Those were the days, Ketch thought; you couldn't get away with something like that now, you'd probably get sued. But that captain had been right. He'd quickly overcome his initial fear, thoroughly and competently enjoyed the dive, and returned to the boat with more air left in his tank than anyone else.
"What are you smilin' about?" Kari asked, returning to her perch on the recliner arm and handing Ketch a glass.
An arm draped across his shoulders as Ketch started to drink, and he had to manage a discreet cough before replying. "I was thinking of my Open Water certification dive a long time ago. It's a funny story. I'll tell it to you sometime."
"Well, I'd like to hear that," she said. "But some other time, it's too late tonight for more tall tales." She finished her juice and said, "Drink up, and let's get back to bed." He obeyed, and they both rose from the chair. He started to head off to his room, but she grabbed his arm and turned him around. "Nuh-uh, this way," she said, steering him toward the guest bedroom.
"Why?" he asked, startled, and then he understood. Could this really be happening? "Oh, I see. Kari, I'm flattered, really, but I don't even remember the last time I was with a woman, and I'm dead tired - and besides, just because I'm letting you stay here, you don't have to -"
She laid a finger on his lips and interrupted, "You just hush now." He stopped trying to talk and allowed her to lead him into her bedroom. "I know you've been wantin' to. And don't you worry one little bit 'bout bein' too tired," she said, and mischievously added, "I like bein' on top."
~ ~ ~
8. It's good to be lucky, but better to be prepared and ready when the luck comes.
Ketch was alone when he finally woke, to a beam of bright mid-morning sunlight shining directly in his face. He rolled over and groggily scanned the room. He couldn't see the dog anywhere from where he was - which was where? Ah yes, the second bedroom. So it hadn't been a dream; or rather it had, but it was one of those rare ones that come true.
He found he was a bit sore here and there when he got up out of the bed and tried to stretch, but then he realized that despite this he hadn't felt anywhere near this good in years. He went to his own bedroom and pulled on some shorts and a tee shirt. The dog was lying on the dog bed.
"Good morning, Jack," he said to the dog, "want to go out?" The dog didn't move, except to thump his tail a couple of times. She must have already taken him out. "Okay then, how about some breakfast?" Just another half-hearted thump. She must have fed him, too.
"Hello?" he called out. No answer. He splashed some water on his face in the bathroom and then went to the kitchen, where the wall clock read 10:38. What the hell? He never slept this late. There were a couple of pellets on the floor next to the dog's food dish, so it looked like he had in fact been fed. Then he saw a small white card propped up against the plant in the middle of the kitchen table.
All it had on it was a shakily drawn generic smiley face. He picked it up and turned it over. 'Sea Dog Scuba Center, Kari Gellhorn', and so on was professionally printed on that side. A business card. No thank-you, no sappy words, no apologies, no 'call me', no schedule, no promises, no nothing. It might be possible for him to grow to like this one even more than he already did. He chose to interpret the card as an indication that she meant to keep things simple, which he didn't at all mind. Alfred Hitchcock once said a good story was like life without the dull parts. Ketch liked a good story, and it was okay with him if she wanted to leave out some of the dull parts.
He poured himself some more juice and carried it, a banana, and a buttered but untoasted jumbo bagel out to the front deck. He noticed the tank they'd forgotten about last night standing just inside the front door. She was nothing if not thorough, he thought with a flush. It was already late and he didn't feel ambitious enough to clean the boat today, so he'd just keep the tank cool and safe in the house for now. She wouldn't mind if he didn't return it right away.
He also noticed that her car was gone, and so was the Captain's truck. He wondered which had happened first. He'd hear about it later if her car had still been here when the Captain had come for his truck - which it probably had, or the Captain would probably have awakened him earlier. It wasn't like that salty dog to operate in silence, unless he'd thought he might be interrupting something important.
Oh well. He thought about giving her a call, then remembered she'd said she'd be visiting her mother today. In Manteo up on Roanoke Island, where the niece and nephew were? He'd forgotten to ask. Maybe he'd try later.
