by C J Schnier
Kelly nodded and pulled out her phone as she headed for the dock. I turned my attention back to the news program on the TV. Like most stations, the weather was reported every ten minutes or so, and it wasn’t long until I got a quick overview of the area. There was the standard summer warning about pop up thunderstorms, and of course a mention about the massive hurricane heading our way. But on the upside there appeared to be a weak high-pressure ridge that I hoped would give us enough steady wind to get us up the coast. On the downside, if it didn’t move, it might steer the hurricane right for us.
Confident that we could handle the weather for the next few days, I turned the TV off, grabbed myself and Kelly a beer and headed for the dock. Kelly, done with the call to her uncle, was busy securing the few errant pieces of gear or clothing that always seem to manage to accumulate once a boat stops moving.
“Here,” I said, holding the beer out for her, “it might be the last one we get for a while.”
“Thanks. There really isn’t anything else to stow. We’re pretty much ready to go.”
“Good. What did your uncle say?” I asked, taking a swallow.
“He didn’t believe me when I said we had the money, but I convinced him that we were sincere,” she stated.
“And are they ok with doing the exchange in Charleston?”
“Surprisingly, yes. Most of those guys live on the water. They’re all going to evacuate anyway, but they weren’t sure where to go. It looks like we decided for them.”
“They’re all coming to Charleston personally? I figured they would just send one of their lackeys or something.”
“No, they’re coming personally. Oh, and one more thing, apparently Alonzo, that asshole hitman that tried to rape me, is missing. He hasn’t checked in with them since the Bahamas, and they haven’t been able to locate him.”
“I thought for sure the cartel would have him under wraps!” I exclaimed, worried that we now had two deadly situations to deal with.
“I did too, but the contract is still live, so we need to watch our backs,” she said, taking a sip of her own beer.
“Well he can’t get to us out on the ocean, and if he’s here, he better know how to swim. Crank up that engine, let’s get out of here before we get any more bad news.”
Kelly turned the key, and the familiar rumble of the diesel wafted up from Paramour’s belly. I stepped onto the dock, untied all but the last spring line. Then I turned around to look at the area we had been forced to call home for the last couple of weeks and sighed.
Dozens of soulless cookie-cutter houses littered the canal, while expensive imported palm trees rustled in the breeze. Scattered here and there nearly identical custom fishing boats sat on lifts behind over landscaped yards designed to outdo its neighbor’s. No, I wasn’t going to miss this part of the world, with its plastic smiles and false facades. Not after experiencing the natural beauty of the outer Bahamas. I just hoped those islands would be there for me after this storm passed.
Huffing a ‘good riddance’ to myself, I untied the last line and stepped aboard as Kelly backed Paramour out of the slip and lined her up down the canal. A canal that we had now become intimately familiar with. Before long we were poking our bow out into the calm and waiting Atlantic Ocean. As soon as we were in safe water, up went the sails and down below I went. My bunk was calling, and I wanted nothing more than to get some blissful rest, too tired to even watch the urban sprawl slip away in our wake.
Chapter Thirty
Paramour covered the four hundred nautical mile trip in just under three days, putting up new records for the most miles in twenty-four hours. The weather, while always unpredictable in the summer, had decided to cooperate with us for most of the trip. We managed to avoid north winds and instead rode the Gulf Stream up the coast of Florida and Georgia, giving us an extra three to four knots of speed despite consistent light winds.
Still, even averaging 135 nautical miles a day, we wished for more. Once back into cell phone range Kelly started to check for news on the storm. Florida was in full panic mode. The interstates were in total gridlock, and the police were escorting tanker trucks to their destinations. Gasoline was non-existent on the major roadways. Over a quarter of the population of the state, some 5.6 million people, had decided to evacuate.
