Sea Red, Sea Blue

by Jean James

  “Like prices? I guess you could get a lot more boat for your money back when you bought the Miss Iris.” She grew embarrassed at her poor attempt to steer their conversation to boat prices. “I want to buy a boat—a cabin cruiser like this one if I can find one I can afford,” she finally blurted out. “I’ve looked at boats all week.”

  “Do you plan on financin’ it?” He asked in his same easygoing manner.

  “I have savings, but I’ll have to finance some of it. None of the boats I looked at fit what I want.”

  “Don’t go and buy somethin’, like a boat, unless you get exactly what you want. You don’t buy a boat every day. You’ll probably keep it a while.”

  His advice amused Katherine. This old sea captain sounded like her when she showed clients a house or condo.

  “I intend to keep it a long time. That’s why I’m so picky. I’ve checked all the local marinas and called on all the ads I could find. Will I need to go out of this area? Where would you look if you were in the market for a boat like this one?”

  “Well, let me see, now. If you’re lookin’ for an old, beat-up boat like this, you could always buy mine. It’s been for sale over a year and—”

  “For sale? What would you do if you sold it?”

  “I passed retirement age quite a spell ago, and I’d still have my little motor boat for fishin’. That’s all I need.” He gave her a craggy smile and quoted his asking price.

  She stared at him wordless.

  Of course, the boat had a few years on it and was made of wood, not fiberglass, but his price was half the price of similar boats she had investigated.

  “The Miss Iris would be perfect.” She tried to keep the thrill out of her voice.

  “She needs work. Do you plan to use her, or did you want somethin’ to admire and pour money into?”

  “I’d like to take parties out like you do, someday when I have more experience. I know it sounds unreasonable.”

  “More reasonable than speedin’ around for the sport of it and wasting gas.”

  “No speedboats for me.” She laughed. “I just want a fishing boat.”

  “Well, she’s fine for that. The motor’s good, but the hull needs work. Has a couple of small soft spots and leaks, needs scraped and painted. I’ve been meanin’ to pull her—just haven’t gotten around to it. If you’re interested, you should bring a mechanic around to look her over. He might find problems I don’t know about.”

  “I’m interested.” Even through its accumulation of grime and scars, she could see the boat’s possibilities.

  “If you mean to become a boat owner, you need experience captainin’ worse than you need fishin’ lessons today. Take over the helm, and I’ll try and teach you everything I know before we head back in.” He chuckled and moved away from the wheel.

  By day’s end, Katherine had gotten the hang of operating a large boat on open water and in the bay. Only when she tried to back the boat into its slip, did she realize how much she didn’t know. “Will I ever be able to dock it properly?” she asked after her third try.

  “You’re not used to it. When you get familiar with the currents and the way the boat handles, you’ll have no trouble at all.” He sat back in a fishing chair and fiddled with a box of tackle until she finally brought it into its slip. “Now take care of your lines. I’d help, but you may need to handle the job unassisted, sometime. Make sure you leave enough slack to allow for the tide.”

  When she had tied it to his satisfaction, she helped hose it down and set up an appointment for a mechanic to come by the next day. She couldn’t help taking one last look at it before she headed home.

  That evening two commission checks were in the mail. Adding those to her savings, she could pay most of the boat’s price and have money left for insurance and incidentals. All she needed was the mechanics report, so she left work early the next day to accompany the mechanic as he examined the boat.

  “You should take care of those leaks as soon as possible. The engine’s sound. That’s a big motor you got there—more power than you’ll probably ever need unless you’re outrunning a gale.”

  “Something I hope I never have to do.”

  When the mechanic finished his inspection, Captain Dale came aboard and showed her some of the equipment.

  “The bilge pump is manual. Remember to turn it on every two days and pump the bilge dry, that is, until you get the leaks patched. Here’s the auxiliary pump—in case you get caught in heavy seas and ship too much water, or in case the other pump quits on you. As far as I know, everything on the boat works satisfactorily, but later on you may want to modernize some of the equipment.”

