The Boat

by Jim Markson

  Mike looked at her and wanted to say something comforting, something consoling, something wise. But he had nothing to offer, and she wasn’t looking for anything. She looked back at him, watching and observing, but not judging.

  “One day, you feel like it, you can tell me about your ghosts,” she said. He nodded silently. She insisted on paying for dinner, and they drove back home to separate bedrooms.

  He woke first Sunday morning, made coffee, and was sitting on the porch when she came out. Cutoffs again … at least he now knew she also had a dress.

  “Ready for work, Boss,” he volunteered.

  “You got any religion?” she asked, a question so brutally direct it was hard not to sound offensive but somehow, when she asked, it wasn’t.

  “Catholic, why?” he asked.

  “It’s Sunday, dopey. I think I know where the Catholic mission church is … if you’re interested?”

  The Mass was in Spanish, and afterward, Mike said, “I think you got more out of that than me,” referring to Erin’s proficiency in Spanish, “but it was a lot nicer than the last time I heard you speak Spanish.”

  “You can never be sure who got what in deals like that. I once read about a seed uncovered during an archeological excavation that bloomed after being buried for 2,000 years.”

  “You’re just a barrel of information,” Mike said as they climbed in the jeep.

  “Well then, if you don’t mind, one more detour before we go home?” she asked.

  They headed north twenty miles and then down a short coral-rock road, to what looked like an abandoned two-story building. There were fifteen to twenty people hanging around outside, mostly of brown complexion and mostly in the shade. Erin walked through the front door and hugged an old man who seemed to be in charge. “Rusty, this is Mike, a friend from Tampa,” she said as the two shook hands. “What can we do today?” she asked.

  In fifteen minutes they were back on the road with four bags of groceries and MapQuest instructions to four different locations. “It’s a small world,” Erin explained. “Rusty used to run with my dad, had a wild streak in him as long as any man I’ve ever known. If it was bad for you, Rusty wanted to try it. Never did anything in moderation. Went to rehab a half-dozen times, went to jail at least twice—think he did about four years. Then, all of sudden, he straightened up, got a regular job, and looked for opportunities to make amends. Second day I’m down here, I run into him at a supermarket, and he explains he’s getting old produce for distribution to the poor, mostly immigrants. He can’t speak a lick of Spanish and asks me if I could help. So he calls me if something urgent comes up; otherwise, I generally show up on Sunday morning and help however I can. Makes me feel good, and Rusty ain’t the only one needs to build up some good karma points,” she said, smiling.

  By 3:00 pm they were done with deliveries. They picked up two pounds of boiled shrimp from the back of a restaurant and ate them on Erin’s porch. Mike had suggested they get some work done, but Erin said there was always going to be more work to do; it was the time that was limited, and you had to make sure you spent some of that time resting and relaxing.

  “You think you’ll be coming back?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I’ve really enjoyed it. Whole different view of the world down here. Assuming, that is, you have any interest in bunking a local cop with no tools and virtually no skills?”

  “I like your company so far, Mike Kelly. And you’ve got skills, just not the same type as me,” she said.

  “One favor?” he asked, and she nodded her head, her mouth full of shrimp. “Seeing as this is a marina and all, I was wondering if I could bring my boat down here. I put her in my shed after the challenge, and it just didn’t seem right.”

  “I would love to have that little boat down here. Something about her I fell in love with the moment I saw her… you know, beyond the fact that she saved my life,” Erin said, laughing at herself. “Yeah, something about it…” she continued, “idea of her being down here just seems right.”

  Mike grabbed his bag, and they walked to his jeep. A dog was sitting in his passenger seat and although Mike had not seen him before, he assumed the dog belonged to Erin. “Not mine,” Erin said, laughing, “but I damn sure like his attitude.” The dog was maybe thirty pounds, black and white, nothing special to look at. Mike leaned over the driver’s seat, trying to shoo him out of the vehicle, but the dog just slowly turned his head, pulled back an upper lip, and uttered a low growl. “Whoa, big boy, we’re all friends here. But this vehicle is heading up to Tampa, and I’m sure you got friends here you’d miss.” The dog turned his eyes back forward, totally disregarding Mike.

