Jerrod put his fork on the plate and stared down. It wasn’t the first time Carrie had said that, but it never stopped feeling like a hot poker searing his heart. “But we look at pictures sometimes, don’t we? Of Mommy and Dabny.” Jerrod swallowed hard.
“I bet your mom was very special. Dabny, too.” Dawn leaned closer to Carrie, almost as if protecting her.
“Uh-huh,” Carrie said. “Her name was Augusta. She was pretty.” Hunching her shoulders, she looked a little embarrassed when she added, “Like you.”
Reality hit hard. No one knew what to say, not even him. Yes, Augusta was pretty. And so was Dawn. Talk about confusing. It was only natural that Carrie would form an attachment to a woman like Dawn, and even to Gordon. They were on the edges of Carrie’s life. Far edges, but still.
“Thanks, sweetie,” Dawn said. “What a nice thing to say.”
Gordon left the table and walked to the freezer. “Does anyone else want ice cream...let’s see, we have vanilla, and the chocolate chip and peppermint stick you brought. What’ll it be?”
Trust a kid to save the day.
“I want chocolate chip and peppermint stick.” Carrie cut her eyes at Jerrod, as if waiting for him to object.
On another night he might have, but he said, “Okay, a little of each. And I’ll make decaf coffee.”
“My daddy drinks a lot of coffee,” Carrie said as if making an announcement.
Gordon put the bowl of ice cream in front of Carrie. “So does my mom. She and her friend Lark meet for coffee at the Bean Grinder and if Lark comes here they drink more coffee. And my dad is just as bad.”
“Enough,” Dawn said, laughing. “We get it.”
“I go to the Bean Grinder, too.” Carrie held a huge spoonful of peppermint stick ice cream over the dish bowl and claimed the floor while she had the chance. “Melody lets me get an oatmeal cookie. The cookies crunch when I chew ’em.”
Dawn patted Carrie’s shoulder. “Ooh, there’s nothing quite like a Bean Grinder oatmeal cookie. They’re my favorite, too.”
The warmth that defined the mood of the evening had settled in Jerrod’s heart. He’d been 100 percent unprepared for the range of emotions the day had brought on. These feelings were like strangers to him now, and he wasn’t sure he wanted them hanging around.
Glancing at Dawn, seeing through the pleasant expression on her beautiful face, he saw she was fading fast. It was a signal he could use to make his exit. He stood and began gathering empty plates. Gordon did the same and said he’d take care of the pile of dirty dishes on the counter.
“It’s time we said good night and let you get some rest,” Jerrod said.
Dawn didn’t argue. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I hear back from the newspaper and the tourist weekly I was telling you about.”
“Great. Meanwhile, focus on taking care of yourself.”
“Thanks for this evening,” Dawn said. “It lifted my spirits after such a crummy day.”
“We should be thanking you,” Jerrod said, leading Carrie through the living room to the front door. He didn’t add anything to what Dawn said. If he did, he’d reveal too much about what he missed about his old life. That wasn’t Dawn’s problem.
Chapter Five
WITH WYATT NEXT to him, Jerrod moved slowly through the water, adjusting the video camera and getting the shots he wanted. Small fish he didn’t recognize and a school of whitefish darted around the propeller and in and out of a piece of the intact bow. Not many other complete structures were evident in the wreck of the Franklin Stone. Freshwater diving would take some getting used to, Jerrod thought.
He’d done a lot of it earlier in his life, even a short stint as a contract diver for police departments in counties on Lake Erie and for the public works department in Milwaukee. But it had been a while since he adjusted to the difference in buoyancy in freshwater.
Wyatt directed his attention to a dense cluster of zebra mussels, a reality he and his guests would see. He first knew about them when they appeared in Lake Erie and for a time some seemed to be part of Mother Nature’s grand cleanup crew, even making freshwater clearer. A deceptive view, for sure, because these mussels drove out other species, including birds. In truth, their presence was a threat to all the Great Lakes. Part of a diving company’s job involved talking about these problems.
