Ahoy!

by Maggie Seacroft

  “Thanks, Jack,” I said and took the arm that he held out for me. I slipped my hand around the inside of his elbow and we stood in elegant formation like a May December couple on the top of a wedding cake while we waited for Ags to give instructions to the clerk she’d left in charge of the store.

  Aggie was wearing a blue-and-white jersey sundress, and her long brown hair was pinned up in one of those loose updos that only looks effortless. Jack and Carlos were handsome in shades of khaki and blue and, when you looked at them side by side, it looked like they had the same haircut. I guessed that Carlos had said yes to unisex as well.

  ✽✽✽

  Main Street, Marysville U.S.A. was packed with representatives from every living generation. The one thing everyone in town seemed to have in common was the love of a good street party. Musical interludes from the 50s, 60s, and 70s were interspersed between small sets local bands played, and when Elvis sung about how he couldn’t help falling in love with me, it was my cue to dance with Jack Junior.

  I loved that he was from an era when dancing was a real thing and taught in school to every well-mannered young man and woman. I imagined he was something of a smoothie in his heyday because he floated like he was on air and I felt elegant just being with him. I remembered dancing with Nat at the previous year’s dance. It was our first social event together and it may have been then that I fell for his charms. Jack Junior’s mangling of the lyrics, though, kept me too amused to be wistful.

  Once Elvis was done being so smitten with me, and one of the live bands struck up a number, I was ready for a drink. “You thirsty?” I shouted to Jack over the guitar and crash of drums from the band that had been introduced as Steel Diamond. They launched into their edgy take on “Sweet Caroline”.

  “Yeah, kid, you bet.” Jack stood on his tip toes to look over the crowd of heads surrounding us.

  “What’ll it be, Fred Astaire? I’ve got my route figured out.” I had already eyed the screen of people in front of me and plotted my way to the refreshments area like a kid working out one of those mazes on a restaurant menu.

  “I’ll take a vodka and soda, easy on the soda and lots of ice,” he shouted over the noise of the crowd. He added hand gestures just in case I didn’t hear him, though they didn’t help much, and I made a mental note to never pick Jack Junior as a partner in Charades.

  “Got it,” I said and shot him the OK sign with the thumb and index finger of my right hand. Ags and Carlos were off somewhere and I couldn’t pick them out of the sea of khaki and blue and white. They’d be on their own if they wanted drinks.

  I made my way through the crush of people to the bar area and ordered the shot for Jack Junior and a cooler for myself. While I waited, I plotted the return path that would have me dodging the fewest elbows and half-in-the-bag minglers. As I picked up the shot for Jack Junior, I remembered one of the last times I smelled vodka. On that rainy night on Nat’s boat with Bugsy. Now, some people claim that they can’t smell it, but I sure can, and I couldn’t wait to get the plastic tumbler out of my hand.

  Threading the needle back toward Jack, I felt eyes on me though I wasn’t sure why. I was three-quarters of the way back to him — he had mercifully sent his hand in the air to signal his position — when an unmovable object blocked my way. He had the same build as the man who had driven Nat’s ex-wife to the marina the day I met her. Tall and stocky like a football player.

  “Oh, excuse me, please,” I said, smiling, ready to cut the rest of my path back to my date. I looked up to see the face. It was the same man as in the picture Cynthia had shown me. Nat’s nephew. The one he didn’t talk to.

  “Yeah, I don’t think so.” He was glib and surly at the same time.

  “Excuse me?” I said, curious at his reaction, shocked even.

  The man grabbed my left wrist. “What? You don’t wanna dance with me?” he said and practically snarled at me.

  I took inventory of the man as if I might need to provide a physical description of him later. Tall and broad with messy blonde hair. Blue-green eyes and a nose that looked as if it’d been broken more than once. He had a day’s worth of scruff on his face; maybe Cynthia liked him that way.

  When I looked down at his forearm, I saw a white bandage peeking out from under his rolled-up green and white plaid shirt sleeve. Was this the guy I’d grabbed with the gaff hook on Nat’s boat? I could feel my cheeks get hot, and my eyes darted from side to side. I tried to look around him to find Carlos, but he was lost in a sea of blue and khaki and sundresses and dark hair.

