Wavedancer, part eight
May. 10th, 2009 02:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valis2Intro/Index of all parts | Read with the commentary
Back to Sarah's POV:
By the time I finished showering and dressing Mike had fallen asleep on the couch. The morning was cold and clear, and I hummed a bit as I readied Wave Dancer for my early charter. There was no sign of Mike--not suprising, given that he was up so late--so I ate breakfast alone.
I picked up the marine electronics from their resting place in the foyer and went outside again, and I noticed that my customers had arrived. The older gentleman was Mr. Jensen, and he'd brought along his ten year old grandson Sean. They were related in some way to Lucinda, who had booked the charter by phone earlier this year. I wondered for a moment if she'd expressed her disapproval of me to Mr. Jensen, and I almost winced at how suspicious I'd become.
"Hello there," called the grandfather. Sean waved excitedly.
"I've just got to get my thermos and we'll be on our way," I smiled as I walked past them towards the house. The grandfather looked confused.
"Are you the captain?" he asked politely.
"That I am," I said with a nod. "I've been running charters since I was thirteen," I added as I walked past him. Even though I was used to questions like that they still bothered me. I was the only female charterboat captain in the area, and even at fishing shows people assumed I was Mike's wife. Once the novelty wore off, though, I got no complaints. I had many repeat charters, in fact, and some of the other captains had begun following me on the water, a sure sign of respect, though none would dare admit it.
I walked up the twelve cement steps, crossed a patch of what we called a lawn but was actually only weeks cut down to lawn height, and stepped onto the porch in a swirl of dried leaves. I looked back and saw that they had gone back towards their car, probably to fetch a cooler. I hoped they'd brought jackets, as it was going to be even colder on the water.
I hauled open the door and turned into my kitchen, pulling the coffeepot out and swiftly filling the old metal thermos. It was one of the few constants in my life, as it was indestructible, and held enough coffee to satisfy even a java fiend like myself, though you'd never want to drop it on your foot. My father had bought it for himself ten years ago, and it was just as reliable now despite a few dents. Thinking of it reminded me of the many times I'd filled it for him. I worried sometimes that all the little details I remembered about him were being stripped away slowly, and all I'd eventually be able to recall about him would be the way he swung his fists.
I screwed the thermos lid on and started walking through the foyer, noticing that Mike was still fast asleep on the couch. I was curious as to why'd he'd gone on his nocturnal journey; was he worried about something?
I couldn't think of it now, though, as my charter was waiting outside for me. 'Dancer waited for me, too, with Moray Bay stretching out behind her. The mist was rising and it made me think of a thousand mornings strung together like grey pearls reaching back through the years to my great-grandfather, the first Bryant to fish these waters. The dock echoed resonantly under my feet and as I stepped into 'Dancer I felt the same peculiar sensation I always received from her, as if I'd traversed some unseen boundary into a fresher, less complicated world.
I turned the ignition and started the twin outboards, which still purred as they did for my father thanks to careful upkeep. I keyed up the LORAN, which plotted where I was and helped me return to previous "hot spots". Last year Mike told me he was offered a humorous bribe at the local pub to pirate the coordinates out of it, as if it was the holy grail of fishing. I turned on the fishfinder, a device my father had refused to install while he was the captain. The last piece of electronics I booted up was my lifeline, the marine radio, which I set to channel 81 first to see if anyone was actually on the water today. Later I'd switch it to 16, the emergency channel, which was always good to monitor.
Mr. Jensen and Sean were on the dock now, and I turned my attention to last minute details like putting on my jacket, pouring myself coffee, and pulling in the mooring lines. Mr. Jensen smiled. "Permission to come aboard, captain," he said.
"Permission granted, with pleasure," I replied, smiling in return. They got settled in their seats as I explained where the lifejackets were. I then recited the essential safety lecture that I always gave to new charters. I made Mike memorize it as well.
I asked Sean to get the stern line, and he looked wide-eyed at his grandfather, who laughed and pointed to the back of the boat. It took a minute or two for him to undo the knot and pull it off, but he did so with a triumphant grin. I untied the bow line and held the boat as he jumped in, and I followed suit, hopping with ease over the windshield into the pilot's seat. I swung 'Dancer around and pointed her towards Lake Michigan.
"Floor it!" said Sean behind me enthusiastically.
I shook my head. "See those signs?" I said, pointing it to the big "NO Wake" boards posted onshore. "No waves through here."
He looked at the signs in rapt attention for a moment, and then turned back to me. "Why not?"
"Too much wake destroys the shoreline," I explain. "We can 'floor it' when we get past the breakwall and the buoys."
