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The Kream & Kone By Donna Weaver My mother introduced me to scallops: fried, broiled, breaded, wrapped in bacon. I learned to walk like her on Cape Cod, all the way to the tip, Provincetown, Wellfleet. Where men held hands and my mother stuffed Ben & Jerry t-shirts in her purse. She put beach trinkets on the table around our lunch. She emptied hermit crab shells, dehydrated starfish next to cardboard buckets of fried clams with bellies. They were fresh if and only if my mother could taste sand mixed with tartar sauce.

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