Rising Spirit

by Wayne Stinnett

  There were more people at the Anchor than I’d ever seen before. The crowd did seem to be primarily Keys people, mostly local, but I met others from all up and down the hundred-mile archipelago. There were also a few tourists, but they didn’t seem the cruise ship or fly-in type. Most could have passed for locals; the women were tanned and the men scruffy-faced. It was lobster season and a lot of Floridians traveled to the Keys every weekend to dive for the crustaceans. And Thanksgiving weekend meant four days of diving instead of two.

  The friend Eric brought with him, he’d introduced as his fiancée, Kim. She struck me as a very upbeat, happy woman, with a touch of an accent. Upper-Midwest or even Canada, I figured.

  He’d also brought along a young woman by the name of Isabella Stefania and her dad. She looked like she could still be in high school, and since she was with her father, she might have been.

  As the musicians went around the circle, each spoke about song writing, and played and talked about songs they’d all written. The others played and sang along, all knowing one another’s work.

  When it came to her turn, Isabella described a song she’d written about a Sea Ray boat. As she talked, Julie brought out her guitar and took a seat next to the young woman. The two of them played and sang the song in harmony; a positive tune that the crowd really enjoyed.

  While Julie sat in, Sara attended to her tables, keeping drinks filled and faces smiling.

  Deuce leaned in and whispered, “What are we going to do about this thing up north?”

  “We?” I asked.

  “We’re all family,” Deuce said. “What affects one affects all.”

  “I was thinking Island Hopper needs to stretch her wings.”

  “You’re going up there?”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “Just to poke around.”

  “Who’s going with you?”

  “Just me,” I said.

  As Julie and Isabella finished the song, the crowd cheered loudly, complete with a few whistles and catcalls. The two women’s voices blended well and even I knew some of Isabella’s songs. When Julie started to rise, the other musicians asked her to stay a bit longer. She looked toward Sara, who waved her back to her seat.

  “I’d feel better if you’d let me or one of the guys go with you,” Deuce said, as his wife joined Isabella in another of her songs.

  Marty leaned in. “I have a week’s vacation. Be more than happy to tag along.”

  My son-in-law used to be a Monroe County deputy, but like Kim, he now worked for the Law Enforcement division of Florida Fish and Wildlife. He was quick-witted, reliable, honest, and capable.

  “Thanks, Marty, but like Deuce said earlier, it’s probably nothing. Just some irate farmer. I’ll be gone three or four days, max.”

  “And I assume you’re leaving in the morning?” Chyrel asked.

  “Right after Sara flies out,” I said, as Sara approached the table, smiling.

  “This is fun,” she said. “Reminds me of my college days. I’ve already made ten dollars for Julie.”

  I grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close. “Don’t have too much fun, galley wench.”

  She cupped my face and turned it upward, smiling sweetly. Then she kissed me deeply. “I get off later tonight, sailor.”

  “Me too,” I whispered with a lewd grin.

  Julie asked if she could play a song that she’d written herself, and before the others on stage could say anything, the guides and other locals in the audience started chanting, “Way Back, Way Back.”

  “The stage is yours,” Don told her.

  She started playing a simple melody. Those who frequented the Anchor back in the day knew the song well. She’d written it about the back country many years ago, when she was a teenage flats guide.

  Within a few strums, Eric and Sheree had the rhythm and began playing along as Julie sang about the sun, water, sandbars, and islands. Many people in the audience sang along.

  Trey and Jim came running, Finn dancing along beside them. The boys crowded around Deuce, and Finn plopped down beside me, his tail wagging. The boys watched their mother sing and play and they really seemed mesmerized by all the attention she was getting.

  “Who is she?” I heard someone at the next table ask.

  Trey’s head jerked around at the question. Dink was standing behind the man who’d spoken and leaned in. “She was once one of the best flats guides in the whole Keys, man.”

  Trey looked up at his dad. “Mom was a guide?”

  “That was before I met her, son,” Deuce said, tousling Trey’s mop. “Uncle Jesse knew her then.”

  Both boys looked up at me expectantly, as I absently scratched Finn’s neck. “That’s right,” I told them. “When your mom was no bigger than you, Trey, she could out-fish any boy on this island.”

  They turned and listened to Julie singing the words to a song I know I’d heard a thousand times as she’d worked on it. She painted a picture with words and melody, describing a place that was no longer a part of her life. I could see in the two boys’ eyes that they were not just hearing but seeing and feeling what she described.