The destruction caused by Irma in the islands was unreal. Barbuda, for the first time in four hundred years, was completely unpopulated and abandoned. The British Virgin Islands suffered a direct hit, nearly destroying the entirety of the extensive charter fleet as well as countless other boats, homes, and businesses. Many of the islands looked stripped of vegetation, the winds ripped all the leaves from every bush, shrub, and tree.
And Irma was still due to hit the Middle Keys within twenty-four hours. Even as far north from the center of the storm as we were, we were starting to see signs of her impending arrival. The winds had picked up the last day, making for a rough ride, and the sky seemed to alternate from steel-gray to a hesitant blue as the extreme outer bands of the storm passed overhead. This storm felt like the approach of Armageddon.
Kelly and I, however, did not have time to cower away from the oncoming onslaught of Irma’s wrath. We had a lot of work to do. We needed to get Paramour into a protected marina and secured the best that we could. New forecasts showed the storm heading up the east coast after gutting Florida, and while I worried for the state I called home, I secretly hoped that it would weaken this monstrous storm completely.
In our panic to leave, neither of us had thought to reserve dock space before we left. While I steered us towards Charleston Light at the entrance of the harbor, Kelly made phone call after phone call looking for a place to dock. Finally, she found one that was both well protected and accessible with our deep draft.
The marina, a small family run establishment on Sullivans Island, was just across the Cooper River from downtown Charleston. The rivers flow strongly in Charleston, and poor Paramour struggled some until we made it out of the primary inlet and back into the shelter of the intercoastal waterway. Making the trip down the narrow and scarily shallow creek that the marina sat on was quite nerve-wracking though.
While running aground here wouldn’t be terrible, it was time that could be better spent preparing the boat. Luckily, by staying in the middle, we never saw depths below seven feet, better than what we had become used to in the Keys and Bahamas. But somehow the muddy water added a sense of claustrophobia to the ordeal, we had become used to being able to see the ground under us.
The marina was nothing special. It lacked the posh amenities that we had both seen in south and west Florida, but it didn’t have the rugged feel of some of the docks we had seen in the Bahamas either. It fell comfortably somewhere in the middle, with well maintained fixed wooden docks, a cute little bar and restaurant, and clean bathrooms.
What was special however was the surrounding area. Growing up in South Carolina, I had been to Charleston many times. Charleston was gritty, old, and known as an English counterpart to New Orleans. Sullivans Island instead looked like it was the setting of every Nicolas Sparks love novel.
Tall grasses lined the creeks and river banks that crisscrossed the island. The houses were large and southern in their architecture, though many looked new. Docks sprouted from far back on the grassy shoreline like long stalks out into the deep water of the canal where a plethora of vessels rested waiting to be used. Everything from twelve-foot skiffs, to houseboats, sport fishing yachts, and even commercial shrimping trawlers made their homes here. The trees, set farther back on the flatlands of shore were a delightful mix of tropical and deciduous, a dark green backdrop against the browns of long seagrasses. The whole area was quaint.
Southern and relaxed as the area appeared, there were signs that they were taking hurricane preparations serious. The Charleston area had been decimated in 1990 by hurricane Hugo, and the residents had a long memory. Everywhere we passed on our way to the marina already had hurricane shutters in place. The mari
na itself had a small mountain of sandbags piled in one corner behind the restaurant.
We docked with the help of the owner Jim and his wife Sarah who had come out to greet us along with their two Labrador retrievers who were only too happy to meet new visitors. With the engine shut down, I shook Jim’s hand while Kelly chatted with Sarah and pet both dogs who had immediately rolled over on their backs for belly rubs.
“Y'all come a long way? We don’t get many transient sailboats over here. Most of the time they want to dock up across the river,” Jim asked, nodding in the direction of Charleston.
“Came up from Ft. Lauderdale and before that the Bahamas, but we’re from over near the Tampa area,” I replied keeping my tone casual and friendly.
“Yes sir, I don’t think Florida is where I’d want to be right about now either. I suspect you’re fleeing from that wretched Irma?” he asked.
