He hovered and began to frame a shot. His camera was just an entry-level digital model with a built-in flash, no fancy strobes and such, but it would do the job, and he also had the dive light to help illuminate the subjects if needed. He wasn't interested enough in underwater photography to spend the time and money it would take to obtain magazine-quality photos, and he didn't need that kind of quality today anyway - he just had to show what these were and how many of them there were. He gently finned as close as he could get while still including all of the drums in the shot.
Continuing his search pattern, over the next thirty-five minutes he found three more similar groupings, ranging from six to eight drums each. One group looked fairly clean, and they were blue and orange like the ones he'd seen last night. He took pictures of all of them - and since they were digital, he could already see he had enough that were acceptable for his purposes. No more waiting, these days, with fingers crossed for film to be developed to see if he'd been successful; that was why he'd sprung for this camera.
He wondered if there were more drums down here. There might well be, but he decided he'd obtained enough evidence to meet his needs. His air supply was fine, but he'd soon need to start his ascent and it would take some time to reel in his line on his way back to the anchor.
When he reached the anchor, he saw it was still dug in where he'd left it, but it shouldn't be too difficult to dislodge and haul up later. He began a leisurely ascent toward the surface and stopped at a depth of fifteen feet. This was always the part of the dive he had the least patience with. He'd dived safely today, decompression-wise anyway, well within the limits; and he was sorely tempted to skip this safety stop. But he had plenty of air left, so he decided to wait it out. No sense taking any more chances, he thought - he'd already taken enough of them today.
So, he thought while he hung on the anchor line and fiddled with his buoyancy, which was always tricky business for him at shallow depths - twenty-eight drums. And counting perhaps, if he'd continued searching. They'd been doing this for some time then, and fortunately for everyone else it appeared they'd been consistent. They were almost all the 55-gallon kind from the looks of them, but he'd noticed several drums that were bigger; they were probably 85-gallon salvage drums, which were used for transporting leaking, damaged, or otherwise non-compliant smaller drums.
He hoped none of these particular drums were leaking yet, for his own sake as well as that of the environment. He hadn't observed any severe corrosion on what he could see of the ones he'd found. The conventional drums looked like they'd all had welded tops with bungholes, and the bigger ones were open-tops sealed with ring clamps.
The five minutes passed more quickly than he'd expected. See, that wasn't so bad, he told himself. He ascended to the ladder, removed his fins, climbed aboard, and geared down. He didn't take anywhere near as much care repacking his bag as he had with the packing earlier; his main concern now was just to make sure nothing would get damaged. He didn't have that big a buffer between now and Kari's new closing time, and the dog had been alone long enough and he wanted to get going. There were still no other boats in the immediate vicinity, which he was grateful for. He took in the ladder, hoisted the anchor, and got underway.
Though anxious to get back, and now hungry as well, he made himself take the same care in the sound as he had going out. He hadn't had lunch nor brought one with him, and as usual post-dive he was ravenous. He ate all three of the granola bars he'd been carrying around with him all day, but still found himself wishing he'd taken time to pack something more substantial. Well, he guessed he'd get his money's worth at the restaurant later, that's all.
He thought back to the phone call he'd made this morning to HatterasMann Realty. So Tibbleson Construction must have been the second wife's company, and it was being run by Ingram now. He found that fact extremely interesting, as it meshed perfectly with the embryonic plan that had started forming in the back of his mind last night, and which had now moved to the forefront.
Had she been declared dead, or was she still officially missing? He didn't know, but he suspected the former since Ingram was now at the helm. Though it might not matter if it was a family-owned business, as was likely. There must not have been a pre-nup, he thought, or if there had it had been engineered in Ingram's favor. Ditto for the first wife and the realty, he imagined, since Ingram had gotten his talons into that one, too. He wondered if Ingram knew much about construction; or much about anything else, for that matter. But the question was probably irrelevant - you didn't have to be an expert to be an owner, as you'd have your 'people' to take care of the details. And you'd have your money, of course, which may not always buy happiness but can make otherwise impossible things possible.