  After they finished, she drove Captain Dale to his house only half a block from the docks. He led her into a large back yard, heavily hedged by tropical growth and completely private from any nearby dwellings. A small skiff lay upside down on the yard near the water.

  “I generally leave my car at home and walk to the boat. There’s my other boat.” He pointed to a sporty, speedboat tied to his private dock. “The canal here is too shallow for the Miss Iris.”

  “This canal runs into the bay, then?”

  “It connects the bay a short ways over from where the Miss Iris sits. This is the second inlet on the right when you head out of the marina towards the pass.”

  They went into his house, and she met his wife, Iris, a warmly shy woman.

  “Would ya like some tea?” Iris asked with a more pronounced drawl than Dale.

  “Yes, thank you,” Katherine said and took a seat at a small, kitchen table. Iris brought her a glass of sweetened iced tea, which surprised her. Too new from wintry Chicago, she had expected a cup of hot tea.

  “Were you born in Naples?” Katherine asked her while Captain Dale went to find boat documents.

  “My family all come from Marco. Like Dale’s family, ours was a fishin’ family. Near about all of Marco lived on fish in them days.” Iris volunteered, standing by the table with her hands clasped in front of her.

  Captain Dale returned and showed Katherine the papers.

  “If you’ll insure the boat, I’ll finance the balance at five percent interest. I think that’s better than the bank would offer.”

  “It’s certainly better than the bank. If you’re satisfied, you have a deal. What day would you like to finalize everything?”

  “Any day next week, after Monday. I’ll need to use it until then.”

  “I could meet you at the bank Wednesday at noon. We can have everything notarized, and I’ll pay you with cash, a money order, or any way you want.”

  “A check’s fine. Now you just come by anytime you have a question,” he added when they shook hands.

  Driving away from his house, the enormity of the commitment was daunting. But deep down, she didn’t regret it.

  Later that evening she remembered she must clean the office. To avoid another unannounced visit by Buzzy, she walked to wok so that no telltale car would give her presence away. She entered the door, reset the alarm, and closed the blinds in the large open section where the associate’s desks sat. She vacuumed and cleaned that area and the kitchen alcove with only the aid of a flashlight.

  Buzzy’s office had no windows, so she closed the door and turned on his light. The accumulation of dust suggested that his office had rarely been cleaned. While moving the papers on his desk to clean it, a newspaper clipping caught her attention. It was from a Chicago paper, one she knew well, so she picked it up for a closer look.

  It was the top one third of a page, and she didn’t see anything of interest—only small sections of continued articles that had appeared on earlier pages. The other side of the clipping contained a large advertisement for a Chicago bank. It showed pictures of all their employees and their respective departments.

  She returned it to the desk only to pick it up again.

  It was the bank Lloyd’s office used for many of their deals—and Laura’s bank. She found Mr. Pinkston’s face with his na
me below. Glancing at the other people, the face of Johnny Amano suddenly stared out. But no—the paper called him Jack Evans. No one could mistake Johnny’s face, not with those distinctive eyes.

  Jack Evans. The name sounded familiar. She had seen it written somewhere, but couldn’t recall ever hearing it. Johnny’s picture being in the ad would explain Buzzy saving it. She had seen them together enough to note Buzzy’s paternal affection for his big boy.

  Something wasn’t right. The clipping was dated only a week before she left Chicago. With no time for deliberation right then, she hastily copied the clipping on the office printer and returned the original to Buzzy’s desk. She took time to disarrange his papers as they had looked before her ministrations.

  At eight o’clock, back in the privacy of her house, she studied the clipping and tried to remember where she had seen the name Jack Evans. It somehow made her think of Laura’s problem, so she got out the old file. The top paper was the bank statement signed by Pinkston that Lloyd had given her. She looked no further. Jack Evans was the name of the bank employee who made the error. It didn’t make sense, but there he was in the ad wearing Johnny’s face.