  The song ended to a chorus of applause. Julie blushed and rose from her seat. “Thanks, y’all,” she said with a big smile. “But I gotta get back to work.”

  Sara made her way toward the stage and brought Julie to our table. “Sit down a bit, while I check on your tables.”

  “Wow, Mom!” Trey shouted, as both boys hugged their mother tightly. “That was so cool!”

  In the Keys, the traditional Thanksgiving meal of turkey and dressing was always accompanied by fresh seafood and Rusty had pulled out all the stops. Rufus had put the turkeys in his new smoker at noon and had been preparing since sunrise. While the music played, platters of grilled mahi, grouper, snapper, hogfish, lobster, and stone crab claws were placed around the birds for the revelers to help themselves. All the seafood had been supplied by local fishermen. Most people took a little of everything after paying ten dollars for a meal ticket. Stubs allowed seconds.

  After midnight, as the crowd started to diminish, Sara and I made our way down to the Salty Dog, Finn trotting ahead of us.

  “What were you and Deuce talking so seriously about?” she asked, as she stepped up onto the Dog’s side deck and ducked under the Bimini.

  How does a guy tell his girlfriend he’s taking up his ex-wife’s cause? I decided that with Sara, the truth was the only way.

  “Kim and Eve’s mother is being threatened,” I said. “Her boyfriend was murdered up in Virginia. I’m gonna fly up there to poke around.”

  “Will you need help?” she asked, as I unlocked the hatch and opened it for her. “I can take some time off.”

  I followed her down the companionway and slid the hatch closed, pulling the double doors shut and latching them. I wasn’t sure what kind of reaction I’d get, but the one I got wasn’t one of them. Over the last couple of years, I’d learned a lot more about Sara. She didn’t talk much about herself or her past, but I knew her to be quite capable with many weapons or no weapon at all.

  “No need,” I said. “I’m only going to be gone a few days; just sort of a recon mission to see what’s going on and what isn’t.”

  Sara turned to starboard, heading down to the aft cabin. She stopped with one hand on the companionway rail and looked back at me. “And your ex is staying with your daughter in Miami?”

  That was more the response I’d figured on.

  “Yes, she is,” I replied. “Sandy is Eve and Kim’s mom. I can’t just ignore a threat that might put Eve and her family in jeopardy.”

  She smiled. “I’ll take ‘Good answer’ for $1,000, Alex.”

  With that, she took my hand and dragged me toward the master stateroom and the huge bed that occupied most of it. Well, dragged might not be the right word, but there did seem to be
a sense of urgency to get there.

  I woke to the smells of bacon and coffee. Either scent would be enticing, but combined, they were downright overpowering. I rose from the bunk and pulled my skivvies on, then padded barefoot up the steps to the galley.

  As I worked the kinks out of my neck and shoulders, Sara looked up from the stove and smiled. “We need to work on your stamina when I get back.”

  My mug was already sitting beside the coffeemaker. I filled it and took the first sip. “You’re an insatiable woman, Sara Patrick. What time’s your flight?”

  “The company plane is coming from Baton Rouge to pick me up in less than an hour.”

  I took another sip of Rusty’s greatest discovery to date; the Tarazzu blend from Hacienda la Minita.

  “Need a ride over to the airport?”

  “Julie said she’d give me a lift. She’s taking the boys in her car and Deuce is going to solo their boat. When are you leaving?”

  I slipped my arms around her narrow waist from behind and kissed her neck. “I was hoping we’d have a little more time this morning.”

  She turned inside my embrace and kissed me. She was wearing nothing but a T-shirt. “Can’t,” she said, breathing in my ear.

  “Why not?”

  I already knew the answer. The job.

  She pushed me away, though I could tell she didn’t want to, and turned her attention to the stove. “Ambrosia will be weighing anchor at noon and I have to meet a helicopter in Port of Spain. It will take me out to the ship as she comes out of the Orinoco River.” She slid an omelet from a skillet onto a plate already piled with bacon. “Sit down. You need protein.”

  Sara nibbled on a couple strips of bacon from my plate as I devoured the rest. For some reason, I was always hungry when she was around. We talked about everything except what was on both our minds; my trip to Virginia and hers to Belize.