He and Wyatt moved around the propeller as he kept filming. He’d never planned to talk about the ecology of the lake as part of his dives or tours, any more than he and Augusta intended to make their tropical dives a lesson on the fragility of reefs. But realities changed and the presence of the zebra mussels made it impossible to avoid the subject, if for no other reason than their presence had made the shipwrecks themselves harder to view. Some random wooden sections of the ship that hadn’t burned were hidden under mounds of mussels.
Jerrod had any number of wrecks to choose from, but there was something spectacular about the 280-foot Franklin Stone as a ship to visit. In some ways it had an ordinary life. When it sank off the shore of Two Moon Bay in 1913, it was carrying 2,500 tons of coal to Sheboygan. The fact it was just one more ship doing its work was exactly what he wanted to convey to the divers. Even being lost in a fire wasn’t unusual. A crew of nineteen managed to climb into lifeboats and row away toward the shore unharmed. Not unheard of, maybe, but it was a stroke of luck, the likes of which sailors pray for.
The bottom was flat where the remains of the ship rested, which was an advantage when taking divers out to it. It was one of the reasons Franklin Stone had made the final cut of his options. For one thing, the relatively concentrated space made it easier to keep track of his divers, who would use their fins to move through relatively clear water to see the steam engine and still-attached ten-foot propeller sitting on the bottom where it landed over one hundred years ago. Every hard surface was covered with mussels—zebras and quaggas. They loved hard surfaces like flies loved honey.
The conversation he’d had with Gordon came back to him. The boy had said he might want to be a marine biologist, so he most likely knew all about these invaders. He made a mental note to mention them to Dawn and ask her about bringing up in interviews the mounds of data about the rapid spread of these unwelcome guests. Her answer would likely be no. He could almost hear her reminding him that there were plenty of local experts to book for speeches or panels about the ecological threats to Lake Michigan. But he still wanted to run his idea by her. In such a short time she’d become a voice inside his head. Amazing.
He went back to focusing on the site, studying the bottom for items, like anchors and even the giant bolts that held the vessel together. The wreck was a doorway to the past. For as long as he could remember, diving deep into the water and using all the modern equipment to adapt to the foreign environment was like going to live in another world. In some ways it might as well be Mars. The diving gear was like a spacesuit, the underwater world fragile, always changing. He and Wyatt were just tourists that day.
Dawn had used the word ambassador to characterize the kind of guide he’d always wanted to be—and that had led to his success in the past. Sometimes Jerrod believed he was speaking for the lake itself in the way he described the treasures silently waiting to be discovered in the sometimes harsh conditions underwater. Most people will never know what it’s like to be submerged in even twenty or thirty feet in any body of water. Yes, he was lucky. As Dawn suggested, he’d write about it in his new blog.
Signaling Wyatt, he drew her attention to how the engine sat straight as if it had been purposely dropped into place. Responding with a yes sign, he was satisfied she’d noted the position of the wreck. The fire had made the wooden sides of the ship collapse. So the intact engine sat among the scattered pieces of the hull. Two anchors had drifted to the edges of the site.
When they explained the wreck to the guests, they’d point out that the ship burned so fast it sank at
that straight angle, not like the bow or stern first like the dramatic depiction of a sinking most people saw in the movies. And the surviving engine and boilers would likely be unmoved for a century or two more. Pieces of coal were spread on the bottom of the site, thinning out as they moved farther away from the center.
On his day tour, he could tell the stories of attempts to salvage the coal even years after the fact. Jerrod’s granddad had told him many tales about the guys who’d take a chance and claim ownership of whatever they could bring to the surface.
He raised his thumb, signaling it was time to end the dive. Together, he and Wyatt began their slow ascent. No rushing to reach the surface. They climbed onto Wind Spray’s stern, and took off their tanks and weight belts, the fins and hoods and other equipment as Rob steered the boat back to the marina. Once the lines were secured and their dry suits and gear taken care of, he and Wyatt went into the office. Jerrod ordered a large everything pizza for their lunch.