  On her laptop, she found the bank’s website and a page of employee pictures, but no Jack Evans. Maybe Laura could look into it for her. Laura worked for the city and might have a directory or some resource that would shed light on this. She might even recall the man’s face if she saw a picture of him. She dialed Laura’s number and waited. Johnny’s eyes seemed to peer into hers as she stared at the picture, but Laura’s vivacious greeting dispelled the vision.

  “Kay, where are you? Are you still in Florida? I got your postcard, and then you dropped off the edge of the world. Are you OK?”

  “I’m in Naples, and I’m fine. I’m sorry I waited so long to call you. Everything happened so fast—my moving to Florida and the new job. I saw the emails you sent, but I didn’t want to answer until I had decided for sure about my future. I guess I decided that today.”

  “You didn’t give me an address, and your cell phone number didn’t work.”

  “I changed the number, and I’ll email you my address. I’m happily settled in a nice place, and I have a good job selling condos. How are your house repairs going?”

  “Perfectly wonderful. You should see it.”

  Katherine waited until Laura had finished her lengthy discourse about her house’s renovation before she brought up what filled her mind.

  “Laura, I need a favor. I need information on the man your bank fired because he didn’t pay your insurance.” She couldn’t keep her gaze from drifting to the picture again.

  “Kay, please! You promised you’d drop the whole thing. I know you’re responsible for our good fortune, but I don’t want to make anyone angry—at least not until I’m back in my house.”

  “Don’t worry, Laura. It’s nothing to do with your house trouble. I just need a description of the man if you can get it.”

  “I don’t think they ever told me his name, and I doubt I’ve ever seen him. Why?”

  “I think the man works at my real estate office here.” A chill traveled up her back in spite of the warmth of the night.

  “Wow. That’s strange.”

  “His name’s Jack Evans. I need a description of him and any information about him you can dig up discreetly. I’ll email you a newspaper ad that pictures his face.”

  “I’ll try, Katherine. Oh, by the way, your old boss, Lloyd Lucas, called today.”

  “I’m glad he’s still looking out for your interests.” She turned the picture face down and tried to forget Johnny for a minute.

  “He called about you. He wanted your address, and he asked if I’d talked with you recently. I told him we hadn’t talked since you left, and I didn’t have your address.”

  “Is that all he called about?”

  “That was it.”

  “I wonder why he called you to ask that. He has my address and my new phone number. He even mailed me some checks.”

  “Kind of weird, but honestly, that’s all he asked. He didn’t even ask about our house repairs. And speaking of that, I was just getting ready to take some new curtains over to it. I’ll take some pictures while I’m there so you can see what’s going on. I have to run now. My guy’s beeping at me to hurry.” In spite of her impatient husband, Laura managed to talk another five minutes about her house repairs before she finally said goodbye.

  5

  Katherine rose early Monday morning so she could have some beach time before work. During her walk, she tried to picture her boat on the horizon. On her return trip she noticed a surf fisherman.

  “Hi,” he said quietly in response to her nod. The cutoffs, tan skin, and dark hair, set against the background of endless sea, were an eye-catching combination. He looked to be in his mid-thirties.

  She watched as he made long casts into the gulf. It looked like fun. She decided to buy fishing equipment and try it. She couldn’t very well start a charter business and take parties out fishing if she was a novice, and the beach offered plenty of room for practice. At least she wouldn’t get her line tangled in other’s lines the way people on the pier often did.

  When she returned to her car, the green Jeep was parked beside it. Obviously he owned it and fished at this spot regularly. She glanced at him again. The Jeep fit him—fit him the way that empty beach and rolling surf did, and she lingered a minute more and watched.

  During her lunch break, she visited a hardware store and found that her fishing experience on the Miss Iris would help in choosing gear. With the added advice of a sales clerk, she was outfitted with a moderately heavy rod and reel, and a tackle box.

