Deadman's Cay

by Boyd Craven

  I left the stuff in the truck and invited her in. The inside was uncomfortably small now there were two of us, and I was feeling self-conscious. It wasn’t much, but she wanted something home cooked, so I put spaghetti on the alcohol stove to boil and got another small pot out for sauce.

  “I don’t have meatballs, but I can go see if I can catch us a fish really quick,” I offered.

  “No, that’s okay. I’m mostly a vegetarian.”

  “Mostly?” I asked her.

  “I limit how much meat and fish I eat. I’m not against it, but I don’t think eating too much of it is healthy.”

  “Gotcha,” I told her. “Wish I had something other than lemonade to offer you to drink. I’m sorry, I’m not used to—”

  She stepped into my arms and kissed me hard. I hadn’t been blind to the signals, the little cues, and I was sure I was giving my own off. I was interested, but I was also gun-shy as hell. The kiss deepened for a moment, her breath hitched, and she pushed back, giving us space again.

  “Thank you,” she said, a smile playing at the edges of her lips.

  “Thank you,” I told her right back, feeling like a dumbass with a stupid grin.

  “Let’s get some food in us, and maybe watch the sun go down?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  If you would have told me that I was going to romance one of the most beautiful women I’d ever met with simple no-name spaghetti, on the stony beach of a boat junkyard, I would have called you a liar. As it was, I woke up with her limbs tangled in mine as she tried to get to her feet in the small area I used as the bedroom.

  “Sorry, I have to go home and change and then open the store,” she said, leaning down to kiss me.

  “But it’s Saturday?” I told her, trying to pull her back down to the bed.

  “I’m open on Saturdays.” She pulled back, but not too hard.

  I pulled her back on top of me and kissed her hard before she pushed off and away, dressing as she found articles of clothing. I watched, wondering what I would do today. At some point after dinner but before we went below deck for fun, I had unloaded the truck so she could make a quick getaway whenever she wanted. She hadn’t, but now responsibilities meant she had to.

  “Okay, I’m going to work on making a canopy for my boat,” I told her suddenly, “get out of the sun some. You want to do something later on?”

  “How about I see you at church tomorrow and we’ll see?” she asked.

  Oops. I knew that was too fast, but the words were out of my mouth before I could think, let alone stop them.

  “Sounds good. Thank you for—”

  “Don’t you get started again,” she chided, pointing a finger at me as she pulled her shirt over her head. “It was taking up a ton of room and not moving. Almost everyone down here has fishing gear, and you just freed up some money and space for me.”

  “Thank you for having dinner and watching the sunset with me.”

  “You’re welcome.” She kissed me again before turning. “I’ll call you.”

  She was gone that quick, and I rushed after her in just my shorts, because somebody had to unlock the gate. She had her phone in her hand when I ran up and punched in the gate code and swung it open.

  “Thanks again. See you in the morning!”

  “See you,” I told her and watched her truck drive out and disappear down the road.

  “Damn,” I muttered and locked up.

  Chapter Nine

  I showered and changed. I had bought a money order and sent out for my commercial license as soon as I had gotten my Florida driver’s license number. If I wanted to really do this, I needed to get started, right?

  My boat worked and worked well, but I needed to build a box for the electronics, a space for a couple of batteries, and a way to keep them charged. I could always carry them in or plug them into a line to charge overnight so I wasn’t worried, that is when I got the idea… One of the hulls we were going to scrap had a center console. I didn’t need the steering for it, though I wanted it, but it had cutouts where the electronics had been stripped from. I could use that. I would have to figure out how to mount that, but the biggest worry I had was how to not get burned by the sun.

  Some people on my dad’s side never burned, but my mom was a pale white lady and had burned easily. I’d inherited the ability to burn and peel from her, though I browned up enough that people down here sometimes started speaking to me in Spanish first before English. I’d never learned Spanish, so it was usually a humorous situation when it happened. Still, keeping the sun off of me… There were several pieces of conduit in the warehouse in the junk pile I would be allowed to pick from, and it was there I went hunting.

  Using the tools and my own strength, I bent angles into a few pieces, ruined a prototype, and by the end of lunchtime I had fashioned something that I thought would work. It would fold up at the end of the day and lay across the front of the boat or cover the entire back end once I got some kind of canvas or tarp for it. Happy with what I’d done, I decided to take a shower and then I would head out before it got too dark. I had loaded a couple fishing rods and the larger tackle box, but I wasn’t going to fish till after I left Deadman’s Cay.

  “Hey ‘dere Anthony,” Irish John called from the beach as I motored up.

  “Hey Irish,” I said, tossing him the front line after killing the engine, letting the boat float in on the high tide.

  “You come for more fish and crab?” he asked.

  “God, I’d love to get your recipe for it some time.”

  “It’s good. We have much to discuss, how many days you here for?” he asked, looking at the boat.

  “Oh, I was just doing a quick trip out. I told Franklin I’d pop over and see if Irish John had quit fishing and moved inland.”

  He spit in the sand and then made a come along gesture. I followed him to a spot in the shade and sat in the sand. He was wearing sandals, a first time I had seen that, and his clothing seemed to be newer as well.