“It should be here in forty-five minutes,” Jerrod said.
“Let’s see how the video turned out,” Rob suggested. “I want to know what to expect when we go out again. Anything new we need to add to what we tell people on the day tour?”
Wyatt pointed at the poster hanging behind Jerrod. “It’s one thing to know the Franklin Stone was in flames when it went down. The painting tells that story. It’s another thing to see the wooden hull in pieces but the engine sitting on the bottom upright. There’s also something about those nineteen men getting to shore safely.”
“True,” Jerrod said, “and it’s an important part of the story to tell our divers. Then we can elaborate and add a couple of colorful stories on our day tours. We have plenty of photos of the ship—and of this painting.”
He made a note on his tablet to work on the Franklin Stone section of his script. Mussels, coal scattered on the bottom, and the nineteen survivors. Those men occupied his mind, too.
Rob started the video on the computer and Wyatt filled in detail as the images changed. He smiled to himself. The two got along so well, anticipating each other’s thoughts, finishing each other’s sentences. As well suited as they were, he sometimes wondered why they hadn’t drifted together, become a couple. Or if they had, they were good at keeping it private. That was fine with him. No need for complications, he thought, suddenly aware of how dispassionate, even cold, he sounded about the prospects of staff romance. He could almost hear Augusta chastising him. “Heave a heart,” she’d have said.
“Aren’t you doing some interviews tomorrow?” Wyatt asked.
“Four, to be exact. Dawn will introduce me to these editors and people running tourist information centers.”
“That was fast,” Rob observed. “We’ve only been here a few weeks.”
“Seems my PR consultant is very well connected. She was honest about being able to call in some favors and nail down some space in a couple of papers.”
“Will you talk about the Franklin Stone?” Rob asked. “Give the flavor of what divers can see in their own backyard.”
“It’s the primary site for this season. So, yes, I’ll mention it.” He leaned back in the desk chair and laced his hands behind his head. The dive was responsible for his pensive mood. “All these shipwrecks provide a historical trail. You could almost write a history of the coasts of all five great lakes simply by taking a trip through the known marine accidents and boats in their graves at the bottom. Treasures everywhere—not for the taking, but for the viewing.”
“I’d use those words in an interview,” Wyatt said. “You have a way of bringing the meaning of what’s underwater to the surface.” She raised her hands defensively as if to stop the inevitable teasing. “I know, I know. Bad pun. But it works.”
Jerrod laughed. “I do intend to mention the history. But Dawn is trying to book some presentations for that. She’s afraid I’ll veer off topic, as people in her business say. For these interviews, I’ll mostly describe our dives and the wreck. It’s all about rustling up enough business to make our summer worthwhile.”
Dawn had read him like a book. It hadn’t taken her long to pick up on his tendency to get lost in the lore and the history and lose sight that he was selling his products, dives and tours. A familiar heaviness settled in his chest. It was impossible to ignore it, because Augusta used to chide him about taking side trips into history.
The arrival of lunch pulled him out of his thoughts. “Let’s run that video again while we eat,” he said. “There might be things we see we can highlight.”
Watching the video lifted his spirits in an odd sort of way. Once lunch was over, Rob went to the Lucy Bee to work on the engine and Wyatt headed to the house to answer emails and check in with the Key West crew. That left him alone in the office for the afternoon. Or, he could go home and spend time with Carrie or find out if Melody planned to take her to the park after lunch. But he didn’t trust himself to be able to be more than half present with his daughter.