But regardless of whatever you did or didn't do yourself, as the owner you could be held responsible for everything that happened under your purview. Legally speaking, he knew an absence of hands-on involvement was not always a protection against prosecution. He looked forward to checking online later to see if that applied in the case of illegal ocean dumping.
When Ketch pulled up to his dock, he finally realized how tired he was. Diving burned a lot of calories, usually more from heat loss than exertion, and he might also be a little dehydrated from saltwater immersion. He needed more food and more water and a little rest. But he couldn't slack off yet - though he still had some time to spare before he needed to be at the Sea Dog, he had to take care of the dog, tend to his gear, and get himself cleaned up. Oh, and call Kari.
And call the Captain, which he'd better do immediately so he wouldn't forget. It was bad enough he'd put the man off this morning - to then send him on a wild goose chase with his boat would be unconscionable. Ketch had no doubt his good friend would be steaming up the sound five minutes past the deadline otherwise. He dashed off another short and otherwise uninformative message as soon as he'd tied up.
He lugged his gear back to the house and dropped it in the driveway, then picked up the mail and trudged up the front steps. He needed a shower, though it should be a lukewarm one at best. His tissues had today absorbed more nitrogen, an inert and ordinarily harmless gas, than normal from the air in his scuba tank due to the increased pressure at depth. The pressure started at one atmosphere at the surface, and then increased by another ATM for every thirty-three feet of depth. He thus had to breathe the air from his tank at a higher pressure in order to fill his lungs. The regulator's function was to deliver air to him at the necessary pressure.
Since the body doesn't metabolize nitrogen the way it does the oxygen in the air, his body was working to get rid of that excess nitrogen, now that he was back at normal air pressure - a process that had begun as soon as he'd earlier started to ascend from depth. If the nitrogen remains dissolved in the blood on its way out through the lungs, no problem - but if there's too much nitrogen and the pressure decreases too rapidly, nitrogen bubbles can form in the blood and end up lodging somewhere undesirable, resulting in symptoms that can range from fatigue, skin rash, and numbness to severe joint pain, paralysis, and death. This is the bends.
Hot water can stimulate off-gassing of residual nitrogen from the body's tissues, and getting bent after a hot shower was not unheard of. Though unlikely given the kind of diving he'd done today, Ketch again figured why take chances, especially at his age. So no hot shower, not until tomorrow.
The dog was barking inside the house, knowing Ketch was back. He greeted Ketch with something akin to ecstasy as soon as the door opened, almost bowling him over in the process.
"Whoa boy, settle down!" Ketch admonished. "What's the matter, were you worried about me? I'm okay, it's okay now." He knelt on the deck so the dog could hug him, and he hugged the dog back. "You're my good boy. Come on, let's go do our chores," he said, and the dog followed him down the steps.
Ketch hosed the salt water from his gear while the dog took care of his own set of chores, which consisted of patrolling the perimeter of the yard, tracking recent interlopers, and re-
marking the territory. When he was finished with the hose, Ketch hauled the gear up to the deck and spread it all out to dry, out of the direct sun. He'd bring it inside before he left for the shop, though, dry or not; he was willing to trust those few of his neighbors who were permanent residents, but not the vacationers. He stowed the tank in the capped bed of his pickup so he wouldn't forget that later, and carried his dry bag into the house.
The dog followed him in and Ketch gave him a biscuit. He refilled the dog's water dish, then decided it was close enough to his dinnertime and filled the food dish as well. Wouldn't want to forget that either - it was bad enough he'd soon have to leave him alone again for a while. Ketch decided he was just too busy for the both of them lately. How had that happened? Well, he guessed he knew. He resolved to take the dog for a serious hike on the beach, the kind he liked, first thing tomorrow no matter what.
What next? He could call Kari, but that might take too much of his remaining time, so he decided to just send a message saying he'd gotten hers and would be there soon. Then it was off to the shower.