  “’Dat woman with the kids?”

  “The one who wanted to camp?” I asked him.

  “Is the one. Irish John was pulling crabs from traps when woman and her daughter come back. They want trade, so I trade them woven sleeping mats and a jar of fish and they bring me ‘dese shorts and shoes with boxes of instant rice.”

  “Instant rice?” I asked him, wondering how that fit into the trade.

  “Like Irish John has all day to wait for rice to cook, no?” he laughed.

  I shook my head. “Sounds like Franklin’s going to go on a missionary thing in South America soon,” I told him, “I told him I’d make sure you were in good fighting shape.”

  “Why does everybody worry about Irish John?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I told him, “it’s the same thing they do to me. Hell, they roped me into going to church tomorrow, otherwise I might see if you didn’t mind if I stayed the night.”

  “You are always welcome, ‘dis is true though, but church? You? Must be a woman?”

  “There’s a lady involved,” I admitted.

  He roared with laughter, chasing some gulls off the surf and into the air. “And she’s good on the eyes?”

  “She’s the prettiest lady I’ve met in a long time.”

  “Is good, I’ll be right back.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, must pack for trip. Irish John must see ‘dis woman who big dummy asshole likes. She probably has face like goliath grouper!”

  “Hey now,” I said and gave him a playful push.

  “I go, get church clothes. You want to tow Irish to Franklin’s?”

  “I can do that.”

  “You didn’t tell me ‘dis was Franklin’s church too,” Irish hissed at me for the third time.

  We had snuck into the back just before the service started. We had taken the last pew and had a lot of space separating us from the next group of people, so I wasn’t worried we would bother anyone. Much. An older lady, dark
er skinned than me but not as dark as Irish, turned around to shush us but caught sight of John. He’d cleaned up at the warehouse and shaved his beard off with scissors, clippers and an old straight razor he’d packed for the occasion. He was wearing a newer polo shirt that had been donated by the ‘holy ladies’ of the church, and a clean pair of shorts and flip flops.

  I was dressed in a similar fashion. I realized that we were woefully underdressed, but that hadn’t been an issue. Yet. The woman got up and made her way down the aisle slowly during a hymn and a few turned their heads to see what had her moving. Irish swore softly then pushed me with his left hip. I scooted over several feet and he made space for her.

  “Miss Josephine,” Irish said in a reverent voice.

  “John Irish,” she said softly, putting a hand on his.

  The wiry Jamaican shivered but held still. “Yes ma’am?”

  “It’s good to see you in the Lord’s house again. I hope this is something I can count on next week as well?”

  Irish John shot me a pleading look and I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. I had heard from Franklin that Sister Josephine, or Miss Josephine, had taken a shine to Irish. One day while I was working on an old diesel on the engine stand, he’d told me about the last time he saw her he thought she had cornered Irish. He’d thought they were going to have to have a wedding. She was a widower and had been alone for almost two decades, but when she came out of her grieving period, she only had one soul she seemed interested in, if not romantically but to at least save, and that was Irish John.

  “Come, sit with me and my granddaughters,” she said pulling on his hand, rising.

  Instead of making a scene, he stood and let her lead him up the aisle. He made a couple obscene gestures at me behind his back, then made a face which made somebody two rows up giggle, making others turn. Irish was suddenly a gentleman again as people noticed him and I sat back, laughing silently, my chest hitching as I tried to pay attention to the service.

  “Boo,” Carly said sliding in.

  “Hey, where did you come from?” I whispered to her.

  “Two rows up. With all eyes on John Irish, I snuck back when I realized you did show up after all.”

  “Told you I would,” I told her.

  Her hand fit into mine, perfectly.

  The rest of the service went without a hitch or an interruption and I tried to be one of the first ones out the door, being I was the one closest to it. It’s not that I have something against churches, but growing up in a Roman Catholic household, I got more than a little burnt out and a lot of the messages in the service was the same, but I was used to something else. Besides, I was worried—

  “Your hat,” Irish John said, walking past Carly and I, then he made a motion as if to eat an imaginary one.

  I laughed and waited for Carly to indicate when it was time to move. She wasn’t about to let me sneak out and she said her hellos and goodbyes as people walked past the last pew. I mostly stood there, trying to look as uninteresting as possible so I could avoid conversations with people.

  “There you are.” An older couple approached, obviously in their late sixties, early seventies.

  “Mom, Dad, this is Anthony Delgado, the—”

  “Thank you,” a hand gripped mine tightly in a double handed shake. “I worry about her working alone at the end of the night.”

  “My mother, Therese and my father, Matthew,” Carly said, grinning at her dad’s reaction.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” I told them.

  “You’re coming by later on tonight, for the potluck, right?” Therese asked.

  “I uh…”

  “I haven’t asked him yet, mother,” Carly said.

  Her bruises were mostly hidden behind the makeup and the makeup was good and concealing, but it didn’t matter, her ears and the sides of her neck started turning a little red.

  “Well, you better, otherwise he might get invited by that lady who’s been asking about him…” Therese pointed over her shoulder.

  My heart stopped.

  “Mina?” I asked, my blood running cold.

