Eddie felt as excited as a girl who has been asked on her first date. The Chief had mentioned something about fishing, but men threw out offers like that all the time and never followed up. The Chief had actually gone to the trouble of seeking Eddie out.

Eddie called the Chief back. They decided to meet on the North Wharf at five thirty the next morning and stay out until one or two in the afternoon. The Chief would bring sandwiches and beer and the rods. All Eddie had to do was show up.

Eddie raced home to tell Grace and both girls the news. Both girls were home for dinner.

“I’m fishing with the police chief in the morning,” Eddie said.

“Cool,” Allegra said.

Hope shrugged and nibbled a piece of asparagus from between her fingers, a habit Eddie found unseemly but that was sanctioned by Grace, who said Grandmother Sabine used to eat her asparagus that way.

Grace said, “Don’t forget that I’m going out Thursday night.”

“You are?” Eddie said.

“The Sunset Soiree, remember?” Grace said. “Garden club?”

“Right,” Eddie said. He didn’t exactly remember, but anything involving the garden club meant he was mercifully excused. “I just think it was nice of the Chief to invite me fishing. Of all people.”

“You hate to fish,” Hope said.

“No, I don’t,” Eddie said. “Not really.”

“Maybe it will be like that scene in The Sopranos,” Allegra said, “where they invite the guy fishing because they want to kill him, then throw him overboard.”

Eddie pushed his plate away. He had been enjoying his steak, mashed potatoes, and asparagus right up until Allegra said that. Indeed, the invitation was so unlikely that a part of Eddie believed it might be a planned sting. He would drink only one beer, he decided. He would take one when it was offered and nurse it all damn day; that way, he would be sure not to say anything stupid.

He awoke at four o’clock without help of an alarm; he was keyed up with nerves and excitement. He wore khaki shorts and white tennis shoes and a long-sleeved T-shirt from Santos Rubbish Removal, and he donned his Panama hat because he didn’t feel like himself without it. He bought a coffee from the Hub as soon as it opened, then stopped by his office to use the john and check his voice mails. He had been so addled by the fishing invitation that he had forgotten to call Nadia and tell her about Kasper Snacks that night.

He had time now. He wasn’t due on the wharf for thirty minutes. But he couldn’t start his day by calling Nadia and then segue right into fishing with the police chief. He would call Nadia later, he decided. He had to. The fishing invitation, while magical in its way, had not made Eddie’s financial problems go away.

The Chief had brought along his son, Eric, who was a student at Cornell’s medical school, to serve as first mate. The men all shook hands, and then they strolled down the creaking dock as the sun came up behind them, spangling the water gold and silver. There were other men climbing onto other boats and getting things ready—ropes, engines, ice chests, poles and reels and lines—but the dock was serene and picturesque to Eddie. It was another world, life on the water, apart from the hustle and bustle and commerce and traffic and errands and meals and shopping and cell-phone conversations on land.

The Chief’s boat was called The Castaways—this was a reference to Greg and Tess MacAvoy and Addison Wheeler and some of the Chief’s other friends, but Eddie didn’t want to broach the topic. He needed to grapple with the fact that he didn’t know the first thing about fishing. He had been fishing a couple of years earlier with clients, but that had been a drinking trip more than a fishing trip; there had been twelve guys and three mates on that boat, and Eddie had cast only twice, holding the rod for all of six or seven minutes.

The night before, Eddie had googled how to cast, and he watched an instructional video on YouTube—pull back the bale, hold the line with index finger, gently bring pole over right shoulder, then cast, and when the line hit its arc, let the line go. Then replace bale and reel in.

Anyone could do it.

Eddie said, “What can I do to help?”

The Chief handed him the cooler. “Stick this in the galley, would you? Eric and I will take care of getting the lines set. We’re going to troll on our way out, see if we can catch some bass off the bottom.”

Eddie carried the cooler to the galley. At least he knew the galley was the kitchen. He was so nervous about his lack of experience that he opened the cooler and plucked a Stella out of the ice. Eddie’s favorite. He flipped the top off, then wondered if he was being rude. Would Grandmother Sabine find him rude? Yes, undoubtedly. Eddie realized he should have waited for the beer to be offered, but, sorry, he couldn’t wait. He needed something to take the edge off right now.

He said to the Chief, “Hope you don’t mind, but I opened one of your beers.”

The Chief waved a hand. “Help yourself.” He and Eric were moving around the boat with skilled, precise movements, getting this thing ready and that thing ready. The Chief dealt mostly with the motor and the computer screen and the ropes and the hatches, while Eric handled the rods. There were big rods in holders and smaller rods that Eric was stringing with deft fingers.

The Chief finally started the engine, and Eric unlooped the ropes from the dock and stood out on the bow as the Chief backed the boat out of its slip. Eddie sat on the cushioned bench in front of the console and thought what a crime it was that he had lived on this island for so long and hadn’t learned a single thing about the sea.