He ended up making it to the shop a few minutes before the amended closing time. Not too shabby, he thought - and he was both clean and clean-shaven, and restored and chipper after the shower, such as it had been. And hungry, and dressed for dinner in khakis and a tasteful Hawaiian shirt - if there is such a thing, some might say, but Ketch believed there was. When he carried the tank in he saw that he was again the only customer. He hoped it hadn't been that way all day, but he suspected it might have since she'd wanted to move up the closing time; though that had been this morning.
"Hey, you!" He barely had time to set the tank down before getting caught up in a quick but warm embrace. "Done with this, huh? I tried to call you after I got your message," she said as she carried the tank into the back. "I can't wait to get out of here. Let's make like a tree and lock up!" she laughed.
"Whatever you say. I was probably in the shower," he called. "Say, do you happen to have two filled ones back there? The Captain has a charter on Saturday."
"No," she said. "Believe it or not, I actually had a little run on rentals on Monday and I was off yesterday, and I only have a few filled now and they're accounted for. We can do a couple more before we go if you want."
"No, let's take off before someone else comes in," he replied, knowing it was the right thing to say. "I can get them anytime."
"Right, you know where I live," she laughed again. She seemed to be relaxed and in fine spirits; the money he'd given her this morning must indeed have helped with something important. She tossed him a set of keys. "Lock the front door, set the alarm, and hit the lights. I'll get my stuff and we'll go out the back. I'll chauffeur you tonight, you're probably tired from cleanin' your boat."
"Okay, but I'll need to get my truck later," he said. It sounded like she was still planning on staying with him; that was good. As for the boat, he wasn't ready yet to tell her that if there'd been any hull cleaning done, it had been accomplished by putting the pedal to the metal in the open ocean.
"I'm jealous of you," she said on the way to the restaurant. "Do you know how long it's been since I went divin' anywhere just for fun, without students?"
"Well, you could take my place on Saturday if you like, and I could cover the shop. The Captain wouldn't mind," he offered.
"Thanks, but I'd rather do it with you," she demurred. "I'd rather go divin' with you too," she added with an evil grin.
"Bada boom," he said. "You should try stand-up sometime. They'd probably let you do it at the Barefoot Station."
"Yeah right, I don't think so. We're here!" Since the Froggy Dog was again on the north end of town, it wasn't far from the dive shop. They probably could have walked - but hey, this is America, he thought, and this is how we Americans roll.
They parked and went in. "Can we get a drink first, before we get a table?" she asked. "I love this bar, it's gorgeous!"
"Lead the way," he answered. Though he was starving, a beer would help. Alcohol in excess was another decompression sickness trigger to avoid immediately after diving, but one beer now and a glass of wine at dinner and water otherwise shouldn't hurt.
As it turned out, they never left the pub area. They claimed two semi-facing seats at an end corner of the bar, ordered drinks and appetizers, and then migrated to a small table nearby when the entrees arrived. She drank most of the bottle of wine Ketch had ordered, while he himself adhered to his two-drink limit.
"Do you mind if we stop at the gift shop on the way out?" she asked toward the end of the meal.
"Not at all, whatever you want to do," he said with a satisfied smile. Sated at last and slightly buzzed, he might agree to just about anything right now, he thought.
"Hey, you know what? This was our first date!" she returned with another smile. "But it's not quite over yet." She leaned forward across the table on her elbows and feigned solemnity. "Your place or yours?" she whispered with a straight face.
Ketch laughed. This had indeed been like a date. They'd had a fine dinner, enjoyed each other's company, and talked about practically everything under the sun - except anything important, of course.
He found a tee shirt he liked at the gift shop, and bought her one as well. As they drove back to the Sea Dog to get his truck, he decided that when it was time to come clean with both Kari and the Captain, he'd do it when they were all together. Weren't they after all his two best friends in the world? And it would be easier to tell both of them at the same time. Unlike the Captain, Ketch didn't enjoy repeating his stories.
Tomorrow night; that's when he'd do it. Meanwhile, he still had a couple of things to get out of the way between now and then - the final item from last night's list, and now an additional one if he could swing it.