"Oh." He became quiet.
Mr. Jensen piped up. "I was under the impression that the charter would be run by a young man named Michael. Is he your husband, perhaps?"
I gathered breath to answer, but Sean rushed in: "Aunt Lucy says you're living in sin!" Mr. Jensen shushed him fiercely.
"We're not married," I said as calmly as possible. "We're just friends. The house we live in used to be an apartment building, and Mike lives on one side and I live on the other."
"Someone built an apartment building on an island?" asked Mr. Jensen quizzically.
I nodded. "The town eccentric did. He was wealthy, but a little strange. MOost of what he did helped out Moray in one way or another, so most people just generally left him alone. My father was one of the exceptions, because he was furious when he learned Mr. Ames was building so close to the docks we run the business from. He protested to whomever would listen, but it didn't make a difference."
"I see." He paused. "So how did you end up with it?"
"He sold it to my father for practically nothing when it became obvious that no one was going to rent out any of the apartments. So my father decided it would make a great college house, and spent ten years remodeling it." I shook my head, still wondering why. "Everyone in town said the same things behind his back that they'd said about Mr. Ames; Moray Island is too isolated, the bridge floods out a lot, the winters are harsh...but my father, who had been so critical of it before, was enthralled at the thought of rental money."
"Interesting," said Mr. Jensen thoughtfully.
Lake Michigan loomed ahead of us, and the open water beckoned me with a strong pull. "Hold on to your seats," I said loudly as the water got roughter. "When we go through those buoys we'll be on the big water. I'm going to take us a couple miles out. I had good luck there last week." I mentally cursed myself again for not asking Mike where he went last night, expecially since he'd gotten such good results that he got home early. I slowly advanced the throttle, holding my coffee close as we skimmed over the water following the LORAN coordinates. Sean was hollering and whooping and I added speed, revelling in the raw power of the twin Evinrudes. The morning sun was behind us, striking the water with bronze rays. The waves were low, the wind was relatively calm, and I was feeling much better as we approached our destination in record time.
The LORAN beeped, announcing our arrival. I cut the motors and began pulling rods out of the lockers. Sean jumped out of his seat and I watched him carefully as he climbed up onto the bow, holding onto the railing. Mr. Jensen smiled at me again, and I wondered once more why Lucy had booked this charter.
On to part nine
Read this section with the commentary
Back to Sarah's POV:
By the time I finished showering and dressing Mike had fallen asleep on the couch. The morning was cold and clear, and I hummed a bit as I readied Wave Dancer for my early charter. There was no sign of Mike--not suprising, given that he was up so late--so I ate breakfast alone.
I picked up the marine electronics from their resting place in the foyer and went outside again, and I noticed that my customers had arrived. The older gentleman was Mr. Jensen, and he'd brought along his ten year old grandson Sean. They were related in some way to Lucinda, who had booked the charter by phone earlier this year. I wondered for a moment if she'd expressed her disapproval of me to Mr. Jensen, and I almost winced at how suspicious I'd become.
"Hello there," called the grandfather. Sean waved excitedly.
"I've just got to get my thermos and we'll be on our way," I smiled as I walked past them towards the house. The grandfather looked confused.
"Are you the captain?" he asked politely.
"That I am," I said with a nod. "I've been running charters since I was thirteen," I added as I walked past him. Even though I was used to questions like that they still bothered me. I was the only female charterboat captain in the area, and even at fishing shows people assumed I was Mike's wife. Once the novelty wore off, though, I got no complaints. I had many repeat charters, in fact, and some of the other captains had begun following me on the water, a sure sign of respect, though none would dare admit it.
I walked up the twelve cement steps, crossed a patch of what we called a lawn but was actually only weeks cut down to lawn height, and stepped onto the porch in a swirl of dried leaves. I looked back and saw that they had gone back towards their car, probably to fetch a cooler. I hoped they'd brought jackets, as it was going to be even colder on the water.
I hauled open the door and turned into my kitchen, pulling the coffeepot out and swiftly filling the old metal thermos. It was one of the few constants in my life, as it was indestructible, and held enough coffee to satisfy even a java fiend like myself, though you'd never want to drop it on your foot. My father had bought it for himself ten years ago, and it was just as reliable now despite a few dents. Thinking of it reminded me of the many times I'd filled it for him. I worried sometimes that all the little details I remembered about him were being stripped away slowly, and all I'd eventually be able to recall about him would be the way he swung his fists.
I screwed the thermos lid on and started walking through the foyer, noticing that Mike was still fast asleep on the couch. I was curious as to why'd he'd gone on his nocturnal journey; was he worried about something?