“Yes sir,” I said, slipping effortlessly back into using southern manners. “I figured this would be a bit safer. Besides, I always enjoyed this area. I grew up in South Carolina. Camden to be specific.”
“Oh, Camden is a beautiful town. Sarah and I used to go up for the horse races every year, and we have family up in Florence, not far from there at all.”
“No sir,” I said smiling, “just up the road a ways.”
“Well all right then Chase, I’ll leave you and your wife here to finish tying up. I don’t have to tell you that we’ll probably get something out of this storm so you should do a good job of it. But you’ve got a beautiful boat and obviously some experience. Just be aware that if we get too much rain, it will flood the area. Don’t leave anything on the docks if you want it here afterward. We’ll be up in the office, you can settle up whenever you like. How long were you planning to stay again?”
“I think we’ll start with two weeks. We want to visit some people and Kelly here has never been to the city. That should be enough time for the storm to pass and to get our sight-seeing in. Though you’ve got such a nice place here that we may just decide to stay longer.”
“I’m sure we can work something out if you want to stay. Just come on up and see me and we will work out the details,” Jim said.
“Sounds great. We’ll be up shortly to settle up then.”
“C’mon Sarah,” he said clasping his hand on her shoulder, “let’s leave these two to get settled. Duke! Cocoa! C’mon!”
Both dogs jumped to their feet and tore off down the dock at a full run. Sarah smiled at us, said her goodbye and walked back down the dock with Jim, hand in hand.
“They’re a nice couple,” Kelly said after getting up from where she had been sitting to pet the dogs.
“They really are,” I agreed.
“You know, Sarah offered us a free meal at the restaurant if we wanted. She says it was, how did she put it? ‘On accounts of us being refugees from the storm,’ if you can believe that.”
“There’s something to be said about southern hospitality. I know it is a nice change after south Florida.”
“So what are you thinking? Want to try them out for dinner?”
“I was thinking maybe brunch tomorrow. Right now I want to get this boat prepared, take a nap, and then take you out on the town. If you’re not too tired,” I said with a wink.
“Me? Too tired? Oh no, Mr. I have to sleep as soon as we get underway.”
“Hey, that’s not fair, you ordered me to bed remember. Something about outranking me,” I retorted.
“That’s right! And don’t you forget it either!” she said, sticking her nose up in the air.
“Oh yeah?” I teased before grabbing for her.
Kelly jumped nimbly onto the deck of Paramour, and I followed hungrily after. She let me catch her and kiss her tenderly in the late morning haze. With all the stress and running, there had not been much time for us, and it was obvious how much I had missed her touch.
“Well hello there sailor,” she cooed in my ear as I pulled her in close.
“I think we can finish up tying off later,” I whispered. “ Right now I have more pressing matters.”
Kelly giggled and whispered back, “Well then what are you waiting for?”
With that I followed her downstairs, shutting the hatch behind me.
***
“Took Y'all a while to finish up,” Jim said, looking me straight in the eye, but with the slightest hint of a grin.
“I’m sorry, what?” I asked, unsure if he was teasing me or not.
“Oh nothing, just thought Ya’ll’d of been up sooner is all,” he said with that same hidden grin.
“We thought we’d take a nap before we finished securing everything for the storm,” I replied. It was the truth. Most of it anyways.
His grin showed through a little more. “Must have had some bad dreams.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The way that boat was rocking back and forth, Y'all must have been tossin’ and turnin’ something fierce,” he laughed, all attempts at holding back his grin were gone.
My face must have turned beet red. All I could do is shake my head and laugh at myself while Jim guffawed behind his desk next to a big window overlooking the marina.
“That obvious huh?” I squeaked out through my embarrassment.
“Oh I’m just ribbing you, boy. Just an old man having some fun. Relax,” he said comfortingly despite the mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
“Apparently that’s a bad habit of ours. And, now that I’m embarrassed, how about you take my money,” I said, hoping the blood was draining from my face.