  Erin came around the passenger’s side and looked at the dog. “Come here, boy” she said, and the dog immediately jumped out and sat at her feet, looking up. She laughed and tossed him a peeled piece of shrimp she was about to eat.

  “You’re lying. I knew that was your dog,” Mike said.

  She laughed. “I rarely lie, and there is no way I would deny this dog if I owned him,” she said, looking down at the dog. She bent over and petted him behind the ears. “Ah, hell, no tags.”

  Mike climbed in the jeep shaking his head. “Like I said, whole ’nother world down here.” He headed out to U.S. 1, looking in his rearview mirror as Erin waved and then bent over to pet the dog.

  XVIII

  “Hey, you own a cellphone?” Mike asked as he climbed out of the jeep at Erin’s place the following weekend.

  “Some detective you are, can’t even figure out a girl’s phone number,” Erin responded.

  “Let me guess, a Walmart special? Just like all the dopers use?”

  “Wrong. I prefer Target, better class of clientele,” she said smiling. “And if the dopers are still doing it, it must work” she continued, Mike shaking his head.

  “Well, I was just trying to be polite, make sure I was still welcome. I don’t do good in awkward social situations.”

  “Trust me,” she said “you’d know if you weren’t welcome.”

  The mutt Mike had tried to shoo out of his car the prior week was now wagging his tail as he sniffed Mike’s feet and legs. “Let me guess, he lives here now?”

  “Vagrants and vagabonds,” she said, “all trying to find our way. C’mon, Jeep,” she called to the dog and, as soon as he finished urinating on Mike’s front tire, he came bounding up and walked by her side.

  “Nice name” Mike said.

  “I thought so too; picked it out himself,” Erin responded, walking onto the porch.

  Mike threw his bag in the bedroom. “What’s the order of the day, Captain?” he asked, coming back out.

  “Well, you seemed competent with a hammer and crowbar last week, so you get to pull up the bad wood on the Tiki deck. Rusty should be here soon; he’s good with wood and, while I know it ain’t worth the money and effort, there is some really pretty woodwork in the store I just can’t stand to get rid of, so we’re gonna try to clean it up. But first, let’s take care of that boat hanging out the back of your jeep.”

  Mike had pushed the boat into the back of the jeep till it was right at the headrest. He had tied it up as best he could, but he had never been much good with knots. They carried the boat over to the front of the repair shed and laid her upside down on a small boat stand made of wood, the top of which was covered in outdoor carpet. “I made the stand just for her. I’m glad you brought her down,” Erin said.

  Mike ogled the recently installed boat lift and two fans as if he had some appreciation for their installation or capabilities. “Mango came through just like he said he would. Even fixed one of the roof panels that was loose and could have caused some real damage if it had fallen,” Erin commented. Mike noticed a few boats already docked where they had been working the prior week.

  A beat-up Toyota Corolla that had to be twenty years old pulled up in the driveway, and Jeep the dog went running out barking, his tail wagging and his ass wiggling in delight. Rusty stepped out, and Jeep jump
ed up on him, licking his hand and then nuzzling his head in between Rusty legs. Rusty laughed and petted the dog. “Helluva guard dog you got here, missy.”

  Mike estimated Rusty to be sixty-five years old, but it could be a lot less. The lines of his face, extending beyond a short and thin white beard, spoke of a life lived faster than the pace by which most clocks tick. He wore jeans that were worn thin and boots that had been repaired with silver duct tape. A plain white T-shirt over his torso, and a bent-up old straw cowboy hat made floppy and comfortable by years of sweat. His arms were thin but had a strength that could endure when stronger men wilted. He was wrapped in brown, tarnished, wrinkled old-man skin, the type that cut easily and would bleed without him ever realizing it.

  “Good to see you again partner,” he said as he shook Mike’s hand and then gave Erin a hug.

  Mike took his tools and started pulling up boards on the Tiki deck, making sure to carefully dispose of the nails as Erin had instructed. Jeep came out periodically to check on him, seeming to question whether Mike really knew what he was doing. He was just finishing around mid-afternoon as a thunderstorm came in from the east.

