Chapter 33

THE HARDEST SHELL OF ALL

“You know how to go clamming?” Ronan asks before the front door is even open all the way.

“Yeah, why?”

“I wanna go. Do you have the cage things on a pole that they use?”

“You mean a clam rake? Yeah, we have some out back, I think. And baskets and a gauge. But . . . I have a permit. You need a permit.”

“My father got me one. As a surprise. So I guess he wants me to learn clamming. So I’m asking you.”

I nod once, thinking about how serious he is. Even for him.

“Well?” he asks. “Are you busy?”

“I guess not.”

“Okay. Let’s go, then.”

• • •

We head to the cove just as the tide is going out. Holding the rake, Ronan looks like that famous painting of the farmers standing with a pitchfork. All serious.

“So what do we do now?” he asks.

“Follow me,” I tell him.

We wade out into the bay. The surface of the ocean separates the two worlds of hot air and cool water. The tide is moving, so the sand whirls around my feet.

I stop when the water is up to my knees and turn to Ronan. “Okay,” I say, pointing to the wire basket with a floatable noodle around the rim so it sits in the water, tied to me so it won’t drift away. “This is called the peck. When you catch clams, put them in the basket. Being in the water gives the clams a chance to spit out sand and gunk. They’ll be nice and clean by the time they’re ready to eat.”

I hold up the clam rake. “So you just take this and pull it through the sand like a regular rake. You’ll catch all kinds of stuff. Then just dig through to see what you have.” I grab ahold of the metal ring tied to the top of the rake. “This ring will tell you if it’s big enough to keep.”

I draw the long teeth through the sand, pull up a bunch of things, and dig through what I’ve got. I find two clams. “Here,” I say, “put this in the peck basket. It’s a keeper.” I pick up the second. “This looks too small.” It passes through the ring. “Yeah, not legal.” And I toss it out into the water.

“Why do we have to throw back the small ones?”

“They are young. Besides, they aren’t worth keeping anyway.”

A weird expression flashes across his face.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he says, suddenly moving around, digging here and there.

I follow him to the shallow water and help him. “Look for little bubbles; that means there’s a clam underneath. Try to feel for them with your feet, too. Bumps under the sand.”

I stand in a quiet spot and close my eyes. I take a step to the right, stand still, and close my eyes again. And then I feel it. The tiny little bump on the bottom of my feet that most people don’t pay any attention to. A hiding clam. I reach into the sand with my fingertips and pull it out. I can tell by the looks of it that it’s legal.