Free Envious Moon by Thomas Christopher Greene Page B

same path in the daylight. I looked at the beach, where my skiff had been that night. And on the trail I suddenly remembered the sound of our feet pounding down it in the dark.
    When I reached the house, I marched right up to the door. I held the newspaper-wrapped fish under my arm and I knocked like I was anyone else who had come to visit. I knocked several times and there was no answer.
    I sat on the edge of the porch and I waited. I smoked a cigarette and for a moment I worried that perhaps she had left theisland. She was probably always leaving the island. Like the time I had seen her on the ferry. The fish was next to me and the day was warm. I could not keep it there forever. I looked down the curvy driveway. This was the way she would come and I hoped that when she did that she’d be alone. I hadn’t thought of that. What if she was with someone else? After all, I knew nothing about her. Other than how she looked through a window in the dark.
    The afternoon got on. I was about to hide around back, just to make sure that when she showed she’d be alone, when she appeared around the bend on a bicycle. The bicycle was old-fashioned-looking and red and on the front it had a basket. She came to a halt in front of me, putting her feet down on either side of it. Her hair was up in a ponytail. Normally I liked it when girls wore their hair down but this afforded me a better look at her face. And for the first time, I noticed her freckles, the lot of them, like tiny brown stars on her cheeks.
    She looked at me, and she said, “What are you doing here?”
    I held up the newspaper package. “I brought you a fish.”
    She laughed. “Are you for real?”
    â€œIt’s payment. For sleeping on your beach.”
    She pushed a barrette back on her hair with her right hand. She had to lean back to do this and when she stretched I got a sense of the small breasts beneath her T-shirt. “It’s not my beach,” she said.
    I shrugged. “It’s a striped bass. A real nice fish.”
    Her hands came back to her sides and she crossed her arms on her chest, as if aware of where my gaze had been. Her eyes narrowed. She said, “How’d you know where I lived?”
    It was a completely reasonable question and I had anticipated it. I said, “I followed your tracks. From the beach.”
    She seemed to be thinking this over. “I don’t even like fish,” she said.
    â€œThis is nice fish,” I said. “People who don’t like fish like it. It’s a white fish. Very sweet.”
    â€œI don’t know how to cook.”
    â€œI’ll cook it for you,” I said.
    â€œI don’t even know you,” she said.
    I smiled. “I’m Anthony Lopes. From Galilee, Rhode Island. I live with my mother and I missed my boat. I’m a nice guy. You can ask anyone.”
    â€œWho could I ask?”
    â€œOkay, look,” I said. “If you want, I will just cook the fish and then leave. You can eat when I’m gone. I’m telling you, you will like it. Lock me in the kitchen if you want. I don’t care. If you ever want me to go, just say so. I’ll leave in a second.”
    Hannah sighed. “This is so weird. Who does this?”
    â€œI’m a full-service fisherman,” I said, and this made her smile. It was a natural smile, the kind she couldn’t help, and as soon as she did, I saw her look away from me as if this was something she didn’t want to give me yet. Though it was okay for I had already seen it and it was not something she could take back.
    â€œYou’re really going to cook it,” she said.
    I nodded. “I’m telling you it’s nice fish.”
    She stepped off her bike and said, once again and to no one in particular, “This is so weird.” I knew then that I had her. She wheeled the bike past me and onto the porch and rested it against the wall. She opened the wooden door and turned