I got my duffel from the truck and went back to the pier to wait. A boxy man said, “Is it to Smith or Tangier?” “Smith.” “Ah. The Methodist island. Different world out there. Ninety-eight percent of them earn a living off the water. Water, water, water. They follow the water. Marine biologists without degrees to the last man.” He came up close. “Think I’m going to tell you something. You mayn’t be returning.” “Why not?” “The food.” “Is it spoiled?” “Spoiled? That’ll be you. They cook like every day’s Thanksgiving.”