The dog moseyed out to the deck to see if there'd be any leftover breakfast food. There was, almost half of the bagel Ketch had tired of chewing. Ketch leaned forward in his chair and scanned the sky while the dog licked the butter from the bagel. Mackerel sky with mare's tails, makes tall ships carry low sails... Red sky at night, sailor's delight, red sky at morning, sailor's warning... These heuristics and others that were favored by the old-timers here may seem silly to some, he thought, but he'd fared better with them over the years than he had with the forecasts generated by the meteorologists with their fancy equipment. Not that any of that mattered at the moment, though, as he hadn't been paying attention last night and he'd missed the morning harbingers by snoozing half the day away. Whatever happened with the weather was irrelevant today anyway - it was going to be one fine day regardless.
"Well, boy, we'd better get going," he said to the dog. There were a few chores that needed doing, mostly related to the previous night's soiree, and he needed a shower - and a shave, he reminded himself. Since he'd done away with the beard he'd have to do that every day from now on, if he didn't want to look even older than he already did. And try to call a lawyer? No, not today; maybe tomorrow. Sometimes it seemed like life consisted mostly of a series of menial duties, many of them not all that pleasant - but it certainly beat the alternative and he was certainly nowhere near ready to give it up.
But maybe he should do something with the dog first. It was too hot already for the furry fellow to truly enjoy a trip to the beach, but maybe a bit of playing and a swim out back? Then they could get on with their menial duties.
"Hey Jack," he said to the dog, "let's get ready for a playtime!" The dog perked up at these words, followed Ketch back into the house, and waited fairly patiently (with just a single anticipatory bark) while Ketch exchanged his shorts for a bathing suit.
They went out to the back yard and he kicked a football for the dog a few times. His dogs had always preferred footballs over other balls, probably because their unpredictable bounces made them more exciting. Then he threw the frisbee, and he was pleased to see the dog was still adept at chasing it down and catching it in the air. The yard wasn't big enough to seriously chuck the thing, but it was still good exercise and the dog enjoyed the game. When he thought the dog was starting to overheat, he finished by sailing the frisbee into the water. When the dog belly-flopped in off the dock to retrieve it, Ketch eased into the warm water behind him. After they'd splashed around some, he took the dog back up to the house, rubbed him down with an old towel, and thoroughly brushed him. He didn't always rinse the dog with fresh water, as an occasional salt water dip was an effective flea and tick preventative.
After he'd finished his chores and made himself decent, he decided to drive the pickup down to the Food Lion at the south end of town. He hadn't done that in a while, and it was time to stock up on some things he couldn't get at the Village Market or the Barefoot Station. It was too hot to leave the dog in the truck, so he gave him a new bone, made sure his water dish was full, and headed out.
Ketch didn't begrudge the presence of the Food Lion in Avon. It was the only major supermarket on the whole island and served everyone from Rodanthe on down to Hatteras, and he appreciated not having to drive twenty or thirty miles to get there like some folks did. Still, he lingered there only long enough to get the staples he needed, which today also included a few extra items he'd decided he should keep around the house - another toothbrush, a feminine stick deodorant and shamp
oo/conditioner combo, a small package of sanitary products that might or might not be appropriate and would hopefully never be needed, a box of some kind of little fruity soaps... just in case. The Food Lion didn't carry clothing, but he wouldn't know what sizes to get anyway.
When it was time to leave, he decided to turn right on 12 instead of left and continue south to Buxton, a pleasant little town that was the home of the iconic Cape Hatteras Lighthouse. Though he'd bought some perishables, it was only about five miles and they were iced down in a cooler in the back and should be okay for a while. It was a pleasant sunny drive with the windows down, and with the sound on his right and the beach dunes on his left, both mostly unspoiled along this stretch of road.
