If Not For A Bee. Carol Ross

She didn’t realize that he didn’t recognize the sound himself until it was too late.

      He’d already dropped to his knees and pushed his hand into the hole.

      “Wait, wait—”

      “Ouch!” he yelped.

      Janie squeezed her eyes shut.

      “Crikey... That hurts.”

      Janie cringed when she looked down and saw the bloody ends of his fingers. The water was cold—if he was bleeding that much already this really wasn’t going to be good.

      Janie turned toward the surf, shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun as she looked for Tag.

      “Is this why they’re called razor clams?” Aidan’s voice was perfectly calm as he studied his injured hand. “Because the shell is literally as sharp as a razor?”

      “I don’t know about that, but this is why it’s nice to have a cousin who is a paramedic.”

      * * *

      AIDAN SAT ON the tailgate of the pickup and watched Tag clean the wound. He examined the cuts.

      “You’re definitely going to need stitches. The tip of this finger is almost sliced clear through.”

      Aidan repeated his earlier observation. “I can see why they’re called razor clams.”

      Tag chuckled and applied some disinfectant. “Maybe—I’ve heard different accounts on that. On the east coast they’re longer and skinnier—more like a straight razor. They also call them jackknife clams back there. Our Pacific razors are a lot more oval-shaped, and bigger—fatter and meatier. Tastier, too, I think. Anyway, a lot people claim the shape is where the name comes from.”

      Aidan shook his head. “Not as far as I’m concerned.”

      Tag laughed. “I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

      “My fingers, they’re going to be—”

      “Don’t worry. Dr. Grady is on today and he’s great. I’ve never seen a doctor who can sew better. It’ll barely even scar.”

      Aidan watched as Tag wrapped his fingers in a length of soft white gauze. The blood seeped through and Tag kept wrapping. Aidan thought about the repercussions of an injured hand, but scars were the least of his concerns.

      Emily examined Tag’s handiwork. “Aidan, what will you do? How are you going to work?”

      “I’ll manage. They’re just lacerations, Em—they’ll heal.” Leave it to Emily to voice his concerns.

      “But your boxes are arriving tomorrow, right?”

      “That’s right,” Bering said as he began transferring clams into a cooler. “Your stuff. Don’t worry, we’ll help.”

      Bering turned to address Janie, who had been hanging back silently. Aidan wondered what she was thinking. “Can I borrow the boys in the morning? To give Aidan a hand?”

      “Yes, of course.”

      Tag closed his first-aid kit and stood. “Hop in my pickup, Aidan. We need to get you to the hospital.”