The promise
The piece Iris had shaped for Eamon's bow lay on the bench with her name written on masking tape. Dev had put the tape there to keep another worker from planing it while she was away. She had worked four mornings on it since returning from inland. Each morning she had told herself she would stop at noon; each afternoon she found another small place where the fit could be better. The berth letter stayed in her bag, its start date approaching whether she looked at it or not.
Mara found her under the launch before the yard opened. Iris was lying on a low board to reach a fastening, the same board her father had used. Mara had brought coffee for two. She set Iris's cup where it would not spill and sat on an upturned crate.
“Eamon is coming at ten,” she said.
“I know.”
“Have you decided what you're telling him?”
Iris turned the tool once more. “That the part I'm doing will be done. The whole boat won't be ready for his trip.”
“You could finish it if you stayed.”
“I might. Dev has other work, and there are always surprises when a boat touches water.” Iris slid out from under the hull. “Are you asking me to give up the berth?”
Mara held out the coffee. “I'm asking whether you've counted what it costs Eamon to lose those days. Your father would have.”
“He counted Eamon's days,” Iris said. “He put my name on the calendar and went back to scraping.”
“He thought you would want the boat in the water before you left.”
“You said that last week.” Iris sat on the floor and drank. The coffee was hot enough to make her slow down. “You were there when I told him I didn't agree.”
“I was. He went outside afterward and I let him. I also remember how he looked when you said you couldn't wait to get away from this yard.”
Iris had said it. She had been angry and had wanted the words to strike. Her father had gone outside and worked until dark. She had not taken them back. They worked together again, but neither returned to those words before he died. “Do you think staying will make that not be something I said to him?”
Mara looked toward the open doors, where a boat cover lifted in the breeze. “No.” She put her cup down. “I think I was asking you because I don't know what this place becomes if you leave. I can't run it the way he did. Dev needs work I can't promise. I have been pretending the answer might be your hands.”
“You don't have to keep it for me.”
“I don't know if I want to keep it for myself.” Mara rubbed at a spot of dried coffee on her sleeve. “My sister has been asking me to come stay. I told her I couldn't leave the yard. I could have said I didn't know who I would be away from it.”
They sat while Dev opened the gate. He looked at them and went directly to the saw bench, an act of tact Iris would thank him for later. Mara picked up her cup. “I will stand beside you when Eamon comes,” she said. “I won't pretend I agree with everything. I will tell him you didn't make your father's promise.”
At ten, Eamon arrived with his map and a packet of biscuits his daughter had baked for the first trip. He laid the biscuits on the bench. The gesture undid Iris more than his impatience had. She invited him to look at the fitted bow piece, then asked Dev to show what remained. Dev named the work plainly, pointing to the unfinished trim, fittings and water trial. Eamon ran a hand along a curve her father had cut.
“He said Iris would do the rest,” Eamon said.
“He did,” Iris answered. “I didn't agree. I'll finish the bow work I began and fit it with Dev. I can't do the rest before my berth starts. Dev can finish later, or we can find another worker with him, but the boat won't be ready for your trip next week.”
Eamon took his hand from the hull. “You could choose to stay.”
“I could.”
“He wanted this for me. Your father had known my daughter since she was little. She was meant to be on the first trip.”
“I know.” Iris felt Mara beside her, not speaking. “I wanted the boat ready too. I don't want to tell her to book another week as if that gives her these days back.”
“But you're going.”
“Yes.”
Eamon looked at the biscuits. “I could take them home before the butter melts.” He picked up the packet, then set it down again. “Keep them. He would have eaten half while telling me to be patient.” For a moment his face softened. “I'm angry with him, too, if what you're saying is true. He gave me your yes when it was only his.”
Dev spoke before Iris could. “I can take the remaining work after the job I already booked. I won't leave the boat sitting. I'll give you a new date when I've measured it honestly.”
“That won't be the trip,” Eamon said. “I'll talk to my daughter.” He went out. Iris watched him stop at the gate to tie a shoelace that had not come undone. He needed a minute before going home with the news.
Dev looked at Mara. “I can't be the whole yard while we finish this.”
“I know.” Mara picked up the biscuits and offered him one. “We'll finish obligations we can name, then close for new work. We can talk about what you're owed when this boat is safe to hand over. I'm not asking you to wait forever.”
He took a biscuit. “I wasn't going to. I wanted to know if you'd make me ask.”
Iris fitted the bow piece that afternoon. Dev held it while she fastened it, checking the curve with her hand. Her father's cut ended where hers began. The join was visible if she stood close enough to look. She did not sand it until the difference vanished. When she finished, there was still a boat around it that needed work. She washed her hands and called Julian.
He answered from his guest room inland. She could hear a truck in the background. “I'm leaving for the berth at the end of next week,” she said. “If you're willing, come to the yard on the morning I go. I want you there, but not to speak for him or finish something he promised.”
“I'll be there.”
“I mean at the time I tell you. Don't come a day early to prove anything.”
He gave a short laugh without much comfort in it. “Tell me the time.”
She did. After the call, Mara asked if she was sure. Iris looked at the fitted piece and then at the open gate. “No,” she said. “I asked anyway.”