~ ~ ~
12. He was awake awhile before he recalled that his heart was broken.
Ketch woke before dawn, completely refreshed and keen to dig in on his plans for the day. This wasn't an unusual occurrence when he had something to look forward to - he'd been this way all his life, though it had almost never happened on a workday like today until after he'd retired. And surprisingly, though he'd never really enjoyed sleeping all night with anyone as a rule, not even when he'd been married, he'd been sleeping quite well these last few nights. He wondered if that would last.
Kari had also stirred when he'd awakened, so it had been a little while longer before he'd been able to start bustling about the house, which he was now doing while she slept in - if one could call sleeping until at least daybreak 'sleeping in'. The sacrifices he had to make, he thought, though not with any degree of dissatisfaction. He knew he'd be a fool to not fully enjoy this ride while it lasted.
The dog had been taken out and fed, and there was a bagel in the toaster. He'd quickly shaved and was now multitasking during the toasting cycle, restocking his backpack and filling his canteen. Before he did anything else today, he intended to keep his promise to the dog - and a promise he'd made to himself as well when they'd first moved here, that being to spend more time watching the sun rise and set over the sea. There were fewer excuses now not to, or should be, since he was no longer a serf to the corporate warlords; and since he lived by the ocean, failing to occasionally avail himself of the restoration and rejuvenation he derived from especially a good sunrise on the beach seemed a crime.
When they were ready to leave, Ketch went into the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, and lightly stroked her hair one time. A sleepy smile grew on her face and her eyes half-opened. "Are you sure you don't want to go with us?" he asked.
"No thanks," she mumbled. Drifting back to sleep, she breathed something else that Ketch didn't quite catch, '(something) you'.
He quietly led the dog out the front door, down the steps, and into the truck. He stowed his backpack and walking stick behind the seat, then tossed his tarp hat back there as well, since it was hard to drive while wearing it.
They made their way out to Route 12 and headed south toward
Canadian Hole, Ketch sharing his bagel with the dog along the way. It took only a few minutes to get to the day-use parking area on the sound, where they left the truck. He kept the dog leashed until they'd crossed the road and reached the top of the primary dune line. He paused there to release the dog onto the beach, then stretched contentedly and surveyed his surroundings as the dog began his own explorations. There were already a couple of people out fishing the surf, but the dog knew to stay away from them.
There were no beach houses here, nor much of anything else that was artificial in origin. Many would consider Ketch's view from atop the dunes a barren one, but the island was far from barren to an educated observer. What you can perceive and appreciate often depends on how much you know, he might say to the uninitiated.
The sun was beginning to rise now. Diurnal and tidal activities were cycling, and patterns seen and unseen were subtly shifting. The parts of the island in his field of vision were taking on a mottled glow, sharp patches of light alternating with deep shadows in the hint of maritime forest he knew lay a couple of miles or so to the south toward Buxton on Cape Hatteras.
The birds were becoming more active, and nocturnal animals would be leaving the dunes and marshes to seek shelter for the day among the stunted shrubs and trees in the thickets and forest, except for some raccoons that would stay out a while longer to gather shellfish at low tide in the marsh. Also in the marsh, periwinkles that had climbed stalks of spartina to avoid drowning at high tide would be inching their way down again. The vegetation gently bending in the light wind was adapting to the new day, greedily absorbing the sun's rays as it reverted from nighttime respiration back to photosynthesis.
The sea was not yet completely illuminated, and the light from the nascent sun made the foam on the breakers appear to stand out from the surface as if the scene had been sculpted in bas-relief. Strange creatures from depths where no sunlight penetrated that had ventured closer to the surface to feed during the night would be descending again. The screeching of the gulls and terns, mostly territorial and antagonistic in origin but musical to Ketch's ear, was building as they came out to forage along the shoreline in the ebbing tide. He watched the dog playfully chase a straggling ghost crab back into its daytime refuge at the base of the dune.
Port Starbird (Storm Ketchum Adventures) Page 14