His days had followed the tide instead of the clock. He rose while the town slept, packed black coffee in a dented thermos, checked the sky, and walked down the hill with his yellow slicker over one shoulder and his boots unlaced at the ankle.
At the commercial dock, everyone knew where they belonged. Bram kept the first slip, Tess mended traps by the bait shed, and Elias tied his skiff, the Nora May, to the third piling where the wood had been worn smooth by his hands.