The lighthouse, the tallest one in the United States, had stood fifteen hundred feet from the water when it was built in 1870; but by 1970 steady and relentless shoreline erosion had placed it in serious jeopardy, and it ended up being only about a hundred feet from the water. In 1999 a long-planned and truly stupendous engineering project to preserve the lighthouse was finally completed, when the entire light station, including the lighthouse and all of its associated outbuildings, cisterns, and sidewalks, were lifted from their foundations and painstakingly moved twenty-nine hundred feet southwest, to a secure new location sixteen hundred feet from the water.
He could see it now coming up on his left, but though he always enjoyed visiting the site, he wouldn't tarry there today. When he shortly crossed into Buxton, it took him a few minutes to find her apartment again, since he'd only been there once and that was quite some time ago; and when he found it he discovered she wasn't there. This didn't surprise him and he knew he'd been foolish to try, so he wasn't really disappointed.
He briefly considered dropping in at Buxton Village Books, as a sort of consolation prize. It was the best little bookshop he'd ever known, but he decided he shouldn't stop there today - if he lost track of time, as he invariably did whenever he went in there, that might not be good for the groceries. Too bad... This was the bookstore where he'd found a reprint of The Hatterasman, the regional classic penned by Ben Dixon MacNeill in the late Fifties and which was his second-favorite book after The Old Man and the Sea. The store itself was actually a smallish house, old but quaint and appealing, and was distinguished by its relaxed atmosphere and an excellent selection of books about North Carolina and the Outer Banks, in addition to the standard bookstore fare; and to top it all off, the seasoned proprietress was knowledgeable and outgoing, and was herself a local treasure in Ketch's opinion.
He returned home and unloaded his supplies and took the dog out again. He might have napped if he hadn't slept in this morning. Instead, he went online, checked his e-mail, and read the day's newspaper, something he'd lately fallen out of the habit of doing and should get back to. Then, deciding he was too restless to hang around the house, he called the dog over.
"Let's go for a ride, Jack. Are you up for that, boy?" The dog indicated he was. Ketch thought he'd drive down to the boatyard, even though it wasn't that far. If the Captain was there, maybe they could get takeout from somewhere and shoot the breeze (and do his splainin', he supposed); if the Captain wasn't there, he could check to see if Kari was back and maybe take the dog and do something with her; and if neither was available, he and the dog could stop at the Subway out on 12 and take something home.
When they arrived he didn't see the Captain's truck anywhere, but he parked and walked out to the boat with the dog in tow anyway, just in case. It turned out there was no one on board, so he extracted his cell phone from its faux-leather carrying case on his belt and dialed Kari's cell number. There was no answer, and he didn't leave a message. As he was pocketing the phone, he happened to see Mick climbing into a beat-up old pickup toward the far end of the boatyard. He watched Mick start the truck, back out of his parking space, and slowly drive out of the boatyard.
It didn't appear Mick had noticed him when he'd driven by. Though Ketch knew who Mick was, Mick didn't really know Ketch and hadn't seen him in quite a while, so that wasn't too surprising. Ketch suddenly broke into a brisk walk, calling to the dog to follow. He hurriedly loaded the dog back into his truck and cranked it up. The rear wheels spit gravel as they exited the boatyard.
If Mick was headed back out to 12, he'd have to take North End Road and then Harbor Road, so that's the way Ketch went. He drove a little faster than he usually did, but despite his haste he drove prudently. It wouldn't do to be too reckless on these back roads, where children walked and ran pretty much wherever they wanted because it was usually safe to do so.
He still hadn't caught up with Mick when he reached the Route 12 intersection. If Mick hadn't turned off somewhere and had in fact taken 12, he could have gone north or south. Ketch guessed north. When he'd left the town and its 30 mph speed limit behind, he accelerated to 60, which was about as fast as he dared to drive on this road. Hopefully it would be enough for him to catch up - if Mick was indeed ahead of him. He decided he'd give up and turn around if he got as far as Salvo and still hadn't seen any sign of Mick.
He finally remembered to lower the window on the passenger side for the dog. But not all the way, as it wasn't good for him to ride with his head out the window at higher speeds, just enough to let him stick his snout out and experience the olfactory feast Ketch knew he enjoyed when they went for a ride.
