Page 13

Ten

Benny

Present Day

Zara and Ryan both had bikes that were locked up at the nearby bike rack by the dock. New ones. Ryan’s was a fancy neon orange mountain bike and Zara’s was a mint green with one of those baskets on the front. Benny was just thinking how not Zara’s type the bike was when Zara blurted out: “It’s my sister’s. Mine was stuck behind the lawn mower, and I couldn’t get it out.”

“Just hurry up and get it unlocked,” Ryan said, already seated on his bike seat and bouncing up and down. “I hate being down here.”

“On the docks?” Benny asked, looking around. While the large yachts and bigger boats had been docked near Crabby Carrie’s, this dock had older vessels. There was a peeling fishing boat moored at the end of the short dock, a white ferry that said Southhold Historical Society Lighthouse Tours on one side, and a few smaller recreational boats. “Why?”

“He’s afraid of the Crab,” Zara said, smirking.

“Am not,” Ryan said, his eyes scanning the dock for what Benny could only assume was a giant mutant sea crab. “You don’t see him, do you?”

“The Crab is a person?” Benny questioned, holding her bike steady as another wind gust threatened to blow them off the dock. The wind had only gotten fiercer since they left the restaurant, and dark clouds were drawing closer. If they didn’t hurry, they’d get soaked on the ride back to the house.

Benny felt something wind around her legs and jumped. She laughed when she realized it was an orange tabby cat. It cuddled up to her and wouldn’t leave, purring as it sat on her feet. “Hello, there,” she said, bending down to pet the cat, who let her. She started to scratch behind the cat’s ear and realized the cat only had one eye; its other eye was shut tight.

“He’s just a fisherman everyone calls the Crab because he’s so cranky,” Zara said, getting her bike out and motioning to the fishing boat at the end of the dock. “He lives on his boat and hates when anyone loiters near it. Especially kids.”

“He yells,” Ryan told Benny, his brown eyes crinkling with worry. “Never go near his cat.”

“Oh!” Benny stood up, and the cat stayed, sitting on the top of her shoes and licking its paws as if it had nowhere to be. Benny carefully pulled out her camera and took a picture of the feline. “This cat seems to want company.”

“That may be, but he’ll think you’re trying to steal it,” Ryan said solemnly. “I’ve had it happen. Like anyone would want a one-eyed cat.”

“WINKS!” someone yelled. “Winks! Where are you?” At the end of the dock, a young man in his thirties, dirty blond hair, with stubble, wearing a ripped T-shirt and a pair of jeans, stood barefoot on the deck of the fishing boat. He saw Benny staring and glowered in response.

“There is the Crab now. Step away from his cat. Move, move, move,” Ryan panicked, grabbing his bike, jumping on, and pedaling away, his motion unstable.

The cat trotted toward the boat, and the man jumped onto the dock like an agile cat himself. Benny noted it had to be a three-feet drop. She watched as he picked up the cat and started cooing at it. She snuck a picture of him and the boat too, for no other reason than it was funny to see a grown man talking baby talk to an animal.

“Ryan’s a bit dramatic, but Ansel is a grump,” Zara said, watching as the man climbed back onto the boat with the cat in tow. “I think that’s his name. His grandfather and dad were the same way, according to my grandma,” Zara said, starting to walk her bike off the dock. “I think he’s the third guy to own the boat, and he rarely leaves it. Kind of young to be a hermit.”

Yes , Benny thought, watching the fisherman disappear.

A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. They needed to get going.

“You two coming or not?” Ryan yelled from the safety of the land.

Benny and Zara ran their bikes down the dock, and then Benny led the way home.