  “Come on,” he said, pulling at my wrist.

  “No!” I shouted. In the chaos and loudness around me, it was clear my shouting had gone unnoticed. I looked down and my hands were shaking.

  A few seconds later, the man’s gaze drifted to above my head and he let go of his grasp instantly and slid away, melting into the crowd. I doubted my tone and the dirty look I’d given him had been so effective. Plus, you know that feeling that someone is behind you? Well, I had that too.

  When I turned around, I was a foot away from, and eye to eye with Bugsy. I swallowed hard as I let my eyes graze over him, from the blue of his eyes to the curls of hair that poked out through the open button placket of his navy-blue polo shirt and back up again. He smelled like soap and I didn’t know what to say. There was a crush of people from behind him. He was pushed toward me and he braced himself by placing his hands on my shoulders, touching the skin not covered by the cap sleeves on my dress. His hands were warm, and he said something I could barely make out over the music.

  “Are you alright?” he shouted and searched my eyes for a response.

  I nodded. Words failed me. I looked down and realized my hands were still shaking. The next thing I knew, there was a tap on my shoulder from behind. I turned to find that Aggie and Jack had seen what had transpired, made it through the throngs of people, and reached me as quickly as they could. When I turned around to face him, Bugsy was heading away from us toward the bar and, though I looked for him several times after that, at the dance and the fireworks that followed, I couldn’t find him.

  That night, I had a fitful rest after a difficult time falling asleep. I was having wild dreams. Flashes of images flew in front of my eyes, and I dreamed that I was trying to put a jigsaw puzzle together without knowing what it should look like.

  I woke up in a sweat. I got myself a drink of water from the pitcher in my fridge and, a half hour later, I wanted to die.

  CHAPTER 15

  Cool. Marble. Sick. I flushed away the reminder of Mrs. Ramirez’ tostadas from the day before, slumped back on my haunches, laid my arm across the toilet bowl, and rested my head in the crook of my elbow. Then, with nothing left to offer the porcelain gods, I eased my body sideways and sank into a lying position on the floor of the head of my boat.

  In case you didn’t know, the bathroom on a boat is called the head. The reason is old and not that interesting and merely has to do with geography. In olden times, you see, the toilet on a boat was at the very bow, in the same general direction as the carved figurehead. I’d have given anything to have been on that boat or anywhere but where I was at that very moment. My heart was racing. I was shaking, and I felt like it would never end.

  Was I hung over from the Fourth of July festivities? No. The last time I checked, you couldn’t get a hangover from ginger ale and one rum cooler. In fact, I had felt fine up until that big drink of water I downed when I’d first woken up from a dreadful sleep. A half hour later, I was queasy. An hour later and my plans to go anywhere else that day would have to include me carrying a barf bucket. As it was, though, I had no plans to leave the head.

  The cool marble tiles felt soothing against my bare legs as I laid on the floor in my long white t-shirt and pink plaid pyjama shorts. From the hook closest to me, I pulled a bath towel down so I could cover myself with it when chills intermittently moved across my body in waves.

  Through blurry eyes, I saw Pepper lying beside me, and I
reached out to touch his soft ears. George sat in the doorway, and I’m sure if I could have made out his countenance, it would have been one of disgust that his food bowl was empty. He’d have to wait. Nothing was working right — everything was out of focus. My head was foggy and even my hearing was messed up. I balled up a hand towel under my head and faded into sleep.

  I woke again to the sound of thudding on the deck of my boat. Someone was there, but I couldn’t get up to see who. Muffled voices accompanied the footsteps I heard, and I wondered if I was dreaming or possibly dead. Next came a mechanical sound and more footsteps. My head was too heavy to lift and, when I opened my eyes for a second, I saw Pepper sit up, but he did not leave my side. God, I love that dog.