Now that he had some time to think, he started to feel foolish. He asked himself why he was doing this - it was none of his business what Mick was up to, and Kari had said she was through with him anyway. But she'd also said she thought he'd been cheating on her, and though it no longer mattered, Ketch was curious - though there was no good reason for his curiosity, logically speaking. Even if Mick wasn't just running some innocent errand this evening, Ketch doubted he'd ever tell her. Doing so wouldn't accomplish anything other than make her feel bad, and he had no desire to do that. But he had nothing else to do at the moment; and he wanted to know.
When they reached Salvo, Ketch decided he'd probably guessed wrong and started looking for a place to turn around - but just then he saw Mick's truck pull out of a service station up ahead. Finally, a piece of luck. Ketch slowed and glanced at his fuel gauge, and was relieved to see he shouldn't have to make a similar stop himself anytime soon.
He followed Mick at a discreet distance, just closely enough to keep him in sight most of the time. Just like a real detective, he thought. He didn't have to use his headlights since it wasn't dark yet, so that should also help him escape Mick's notice. They continued on up through Waves, through Rodanthe, and beyond toward Oregon Inlet. The next major settlement on 12 after the inlet would be Nags Head. If it was a girl, he hoped she was worth the ride and the gas; if a job, ditto, but Mick might not have a choice in that case. The Nags Head area was more populous than where they'd come from, so naturally there'd be more work available there; and everyone has to eat.
As they began crossing the elongated, elevated Oregon Inlet bridge, which was officially named the Bonner Bridge if Ketch recalled correctly, the sun was dropping lower in the sky and he was struck as always by the glorious, panoramic views of the inlet, the ocean, the sound, and the adjacent marshlands afforded by the bridge. This was a beautiful place, and it remained virtually pristine even in these modern times. The Pea Island marsh refuge precluded development on the sound side of the Hatteras Island terminus of the bridge, but there was also no development here on the ocean side because inlets were geologically an even more unstable environment than the barrier islands they separated.
The inlets of the Outer Banks of necessity had to be considered transitory formations. The beach erosion and migration that constantly occurred on barrier islands was exacerbated near inlets, since they provided a direct pathway for beach sand to travel from the ocean side to the estuarine side of the island, helping to more or less maintain the width of the island but significantly contributing to the island's inexorable creep toward the mainland; so shorelines and depths could fluctuate.
A Banks inlet itself also gradually migrated south over time, this particular one on the order of about two feet a year.
On top of all that, one good storm and everything could change quickly and sometimes drastically. New inlets could be created, and old ones could disappear. Oregon Inlet, for example, hadn't existed until 1846, when a powerful hurricane separated Bodie Island from Pea Island; and those 'islands' were no longer true islands, because other inlets had closed since then. The original Hatteras Inlet, south of the current one, had closed in the mid-seventeen hundreds, and the modern inlet had been formed by the same storm that formed Oregon Inlet.
But the north side of the inlet was a different story, and all that hadn't stopped someone from building the Oregon Inlet Fishing Center, the marina he could now see from the north end of the bridge. Well, good luck to you folks, Ketch thought.
So, it looked like maybe the Nags Head area. But then he saw Mick turn left onto 64 West at Whalebone Junction. So it might be Roanoke Island - he hoped anyway, rather than continuing on to the mainland. Roanoke was where Kari might be today, if her mother lived in Manteo or Wanchese. He considered trying to call her again, but he didn't have a dashboard cradle for his phone and he refused to use it otherwise while driving, and he couldn't afford to pull over right now - and besides, how would he explain where he was and what he was doing?
The road, and soon the bridge, they were on now was part of the Virginia Dare Trail. This route and the county as well were named after the first child born in America to English parents, in 1587 in the old Roanoke Colony, now popularly known as the Lost Colony. The disappearance of everyone in that colony between then and 1590 is still a mystery, and is the subject of a popular play perennially performed at an outdoor theater here for the tourists. Ketch hadn't so far managed to catch a performance himself, but he'd read about it.
Port Starbird (Storm Ketchum Adventures) Page 9
