“I found them,” said Hooper, holding up two large stainless-steel cleats. He walked over to the counter, smiled politely at Ellen, and said to Morris, “These’ll do fine.” He put the cleats on the counter and handed Morris a twenty-dollar bill.

Ellen looked at Hooper, trying to define her reminiscence. She hoped Albert Morris would introduce them, but he seemed to have no intention of doing so. “Excuse me,” she said to Hooper, “but I have to ask you something.”

Hooper looked at her and smiled again—a pleasant, friendly smile that softened the sharpness of his features and made his light blue eyes shine. “Sure,” he said. “Ask away.”

“You aren’t by any chance related to David Hooper, are you?”

“He’s my older brother. Do you know David?”

“Yes,” said Ellen. “Or rather, I used to. I went out with him a long time ago. I’m Ellen Brody. I used to be Ellen Shepherd. Back then, I mean.”

“Oh sure. I remember you.”

“You don’t.”

“I do. No kidding. I’ll prove it to you. Let me see.… You wore your hair shorter then, sort of a pageboy. You always wore a charm bracelet. I remember that because it had a big charm that looked like the Eiffel Tower. And you always used to sing that song—what was it called?—‘Sh-Boom,’ or something like that. Right?”

Ellen laughed. “My heavens, you have quite a memory. I’d forgotten that song.”

“It’s screwy the things that impress kids. You went out with David for what—two years?”

“Two summers,” Ellen said. “They were fun. I hadn’t thought about them much in the past few years.”

“Do you remember me?”

“Vaguely. I’m not sure. I remember David had a younger brother. You must have been about nine or ten then.”

“About that; David’s ten years older than I am. Another thing I remember: Everybody called me Matt. I thought it sounded grown up. But you called me Matthew. You said it sounded more dignified. I was probably in love with you.”

“Oh?” Ellen reddened, and Albert Morris laughed.

“At one time or another,” said Hooper, “I fell in love with all the girls David went out with.”

“Oh.”

Morris handed Hooper his change, and Hooper said to Ellen, “I’m going down to the dock. Can I drop you anywhere?”

“Thank you. I have a car.” She thanked Morris, and, with Hooper behind her, walked out of the store. “So now you’re a scientist,” she said when they were outside.

“Kind of by accident. I started out as an English major. But then I took a course in marine biology to satisfy my science requirement, and—bingo!—I was hooked.”

“On what? The ocean?”

“No. I mean, yes and no. I was always crazy about the ocean. When I was twelve or thirteen, my idea of a big time was to take a sleeping bag down to the beach and spend the night lying in the sand listening to the waves, wondering where they had come from and what fantastic things they had passed on the way. What I got hooked on in college was fish, or, to be really specific, sharks.”