Big Mac sat at one of the picnic tables outside the restaurant, surrounded by a crowd that hung on his every word as he retold the story of hooking a great white in Long Island Sound—for what had to be the ten thousandth time since it happened twenty years earlier.

“Not that old fish story again,” Mac interjected.

His father’s face lit up with delight. “Hey! Look who it is! Fellas, meet my oldest boy, Little Mac.”

“Just Mac is fine.” He shook hands with the other men. “I dropped the little part years ago.” To his father, he said, “Got time for a beer?”

“Hmm, fellas, what do you say? Do I have time for a beer with my son?”

“You do own the place,” one of them said drolly.

“That I do. Luke!”

Luke appeared from behind the main building. “Yeah?”

“I’m cutting out. You’re in charge.”

“Right.”

“What happened with the shark?” one of the guys asked as Big Mac got up.

“He got away,” Mac said.

“Well, thank God for that.”

“No shit,” Big Mac said with that winning smile of his. “I’ll see you fellas around. Gotta spend some time with my boy.” He put his arm around Mac and led him to the Tiki Bar at the end of the main dock.

They pulled up stools at Big Mac’s latest brainstorm. The outdoor bar had been added two summers ago, and from what Mac had heard, it was turning a nice profit.

“Carol Ann, this here’s my boy Mac. He drinks on the house while he’s home. Two of my usual.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. McCarthy,” the pretty young bartender replied.

While she fetched the beers, Mac snorted behind his hand. “She calls you Mr. McCarthy?”

“She respects her elders. What can I say?”

Carol Ann put two frosty bottles down in front of them.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Big Mac said without an ounce of guile. Only on Gansett Island could an employer get away with calling a female employee “sweetheart.”

“My pleasure,” she said with a toothy smile, and Mac could see that it was. Everyone loved his father. You couldn’t spend ten minutes in his orbit and not be sucked into his effortless way with people. He was the heart and soul of the place, and Mac couldn’t imagine it without him.

Carol Ann moved to the far end of the bar to give them some privacy.

Big Mac tapped his bottle against Mac’s and then took a long drink.

“You’re really gonna sell this place, Dad?”

“I think it’s time,” Big Mac said, but Mac heard the sadness in his voice and saw it on his face. “Your mom wants to travel, get off the island some. You hear about people waiting too long to retire, then one of ’em gets sick. . .” Shrugging, he picked at the label on his bottle.