  “Now I need fishing line, all sizes of hooks and sinkers, leader wire, pliers, wire cutters, a gaff hook, a bait bucket, and a fish stringer. And treble hooks.”

  He laughed. “You should get some spoons and other lures, too.”

  “Pile them up—anything I might need. I’m going fishing!”

  The rest of the day at the condos crept by. She and Alice sipped coffee and stared out the window at a spring rain that seemed to have chased all the buyers away.

  “Have you been with this real estate office very long?”

  “About two years. I do nothing but show condos. When this building sells out, they’ll put me in another.” Alice got up and refilled both of their cups.

  “Do the Amanos do that much building?”

  “Buzzy does,” Alice said crisply. “I don’t know what Johnny does. I thought he’d moved away, but now he’s back.”

  “I met him on my second day of work. He seemed…unpleasant.”

  “I would have used a stronger word to describe him, but his daddy dotes on him. The only son thing, you know.”

  Katherine couldn’t help pondering over the Jack Evans/Johnny Amano situation. Too many whys drifted through her life lately. With no plausible explanation for any of them, her imagination ran wild. Just as she got ready to leave for the day, she received a text from Laura: Jack Evans gone from bank. Moved away. More info later.

  When Katherine headed to the beach the following morning, she brought her new rod, rigged for surf fishing. She even wore a bathing suit so she could wade into the water to fish, but when she saw the green Jeep parked there, she decided that no one should witness her first casting attempts. Reluctantly she left the new gear in her car and set off for a walk.

  The green-Jeep man kneeled on the beach by his open tackle box, and when she passed by, he looked up. “Hi again,” he said and smiled

  “Good morning. Nice day for the beach.” Katherine returned his smile and continued walking. “No chance he’s single. He is much too good-looking. She laughed at herself. At least someone sparked her interest. In Chicago she rarely met anyone who could make her look twice, but now she felt like anything could happen.

  The water washing around her feet felt warmer than usual, warm enough to risk a swim. She plunged in and instantly gasped at its chilliness. The initia
l shock soon wore off, and she enjoyed splashing around in the waves. When she glanced up the beach at some noisy seagulls, she caught the Jeep man’s intense scrutiny in her direction. He quickly turned away.

  He was gone when she returned to her car. She glanced at her new tackle. There was no time to try it, but she could go to the pier after work and fish around the pilings.

  Office work and the business of the boat purchase kept her so busy she didn’t arrive at the pier until late. She hurried to the bait house for shrimp, and at a short section of vacant rail, she lowered the bait into the water and waited patiently. Many nibbles and jerks later she landed a small pinfish, and offered it to a man fishing nearby who used live bait.

  After a while she tossed her line out a short distance, set a light drag, and leaned her rod against the rail so she could sit and enjoy the night’s enchantment. Only a few people remained on the pier—the serious ones who came to fish. She breathed deeply of the salt air, rich with the fresh tang of fish and ocean. The stars came out and the only sounds were the whizzing of fishing lines, the plunks of bait or lures entering the water, and the lapping of water on the pilings below.

  The dark water, beautiful with shimmering fluorescence, teemed with life. Deep in its depths, she could see the phosphorescence from schools of fish as they passed below. Now and then, she could make out the shape of a huge fish cruising into the shallow water near the beach, and rows of large snook waited in layers at the edge of the pier’s shadow. Occasionally one or two would break away to feed, but seldom on the baited hooks or lures that were thrown near to tempt them.

  Eventually she landed a sheepshead, which she kept. Her fascination increased as the night wore on. Although strikes were few, whenever anyone did hook something sizeable, there ensued a general tumult and scramble by those nearby to reel in their lines and get out of the way. Too often the fish would break the line or cut it off on the sharp pilings. One man landed a large redfish, and there were a few catches of smaller fish, but the highlight of the night was when someone landed a nurse shark. After that, the night grew quieter, but it remained a magical world, and she couldn’t pull away.