His mind was kind of jumbled lately, or maybe it was his heart that needed to settle down. Ever since telling Dawn about the past, she’d been on his mind. But he’d finally reached the point that thoughts of Augusta and Dabny made him smile and not reel from the pain. At first the horror of what happened had left him physically weak—unable to trust his legs to bear his weight. Then numbness had set in, like paralysis that robbed him of what he had to give to other people, even his little girl. But now, even when he was talking with Dawn, describing what happened, he felt different, more at ease with himself. For sure, it was all as real as ever. Maybe, though, he’d turned a corner and the vision of that part of his life was changing. The memory wasn’t fading so much as getting smaller and losing some of its power as he moved forward with Carrie and embraced a new, if limited, life.
Jerrod grabbed his jacket and took off for home—and Carrie.
* * *
“YOU’LL GET A top-of-the-line tour of the area today. I can show you lots of off-the-beaten path spots.” Dawn pulled the seat belt across her body and managed to move her hip just enough that she could click it into place with her good hand. She’d scheduled back-to-back appointments in key places, including two stops in Door County. Jerrod had insisted on doing the driving, so Dawn wouldn’t put any strain on her wrist. To make it even easier on her, he’d traded vehicles with Melody, so they could avoid the need to strain her wrist or knee—or both—to get in and out of the van.
“It’s odd to be a passenger,” Dawn said, watching the gas stations on the edge of town give way to dairy farms, orchards, and a few stables. Not that she could see any of it, but the road was as familiar as an old shoe. Today, though, the heavy fog even obscured the taillights of the car ahead.
“It’s like being in a tunnel,” Jerrod said, “but if you live on these lakes, you get used to fog, huh?”
Dawn raised a finger in the air next to her ear. “And foghorns. Listen to that sound.”
He smiled at the next faint blast.
After an initial email exchange where they’d each mentioned enjoying their dinner, Dawn had said nothing more about it. Neither had Jerrod. Since the immediate items on her to-do list for Jerrod could be handled online and by phone, including arranging these interviews, she hadn’t seen him for several days. In the interim, April had turned to May and Jerrod and his crew were settled into the two houses that would be their summer headquarters.
She directed him to the state road that would take them directly to the headquarters of the company that produced half the free papers and magazines that promoted the Two Moon Bay tourist hub and neighboring towns. Jerrod would be drawing diving guests and tour boat passengers from both areas.
“The most in-depth interview is with Wilson Cone at Peninsula News, the weekly events paper. They want lots of background, so you can elaborate on what you’ve done in the Virgin Islands and Thailand. Wilson is very excited about talking to you.�
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Trying not to bog him down in detail, she described the other stops she’d scheduled, ending with a shorter interview for a glossy life-on-the-peninsula magazine. The shorter two appointments in the middle were typical tourist ad books with some short pieces. “They don’t claim to be journalists, so the interviews tend to be short and not exactly deep.”
“Got it. I’ve done many of those over the years. Augusta called them overview interviews with a teaser.”
He didn’t look happy as he said that, but Dawn was glad he mentioned his wife. It explained the somber demeanor she’d observed. The pleasant way he interacted with Gordon over dinner—and with her—gave Dawn a sense of the Jerrod as he was before the tragedy. Could he be that way again? She was almost afraid to answer the question.
Making these rounds of publications was a big part of her job, but that morning nothing seemed routine about the day ahead. For one thing, she’d taken more care with her clothes and makeup than usual. Even choosing between the turquoise drop earrings or gold hoops took longer than it normally did. Like getting ready for a date, she reluctantly admitted when she settled on the turquoise pair, not a formal work appointment.
“Thanks for getting this type of exposure off the ground,” Jerrod said, glancing sideways to meet her eye. “I know we got in just under the wire.”
“I’m glad it happened. And I didn’t have to twist too many arms to get appointments for you.” She stared out the window knowing the landscape was greening, even if she couldn’t see it clearly through the dense fog. “If I waved a wand and cleared the fog up ahead, you’d see the lake appear right around the next corner.”
“According to the weather radio the fog is in here to stay,” Jerrod said. “So it’s not a good day to take the boats out, anyway. Besides, thinking about these interviews helped me pull my thoughts together about diving and shipwrecks and the adventure and beauty involved.”
Something to Treasure Page 7