  “Hello Tony,” she said, sounding all sexy and sultry.

  “I should get going,” I told Carly, “I have to get Irish back to Deadman’s Cay.”

  “What’s… I don’t…”

  “Call me later, I’ll explain everything. Matthew, Therese, it was a pleasure to meet you,” I said and shook their hands again while Mina smiled wickedly.

  “Wait, Tony…”

  I was trying to be gentle, but I was leaving the church, and I was leaving it right now. I excused myself as much as I could, and although Mina tried to catch up and called out to me one more time, I almost broke out of that church like my ass was on fire with the devil himself chasing me. I looked around and saw Irish walking arm in arm with Miss Josephine. I unlocked my bike and rode over to the parking lot.

  “Miss Josephine is taking Irish John to ‘da breakfast place,” he told me. “I do not think you need to wait for Irish John, but if I’m not back at the dock by midnight, call ‘da police on 'dis woman,” he said, pointing.

  The older woman laughed, her teeth surprisingly white, and with a start I realized they were dentures. That was when it hit me that John was only pretending to hate it. For a few moments earlier I had thought he was being serious when he was making his threats. With Irish John, the few times we’d hung out, it was difficult to tell.

  “Ok, take it easy buddy. I’ll be working on my boat,” I told him.

  “Tony!” Mina’s voice.

  “Gotta run,” I told him.

  “Is ‘dat the womanz you told me about?” he asked as I got ready to pedal off.

  “No, that’s Mina, she’s the devil,” I said and pushed down, using my weight to make the bike leap ahead.

  I wasn’t running from Mina so much as I was running from the past, from the part of me I didn’t want Carly to see. I had already paid my penance and spent a long time looking at the ceiling after lights out wondering what I had done, why I hadn’t been enough for Mina. Sure, I was another drifter on his ass, but I was working, and I had thought maybe eventually we would have something together more than we did. That had all shattered when I’d realized I was just a live-in toy for her, nothing more. I didn’t want to be that broken again; I couldn’t be. So, I did the only thing I could think of, I headed back to the warehouse.

  I had used one of the old trailers and the forklift to pull my boat out of the water and give it enough of a platform to work on inside the warehouse. My phone had been ringing off the hook, but the only call I took had been from Franklin. I had explained to him the second woman who had shown up was Mina, the woman I had gotten into the bar fight over. He had grunted and told me it was probably for the best I got out of there then.

  The truth was, I didn’t want to have to explain this to Carly. I wasn’t ready for that. I had the radio cranked up in the warehouse, my phone on the bench while Despacito was coming on the airwaves for the third time since I had been working on things. I was using the MiG welder when I heard a horn at the gate. I ignored it at first, finishing the weld I was working on, when whoever it was laid into it again. Frustrated, I got out and killed the power to the welder and turned down the radio.

  “All right,” I said, grabbing my phone as I walked out the front entrance to the warehouse to the gate.

  Carly’s Toyota was sitting on the other side of the gate and she pointed at me and then the side where the electronic panel for the gate was. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and then walked over, unlocking it, and pulling the gate open. She drove through and parked in Franklin’s spot while I closed the gate again.

  “I’ve been calling,” she said by way of greeting as I walked closer.

  “Sorry, I’ve been working on my boat. Couldn’t hear the phone over the radio and welder,” I half lied.

  “Which one?” she asked.

  “The one that doesn’t sink.”

  I could probably
get the Chris Craft seaworthy again, but the more time I spent in it, the more I realized that it would take a lot of work. More than the effort might be worth.

  “Let’s see it,” she said.

  I held the door open for her, and she walked in. It was easy to see what I was working on; I had the lights turned on around it. She walked past the parts and tools, careful not to brush against anything, as she was still wearing her church clothes. I had changed into a pair of jeans I had gotten from the Salvation Army, a plain t-shirt, and was wearing a hot and sweat-soaked leather apron across my front to protect me from sparks. I took that off and draped it over the bow of the boat.

  “Oh nice,” she said, noting I had put the canopy up.

  “Thanks. I built the frame for it yesterday and welded the mount today. Last night I used an old piece of canvas and a carpet needle to make it.”

  “I didn’t… I knew you said you were a mechanic.”

  “Yeah, I sew, and I can cook a pretty mean vegetarian pasta…”

  “What happened earlier?” Carly asked, turning.

  “Mina,” I said by way of explanation, feeling irritated by being cornered by this.

  I mean, I didn’t even know how I felt about it. I had just started getting to know Carly, and had gone to church, something I hadn’t done since my father’s funeral, just so I could see her. Then the shock of seeing the woman who'd essentially got me thrown in prison and got rid of the rest of my worldly possessions… the shame I felt… did I owe it to Carly to tell her all of this?

  “The woman my mom was teasing you about?”

  “Yeah,” I told her, “she’s the one I told you about.”

  “Told me about?” she asked, not connecting the dots.

  “The girlfriend who cheated, and I ended up breaking a chair over her new boyfriend’s arm?”

  Her eyes went wide.

  “So I decided working on my boat while the shop was quiet would probably be a better idea than dealing with her.”

  “What about dealing with me? You left me standing there.”