  “Oh my God,” I heard a voice say. It was muffled and sounded like it’d come from inside a tunnel. Pepper’s claws clicked on the marble and he barked and made way for whoever had arrived. “What happened?” the voice asked lowly, and a hand brushed the hair away from my face. The hand was cool. My eyes were closed. The voice didn’t register right away. “Is Richards still over on his boat?” I believe I heard it say.

  “I think so,” replied voice number two.

  “Go get him,” voice number one said. It was a bossy baritone. I flitted my eyes open, strained to focus, and more or less saw Bugsy sitting on the floor with me. “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi,” I replied with a raspiness I hardly recognized.

  “Do you want me to put you in bed?” he asked, and his voice was getting clearer.

  I wet my lips which were dry and I hoped showed no signs of whatever I had expelled from them earlier. “No, it’s cool here.”

  “Alright,” he said and got up and, a few moments later, he draped a wet cloth on my forehead.

  I could hear several more footfalls landing on the deck of my boat and then hurried steps toward where I was.

  “What happened?” came a voice in a loud whisper. “We saw Pike running down the dock from here a minute ago.”

  I looked up to see Jack Junior, Shears, and Peter Muncie in the doorway of the head.

  “I don’t know, she was like this when we came in,” Bugsy told them softly.

  “You’ll be ok, kid,” Junior reassured me. When I looked over, Shears and Peter Muncie were gazing around the room curiously.

  More footsteps thudded on the deck, and I sighed at the prospect of additional visitors. I looked down at myself, relieved that I’d worn my good t-shirt and shaved my legs. I closed my eyes, hoping when I woke up from this dream that the party in my bathroom would be over.

  The next thing I felt was someone taking a hold of my wrist. I glanced over to see Stephen Richards kneeling beside me, dressed all in white like an angel. Pike leaned in the frame of the doorway. By then, there were seven people in my bathroom — Bugsy, me, Junior, Shears, Muncie, the doctor, and Pike. If you included Pepper and George, we could have had our own baseball team. As it was, it was the most action my bathroom had seen… ever.

  “Can you look at me? How do you feel?” Stephen Richards asked as I strained to focus.

  “I’ve got the chills and you’re … blurry,” I said weakly.

  “Well, that’s probably an improvement on how we all really look,” the doctor quipped. He took my hand, studied it, and leaned close to my face. “Hmm,” he hummed.

  “You’ve been sick?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Your heart’s beating pretty fast. Been like that for a while?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “What are you lookin’ at?” I heard Pike ask.

  “See the… bluish color here. Could be Tetrahydrozoline."

  “Tetra what?” Pike asked.

  “When did this happen, honey?” the doctor asked. His bedside manner was showing, and it was not half bad.

  “After… some water from the fridge,” I looked into his face to say, then blinked a long blink.

  Richards looked up at Pike in the doorway. “Go get the water out of the fridge. Get everything out of the fridge that’s not sealed.”

  “I’m on it,” Pike said, leaving my view. I did a mental check of the science projects in my refrigerator. Oh well.

  Stephen Richards sat beside me on the floor. He took the compress from my head and handed it to Bugsy who proceeded to re-wet the cloth.

  “What is it, this tetra thing?” Bugsy asked.

  “Visine poisoning. Could be that.”

  “Visine? Like the eye drops?” Bugsy’s voice went up.

  “Exactly. Hasn’t been in the news much lately, but a few years back it was a prank gone wrong. If you want to make someone very sick. Trouble is, it put some people in a coma and it wasn’t so funny anymore. My friend treated a few cases. One fatal.”

  I looked up with alarm at Bugsy just as he put the cold, wet cloth on my head.

  “Where’s her friend… Annie?”

  “Aggie,” Bugsy corrected the doctor. “I saw her leave last night with one of her… uh, with a friend.”

  I flitted my eyes as best I could given how drained I felt. Bugsy could be diplomatic after all.

  “I’d like you to go to the hospital.” The doctor sighed and leaned against the bathroom wall and pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

  “No.” It took everything I had, but I righted myself to a sitting position on the floor and put my hand to my forehead to keep the wet compress in place. “I’ll be okay,” I said, and the next sounds I heard were noises coming from the area of the mini fridge where Pike was remarking about the penicillin I was growing.

