Chapter 8 - THE LOBSTER SHACK
The Lobster Shack was little more than a weather-beaten wooden building perched on wooden pilings directly over a tidal inlet. Inside, red-and-white checkered oilcloth covered the tables, neon beer signs hummed quietly in the windows, and the air smelled heavily of fried seafood, melting butter, and salt spray.
At precisely six o'clock, the bell above the screen door jingled.
Julian looked up from a corner booth. Claire walked in, having shrugged off her oversized sweater in favor of a heavy wool pea coat. She shook a few stray raindrops from her dark hair and scanned the room before spotting him in the corner.
She walked over and slid into the vinyl booth opposite him.
“You’re early,” she noted, pulling off her knit gloves.
“Lawyers hate being late,” Julian replied with a self-deprecating half-smile. “Though I suppose I’m technically unemployed this week.”
An elderly waitress with an apron covered in flour smudges walked over, dropping two mugs of dark, steaming coffee onto the table. “Chicory blend,” she grunted, looking at Claire. “And for the city boy, I figured he needed something strong.”
“Thanks, Martha,” Claire smiled.
The waitress waddled off toward the kitchen. Julian wrapped his cold hands around the heavy ceramic mug, inhaling the rich, bitter aroma. He took a small sip. It burned his throat, but it tasted real.
“So,” Claire said, resting her chin on her hand, studying him across the narrow table. “What happens when you go back to Chicago?”
Julian set the mug down slowly. “I’m not going back to Chicago, Claire. At least, not to live.”
Claire raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what about your partnership? Your firm? The board of directors?”
“I signed my equity shares over to Marcus and the junior partners before I left,” Julian said evenly, his voice carrying no trace of regret. “I gave them everything—the office, the accounts, the corporate portfolio. I kept just enough to buy a used truck and rent a small place somewhere quiet. My name is off the door. Morgan & Vance is officially just Vance now.”
Claire stared at him, stunned. “You walked away from twenty years of work? Just like that?”
May you like
“It wasn't work, Claire. It was an addiction,” Julian answered quietly. “I was chasing an illusion of power because I was terrified that if I stopped producing, I wouldn't have any worth. But standing on that shore this afternoon, looking at the ocean... I realized I’d rather be a nobody who is present than a titan who is completely empty inside.”
A heavy, poignant silence settled between them. The neon sign above the window hummed softly as the wind battered the wooden pilings beneath the shack.