Jim slid over some paperwork.”Don't mind if I do.”
I glanced over what was a typical short-term rental agreement for a marina, filling in the information required. Once I was finished, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a few hundred-dollar bills. Peeling a few off of the small wad I handed them over to Jim and waited for him to fill out a receipt.
“All jokes aside, it looks like Y'all did a fine job tying off for this storm,” Jim remarked as he scribbled on the receipt.
“Thanks, we’ve been through a few scares in Florida over the years. For us it is nice to see a marina where so many boats took the threat seriously. All the boats are stripped down and double tied. It is impressive,” I replied.
“Thank you. It’s our policy to prepare well in advance. Almost every boat here belongs to a local, and they take care of them. If they don’t they have to deal with Sarah, and let me tell you,“ he leaned in closer, and conspiratorially whispered, “she may look all sweet at first glance, but she’s got a mean streak, that one. I would know, been married to her for thirty years.”
“I’ll be sure to stay on her good side then,” I whispered back with a grateful nod and wink.
“See that you do, son,” he said approvingly and leaned back in his chair. “That about does it. If Y'all are headed into town to stock up or see the sights, we have a loaner vehicle for transients. I’ll just go ahead and let you borrow the keys, I’m sure you two are itching to stretch your legs after that passage.”
“Thanks, Mr. Jim,” I said, taking the keys from him.
“It’s nothing. Just enjoy yourself while you can. It’s gonna get real bumpy here soon. Looks like the Keys are going to get hit in the morning. But they’re only expecting it to be a cat four storm, for whatever good that will do the poor bastards down there. Then it’s going to go up Florida and who knows after that.”
“Yeah, this is a scary storm. Thank you for letting us stay here, and thank you for the loaner. We have a lot of friends down there who could lose everything. A night on the town might just be what we need to take our minds off it,” I said, grateful but heavy with worry for all the friends in the path of this killer storm.
“It’s nothing kid, go have some fun. The storm will still be there when you get back.”
Chapter Thirty One
Kelly sat with eager anticipation as I drove us into the city. We passed through the sleepy neighborhoods of Sullivans
Island taking state road 703 north to the town of Mt. Pleasant. A map or GPS wasn’t needed. I had spent a lot of time as a youth in the area, and not much had changed. Mt Pleasant looked more grown-up now, but that was all.
Merging on to highway 17 we crossed the new Cooper River Bridge, a gorgeous suspension bridge that gave Charleston a modern and iconic landmark. The old bridge had been two narrow, rickety messes that were built back in the 1920s. They had been much too small for the traffic they were forced to accommodate as the city grew. This new bridge was eight lanes and handled the traffic with ease.
Taking the exit to Meeting Street we drove south into the center of the old city. Bars, hotels, restaurants, and shops filled every neighborhood. Kelly was glued to the window. I couldn’t help but chuckle at her enthusiasm.
“Welcome to Chuck Town,” I announced.
“This city is so gorgeous, Chase!”
“Yeah, it’s kind of like New Orleans only British. And cleaner.”
“What do you have against New Orleans?”
“Nothing, I just prefer Charleston. They’re both a lot of fun.”
We drove on, with me playing tour guide until I finally found a parking spot.
“Come on, I’ll show you around, and then we can go get dinner,” I said, grabbing her by the hand as she gawked at a three-hundred-year-old building.
The hot summer afternoon was brutal, and we had both dressed for the occasion. Kelly left behind her usual form-fitting khaki shorts and a tank top for a light and festive sundress. I wore my least stained pair of shorts and my only polo. Both of us wore flip-flops.
Leading her south we strolled past the rest of the shops and restaurants and into the old neighborhoods. Occasionally a horse-drawn carriage or an open-air bus packed with tourists would pass us. Eventually, we came across Battery Park where we stopped to enjoy a view of the water.