  When he entered the general store, Rusty was busy working a noisy sander over the floors, while Erin was preoccupied working some wire wool on the more intricate built-in shelving. Mike recognized the wall wood as pine, a type of material he had always appreciated for its sturdy demeanor, but was typically only chosen where budget was the overriding factor. Erin set him to work with a can of paint stripper, a brush, and a wire wool pad, and pointed to the far end of the cabinetry without saying much on account of the noise screaming from the floor sander.

  At some point, Mike noticed Erin had left, but Rusty was in his own world, watching what he was sanding like it would run away if he took his eyes off it for a second. Mike saw Erin through the back window with Mango, moving some big boxes, but kept to his assigned task.

  Around 5:00 pm Erin pulled Rusty off the sander and announced it was quitting time. Mike thought to himself that, without the interruption, the old man would have continued through the night, never realizing the passage of time until the job was done.

  “I had a thought about making some Sangria earlier this week,” she said. “What do you guys think about burgers to go along with it for dinner?”

  “Ah, hell no,” Rusty spat out. “You gonna make some Sangria, you gotta have something worthwhile. We can run out on that fancy little boat of yours, pull up some Yellowtail, and be back this side of an hour.” Erin smiled, and Rusty turned to Mike. “Come on boy, let’s get outta here before she changes her mind.”

  Rusty picked up a net from behind the store, and the two hustled down to the docks. On the first toss of the net, he came up with what looked like mullet and threw them, net and all, in the back of a Seventeen-foot Boston Whaler Dauntless. Rusty jumped aboard the boat like he was seventeen years old, fussed at Mike for being slow, then fumbled around the console, commenting he had never driven the boat. He had the boat fired up and headed out the canal in minutes, turning the controls over to Mike but warning, “Don’t crash it; she’ll be mad as hell.” He pointed out a general compass direction as he rigged up two poles and started cutting the bait, regularly looking up to check Mike’s heading.

  After fifteen minutes, he signaled for Mike to cut the engines. “Not allowed to drop anchor around here, and that means all you Yankees haven’t fished this spot out yet,” Rusty said, smiling. “We’ll have dinner on board in no time.” He threw some of the mullet in the water and then handed Mike a baited rod.

  “One question,” Rusty said as soon as the lines were out, and with an earnestness Mike had not previously seen, “you know where she get the money?”

  “Wh-what?” Mike stammered, having no idea what Rusty was talking about.

  “That marina … this boat … we’re talking a lot of dough. I knew her daddy, she don’t come from money. You don’t look like you’re no money either. She took something she shouldn’t have, might not be too late to give it back.” He was looking at Mike, and he could wait all day for the answer.

  “No, Rusty, I don’t know where she got the money—haven’t really known her all that long.”

  “Well … maybe you don’t know her long, but I can see you know her good. She’s a good girl, but we all make mistakes. Ain’t nothing truly good can come outta doing something bad. Trust me, learned the hard way. You find out, and I can help; jus’ let me know.”

  Mike nodded his head, saying nothing. Within twenty minutes they had eight Yellowtail on board and were headed back home. At the dock, Rusty told Mike to bring the fish in to Erin and claim credit for catching all of them. “She likes a man can fish,” Rusty said, back to smiling again. As Mike complied, Rusty pulled down a hose and washed the boat.

  By the time Rusty got up to the porch, the fish were cleaned, and Erin was grilling them plain, with just a little olive oil and pepper, exactly the way Rusty preferred such fresh fish.

  “You believe he tried to tell me he caught all these fish?” Erin said. “Hell, Fish and Wildlife coulda arrested him for what he did under the name of cleaning that first fish.” Everyone laughing.

  Mike tried to pour Rusty a glass of Sangria, and he signaled no with a hand over his glass. “Little girl over there will tell you, I’ve had more than my share of liquor and whatnot, but that was then, and nowadays I prefer a clear glass of water. Thank you though” he said, getting up and filling his glass from the kitchen faucet.

  “Oh man, little girl, that was the best fish I ever had,” Rusty said, leaning back and rubbing his stomach.

  “Payment for services rendered … I learned a lot about wood today,” Erin said as she scraped the scraps into a dog bowl and added some kibble. They all watched contentedly as Jeep scarfed down his dinner, Mike and Erin having another glass of sangria.