I couldn't think of it now, though, as my charter was waiting outside for me. 'Dancer waited for me, too, with Moray Bay stretching out behind her. The mist was rising and it made me think of a thousand mornings strung together like grey pearls reaching back through the years to my great-grandfather, the first Bryant to fish these waters. The dock echoed resonantly under my feet and as I stepped into 'Dancer I felt the same peculiar sensation I always received from her, as if I'd traversed some unseen boundary into a fresher, less complicated world.
I turned the ignition and started the twin outboards, which still purred as they did for my father thanks to careful upkeep. I keyed up the LORAN, which plotted where I was and helped me return to previous "hot spots". Last year Mike told me he was offered a humorous bribe at the local pub to pirate the coordinates out of it, as if it was the holy grail of fishing. I turned on the fishfinder, a device my father had refused to install while he was the captain. The last piece of electronics I booted up was my lifeline, the marine radio, which I set to channel 81 first to see if anyone was actually on the water today. Later I'd switch it to 16, the emergency channel, which was always good to monitor.
Mr. Jensen and Sean were on the dock now, and I turned my attention to last minute details like putting on my jacket, pouring myself coffee, and pulling in the mooring lines. Mr. Jensen smiled. "Permission to come aboard, captain," he said.
"Permission granted, with pleasure," I replied, smiling in return. They got settled in their seats as I explained where the lifejackets were. I then recited the essential safety lecture that I always gave to new charters. I made Mike memorize it as well.
I asked Sean to get the stern line, and he looked wide-eyed at his grandfather, who laughed and pointed to the back of the boat. It took a minute or two for him to undo the knot and pull it off, but he did so with a triumphant grin. I untied the bow line and held the boat as he jumped in, and I followed suit, hopping with ease over the windshield into the pilot's seat. I swung 'Dancer around and pointed her towards Lake Michigan.
"Floor it!" said Sean behind me enthusiastically.
I shook my head. "See those signs?" I said, pointing it to the big "NO Wake" boards posted onshore. "No waves through here."
He looked at the signs in rapt attention for a moment, and then turned back to me. "Why not?"
"Too much wake destroys the shoreline," I explain. "We can 'floor it' when we get past the breakwall and the buoys."
"Oh." He became quiet.
Mr. Jensen piped up. "I was under the impression that the charter would be run by a young man named Michael. Is he your husband, perhaps?"
I gathered breath to answer, but Sean rushed in: "Aunt Lucy says you're living in sin!" Mr. Jensen shushed him fiercely.
"We're not married," I said as calmly as possible. "We're just friends. The house we live in used to be an apartment building, and Mike lives on one side and I live on the other."
"Someone built an apartment building on an island?" asked Mr. Jensen quizzically.
I nodded. "The town eccentric did. He was wealthy, but a little strange. MOost of what he did helped out Moray in one way or another, so most people just generally left him alone. My father was one of the exceptions, because he was furious when he learned Mr. Ames was building so close to the docks we run the business from. He protested to whomever would listen, but it didn't make a difference."
"I see." He paused. "So how did you end up with it?"
"He sold it to my father for practically nothing when it became obvious that no one was going to rent out any of the apartments. So my father decided it would make a great college house, and spent ten years remodeling it." I shook my head, still wondering why. "Everyone in town said the same things behind his back that they'd said about Mr. Ames; Moray Island is too isolated, the bridge floods out a lot, the winters are harsh...but my father, who had been so critical of it before, was enthralled at the thought of rental money."
"Interesting," said Mr. Jensen thoughtfully.
Lake Michigan loomed ahead of us, and the open water beckoned me with a strong pull. "Hold on to your seats," I said loudly as the water got roughter. "When we go through those buoys we'll be on the big water. I'm going to take us a couple miles out. I had good luck there last week." I mentally cursed myself again for not asking Mike where he went last night, expecially since he'd gotten such good results that he got home early. I slowly advanced the throttle, holding my coffee close as we skimmed over the water following the LORAN coordinates. Sean was hollering and whooping and I added speed, revelling in the raw power of the twin Evinrudes. The morning sun was behind us, striking the water with bronze rays. The waves were low, the wind was relatively calm, and I was feeling much better as we approached our destination in record time.
The LORAN beeped, announcing our arrival. I cut the motors and began pulling rods out of the lockers. Sean jumped out of his seat and I watched him carefully as he climbed up onto the bow, holding onto the railing. Mr. Jensen smiled at me again, and I wondered once more why Lucy had booked this charter.
On to part nine
Read this section with the commentary