Salty Like Blood by Harry Kraus

Author:Harry Kraus
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Howard Books
Published: 2009-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

Saturday evening I placed flowers at my mother’s gravesite, a country cemetery next to a Presbyterian church down in Oyster. I knew I’d lost my footing in the wake of Rachel’s disappearance, and I hoped that a small act of ceremony might bring some of my mother’s wisdom back to me.

My mother had been my biggest supporter, a wall of defense when the town’s men thought I was crazy for pursuing a career in medicine. I remember the day when I’d made a decision to forego my dream and stay to help my father instead.

She looked up from where she stood in front of the kitchen sink. “Take those boots off outside, Davy. I live with a crabber. I don’t have to live with the crabs.”

I obeyed, then walked to the refrigerator. I studied her for a moment. She was dressed and wearing lipstick. “What’s up? Are we going out?”

“I am. I took a job waiting tables down at the Wharfside Inn.”

I selected an apple from the counter. “Why? You’re already working extra shifts at the processing plant.”

“Have you seen the price of your tuition?”

I turned a kitchen chair around and straddled it backward. I leaned over and shook my head. “I’ve decided to stay on with Dad.”

“Davy—”

“Mom, Dad has done fine for himself. It’s what I want.”

“Phooey. I’ve listened to your dreams.”

“Maybe I was too naïve.”

She sighed, folded her apron, and pointed at my chest. “Now you listen to me. You’ve got crabbing in your blood, I know. Always have. Probably always will. But God has given you something else—the brains to do more, and the compassion to help.”

“But if I leave, Dad will have to scale back.”

“We’ll manage, Davy. The good Lord will take care of us.”

“I could start saving for medical school now. If I go to college and medical school, it will be years before—” I stopped in mid-sentence when her rolled apron smacked down in a rainbow arc onto my head.

“Stop it! I didn’t raise you to take the easy way. Or to do what everyone else does.” She threw the apron onto the counter. “There’s stew in the refrigerator in the saucepan. Feed it to your father when he comes in.”

“Dad will never go for this. He’s set on having my help.”

“You leave your father to me. He’ll come around. He just needs my help to see the way.” She paused at the door. “I’m going to work. And you’re going to school. I won’t have you giving up on your dreams. That’s final!”

With that, she bounded down the porch steps and let the screen door slam behind her. I’d give her one thing. She knew how to get her way.

I reached to her grave and plucked a wilted petal from the edge of a red rose. “Thanks, Momma,” I whispered. “Thanks for helping me remember.”

I was only a bit self-conscious that I was whispering to a gravestone when I heard my name spoken by a voice I recognized.

Blake.

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