  Rusty said he had to get home before he fell asleep from the good meal, gave Erin a hug and shook Mike’s hand. “You and that dog take good care of the girl,” he said as he was leaving.

  Mike cleaned up the dishes alone while Erin finished up something outside. After his shower, he found her in the kitchen, the dog sleeping at her feet, eating a slice of chocolate cake. She offered him some, and he passed. “Think I’m gonna hit the rack. I had a really good time today; thank you. And in case you didn’t already know, Rusty is a helluva guy; you’re lucky to have friends like that.”

  “Hmphh,” Erin muttered, “that old man … yeah, I guess he is all right,” watching Mike walk down the hall to his bedroom.

  He was sound asleep when he heard the door open quietly. He could tell from the dim backlight it was Erin, the dog right behind her. She closed the door, and the room went dark again, the wall AC humming. She said nothing, but he felt the sheet pulled back, then she was lying next to him, soft, warm, silent. Her hand found his erection and held it firmly as she mounted him, still not saying a word. He took in the curves of her body with the touch of a blind man, smelled the sun, tasted the salt off her skin. They switched positions twice, never saying anything, working as one. He proved himself better in bed than he was with tools.

  When he woke, the sun was out, and Erin and Jeep were no longer in the room. He thought, for a moment, that it might have been a good dream, but her smell was on the pillow. He smiled and felt contentment; he was happy, perhaps as happy as he had ever been in his life.

  Erin was out on the porch with Jeep, a cup of coffee, and the Sunday paper. He made himself a cup and sat beside her, feeling a little awkward but enjoying a sensation that was very new to him. She looked him up and down, but said nothing. Finally, he turned to her and said, “I want to tell you something.”

  “Oh, boy,” Erin responded, rolling her eyes.

  “My brother built that boat I was in,” he said, his voice a little shaky. “He got blown up in Afghanistan last year.” His voice shakier, saying words that had been bouncing around in his head for what seemed like years, but had never been spoken al
oud. “He was the only family I had.”

  Looking down now, he continued, “I wasn’t really right before he died … and I’ve been a whole lot less since,” his eyes welling up, hearing the words like someone else was saying them. “Well, I just wanted you to know that I’m more than a little banged up, and that’s part of the reason… just wanted you to know…” still looking down, pushing the water away from his eyes.

  Erin put her hand on his. “I know,” she said softly. “You were talking to him that night on the boat.” She waited a moment, scuffed his head, and said, “Come on, I know where they have a Mass in a language even you can understand.”

  The regular Catholic Church was twenty minutes farther away than the mission, and a whole lot whiter. It was early, and the crowd was small. Erin watched Mike for cues on when to sit, kneel, or stand, finding the proceedings a bit overcomplicated.

  Afterward, Rusty had a half-dozen bags of groceries ready for delivery but said he was also looking for some extra help. “Little kid got burned pretty bad last year. He’s doing all right, but has to go up to the burn center at Jackson Memorial every few months for some kind of treatment. Him and his mother had a ride all set up, but the ride got arrested last night, threw a wrench in the plans,” Rusty said, letting the comment hang in the air.

  “I can take ’em myself,” he continued, “but it won’t be till late; work here won’t be finished till this evenin’.”

  “I can do it,” Mike said. “After we deliver the groceries. I’m headed up to Tampa and Miami ain’t that far out of the way.”

  “That’s what I was hoping you’d say, boy. Jus’ couldn’t bring myself to ask for some reason,” Rusty said, patting Mike on the back. “Here’s the address; think you can pick ’em up sometime before 5:00?”

  “No problem,” Mike answered, conflicted by the new sensation he got from helping people and his desire to spend as much time as he could with Erin.

  The deliveries rolled by, Erin talking about her plans for the marina and showing a business acumen that Mike had overlooked. “We already got monthly rental on four of the slips and commitments for another six starting next week. We coulda had more, my rates are the best in the area, but I want people who are gonna pay regularly, don’t want be in the collections game. That’ll be half full, and I need another five to be viable. But once them boats are there, their owners gonna be coming through the store, and that’s where I’ll make my profit. Bump up the margins just enough on everything in there, the price of convenience. And we get that Tiki Bar going on the weekend and it’ll be nothing but profit.”