  Richards looked at Bugsy. “I had a feeling she’d say that. It should be out of her system in a few hours,” he continued. “Someone should stay with her though.”

  “I’d like a drink of water, please. There are some bottles in the galley.”

  Bugsy whipped out of sight and was back in a flash with a bottle of water. When he twisted the cap, the seal made a reassuring sound.

  “What’s going on?” came a new voice in the corridor.

  “Oh, they’re having a party in the head,” Pike grumbled. “What the hell is this?” he went on to say, and I imagined he must have found the jar of marmalade I couldn’t finish from a year ago.

  The next thing I knew, Officer Hagen was poking his head into my head. “What happened?”

  “Tetravisine poisoning,” Jack Junior offered up, mangling the diagnosis, such that it was.

  “What?” Hagen asked and looked at the sea of faces in my bathroom. I couldn’t explain it myself and looked up at him and sighed.

  “I’m sick,” was all I managed to get out.

  “Could be Visine poisoning,” Richards offered up as he got to his feet to meet Hagen.

  “How’d that happen?” Hagen asked as if we were all just hanging onto that piece of information.

  “Anyone’s guess. We’re just getting rid of anything not sealed.”

  “I’ll call the ambulance,” Hagen said.

  “She won’t go,” I was happy to hear Peter Muncie say on my behalf.

  Yay, Peter.

  Hagen looked at Richards, who looked at Bugsy, who looked at me. I could make out his expression. Things were coming more into focus. I felt like I had locked eyes with him for a long time and wondered if anyone else noticed.

  He looked hurt, angry, concerned, and confused. The tornado of feelings must have been too much for him because he suddenly left the room. Richards walked with Hagen into the corridor to explain what had transpired. Pepper left to go supervise Pike vetting the contents of my fridge, and George and I were left in the bathroom with Junior, Shears, and Peter Muncie.

  Junior wet the compress for my forehead again. “Here you go, kid. Looks like you’re getting a little warm.”

  I used all my energy to scowl at him. Shears and Muncie nudged each other, not inconspicuously, and I knew they were on to me. I had feelings for Bugsy. I'll have to work on my poker face.

  “You guys can go, I just want to relax for a bit,” I said to the ga
ng that had crouched down around me like I was some kind of science experiment.

  “She’s right, fellas. We, uh, we’ll look in on ya later, kid.” Jack squeezed my shoulder and, finally, I was as nature intended, alone in my bathroom with my cat. That is, until Bugsy returned. He hooked his arms under me, set me on the edge of the tub, and took a seat beside me.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “A little better. Better than I look, probably.”

  “You don’t look that bad. You looked better last night, though. It was a nice dress you were wearing.”

  I looked over at it on the hook a few feet away. “You can have it if you want.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  “Why’d you come looking for me?”

  “I didn’t see you on your morning walk, and that’s not like you.”

  “Hmph.”

  “What?” he asked, searching my eyes.

  “What do you know about what’s like me and what’s not?” I said and folded the wet compress in my hand.

  “I know a lot about you. I know you like apple fritters and take your coffee black and you like old movies and music you can understand the words to. I know your husband and your father are… have passed. I know that–”

  “You know what?” I sputtered. “Aggie,” I said lowly and shook my head.

  “Yeah, she told me.”

  I let out another deep one, sigh that is. “Well, it is what it is.”

  “She said that’s why you… react the way you do. You know, distantly sometimes. Unexpected.”

  I nodded. It was probably true.

  “I also know that when you care about people, you really care, and when you don’t, there’s nothing worse. I know you can’t sing very well and—" He looked over to see my expression, which was one of confusion mixed with hurt mixed with anger. “Well, I guess you want me to leave.”

  “Oh, I don’t give a damn anymore,” I said and ran my hand through my hair, damp from the cold compress.

  “But you’re mad at me, remember?” he said, giving me a sheepish smile.