats of guano. The current colony took flight and landed again at intervals, like busy airliners from a defunct age.
“See what you see,” said Arie. “But don’t go into the water past your ankles. The land drops away quick at the base of those rocks, I guarantee it.”
“The water’s freezing,” added Curran. “If you get your clothes wet now, you’ll have a hell of a time getting warm later.”
Arie scanned the beach. There were a few people huddled in groups between them and the outcropping, likely using it as a windbreak. Mr. Smiley-Wave and the women with him were out there, but despite his rather odd manner there had been no overt threat. No one new had arrived on this part of the beach for hours. “Kory,” she said quietly, “steer clear of others. Do you understand?”
He nodded. “Mind my own business.”
“Mind yours, and don’t let anyone mind it for you. And take Talus.”
He didn’t need any more permission. Off he ran with the dog bounding ahead. He made a wide berth around the dozen or so people in question, and was soon poking around at the base of the rocks, clambering up on low spots, jumping off, picking things up from the sand, and tossing a stick for Talus. In other words, being a typical kid.
“What a haul,” said Renna. She held the large pot filled with cleaned clams and weighed it in her hands. “I was never a fan of shellfish, before,” she said, “but wow. This is making my mouth water.”
“You’ll soon feast,” said Arie. “They don’t take any time to cook. I’d fancy some of our spuds with them. We’ll lighten our load a little and fill our bellies at the same time.”
“God, yes,” said Renna. “I’ll go get them.”
“Hold off,” said Arie. “Let’s have Curran go.” She flicked her eyes in the direction of Mr. Smiley-Wave. “If there’s anyone he has kept track of, it’s you.”
Renna took her own snap-glance. “He hasn’t actually bothered with anyone.” She made a small shrug. “I doubt he’d try anything in broad daylight.”
“Probably not likely,” said Arie. “But if you’re high on his radar, he’s a lot more likely to take an inkling about where you’re headed. Let’s not risk him discovering the direction of our little camp.”
Renna nodded. “Agreed.” She was still holding the pot of clams. “What can I do to get this party started, then?”
“Seaweed,” said Arie. “The big stuff.”
Once she’d dispatched Curran to fetch the potatoes, the three of them set to their meal prep, glancing over at Kory from time to time. He was kneeling at the base of the rocks, poking at something with the stick he’d been tossing for the dog. Talus sat at his elbow, ears cocked far forward, peering at whatever it was the boy was examining.
Handy extended the fire pit. He first built a berm around the perimeter, then he placed a rough grid of water- and sand-sodden driftwood branches above the white-hot bed of coals. The branches smoked slightly, but were too wet and packed with sand to fully catch fire.
Arie kept the clams fresh by sinking the styrofoam cooler partway into damp sand, settling the pot of clams down into it, and pouring cold seawater nearly to its rim.
Renna returned with two enormous strands of bull kelp, the leaves still green and heavy.
“Those are perfect,” said Arie. They stripped off the arm-length leaves. “Cover the clam cooler with one of those,” she said. “Handy can have the rest.”
Handy draped several leaves over his driftwood cooking rack and set the rest aside. “Now the potatoes,” he told Curran. “Give each one a couple of slits for steam and nest them in the center. Leave a little room for heat circulation,” he added.
He was covering the potatoes with another layer of kelp, explaining the method to Renna and Curran, when the shouting started.
-17-
“HELP HIM!”
It was a woman, one of the three in Mr. Smiley-Wave’s group. She was pointing at the rocks. Everyone on the beach had looked around to see what the trouble was, and in the moment of time it took Arie to spot it, Handy and Renna were already sprinting down the sand, with Curran right behind them.
Kory was nowhere to be seen.
Later, she would hardly remember running toward the rocks herself. But suddenly she was at the water’s edge, where it seemed everyone on the beach was pacing, pointing, shouting.
“Wait!” someone cried. “You can’t go out there alone.”
That was when Arie saw it: Kory was in the water, near the rocks and out past the point where he could touch bottom. She hadn’t seen him at first because his head was drenched, making his light hair almost indistinguishable in the water. He was flailing, arms thrashing as the surf tossed him about like a cork. He was awfully near the rocks, and each swell bumped him a little closer.
In the few seconds it took for Arie to apprehend the situation, a woman had waded far into the water. Curran was right behind her, and Arie saw they had locked arms. The frantic crowd coalesced around the effort and in moments had formed a human chain. They held tight to one another, moving out into the water, shouting encouragement. Arie couldn’t see her, but Renna’s voice carried over all the others, screaming the boy’s name.
Arie leapt into the effort, even though it meant losing sight of Kory as she locked elbows with a big man wearing a green John Deere cap and a teenage girl with hair so short she must recently have shaved her head.