  Armstrong Research conducted oceanographic studies all over the world, primarily focused on cleaning up the environment and on more efficient and safe ways to get oil from the ocean floor. Sara was first mate on Ambrosia and she was a skilled mariner, working hard to make the ocean a cleaner place. On certain occasions I was called on to clean up other problems. So, we were often apart.

  Together, we washed up the dishes in the galley and put everything away. As we stepped out into the sunshine, Sara’s phone rang. She answered it, as Finn trotted off toward the shoreline to see what might have floated up during the night.

  “I’m on my way,” Sara said, then ended the call.

  “That was Rick,” she explained, as we walked toward Deuce and Julie’s boat. “They’re twenty minutes out.”

  Julie stepped up out of the cabin of their ketch and waved. “You ready?”

  “Yeah,” Sara shouted back. Then she turned toward me. “Be careful up there. There’s no water for you to hide in or escape to, just woods and mountains.”

  I had to grin, thinking back to similar mountainous training areas covered with dense woodlands. “I’ll be fine,” I told her, slipping my arms around her waist. “I’ll call you when I get there and when I get back.”

  She looked past me toward my plane, Island Hopper. “Three or four days, right?”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “Piece of cake.”

  “We’ll be on station off Belize by then.”

  “I could come down when this is over. Great diving if you can get away for a day.”

  “We’ll play it by ear,” she said, kissing me softly. “Once we’re on station, I can probably get away for a few days.”

  As she turned and walked away, Julie waved to me and joined her. Finn came trotting up as Sara and Julie climbed into Julie’s yellow Cherokee. He nudged my hand and I scratched absently at the side of his face.

  After they drove off, I headed up to the Anchor with Finn. When I entered, Jimmy and Naomi sat on opposite sides of the bar, chatting.

  “You taking off, dude?” Jimmy asked, slipping Finn a small piece of ham.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “Thanks for taking care of Finn for me.”

  “He’s the one takes care of me, hermano,” Jimmy said, rubbing Finn’s neck. “Right, mi amigo?”

  “I should be back Monday. Tuesday, at the latest.”

  Rusty came out of the back office. “You sure you don’t need to take someone with you?”

  “Just a simple recon mission,” I said, rolling my eyes at my old friend. “Anyone else would just slow me down.”

  “Uh-huh. You know you’re not twenty-five anymore, right?”

  We said our goodbyes and then I headed out to the plane, grabbing my bags and locking up Salty Dog on the way.

  Thirty minutes later, having done a complete inspection of the plane, I started the big radial engine and taxied down the new boat ramp and into the water, raising the wheels once she was floating.

  I planned to follow the coastline all the way to Wilmington, North Carolina, not just for the view, but also because the Intracoastal Waterway afforded a lot more and safer emergency landing places than highways or airports. Not that I anticipated trouble, but knowing I had a place to bring the old girl down easy was comforting.

  From Wilmington, I planned to turn north for the last leg up to Virginia. I called Miami Flight Center and requested flight following, then repeated back the squawk code they gave me as I entered it.

  The engine in the deHavilland Beaver roared as I advanced the throttle, and the old amphibian gathered speed quickly. The floats made a smooth, whooshing sound on the calm water, which diminished as the Hopper rose higher on the surface, then disappeared completely as we became airborne.

  I turned out over Key Colony Beach and kept the long ribbon of U.S. Highway 1—Useless One as we called it—to my left. I adjusted the tinted visor to block the morning sun, just ahead and off to starboard.

  Island Hopper had a range of about 450 miles with a ten percent reserve. The airport northeast of Staunton was just over a thousand miles away, going the route I was taking. With an added fuel cell, I could make it with one stop, but I planned to refuel in St. Augustine and Wilmington just the same. That would put my arrival close to sunset.

  Settling in for the long trip, I leveled off at 3,500 feet as the many islands that make up the Florida Keys slipped past, one by one, in a slow curve toward the mainland. Nearing Biscayne Bay, Miami diverted me farther out over the water to avoid air traffic at one of the busiest airports in the country. Once clear of their airspace, I flew along the white, sandy beaches of the Gold Coast at 4,500 feet.

  Beyond the sparkling beaches, I could see I-95 and the Florida Turnpike, which ran parallel to one another. Both were crowded with holiday traffic; people heading home after the obligatory Thanksgiving dinner at grandma’s house.

  My mind drifted to my ex-wife, Sandy. We’d met just after I’d returned to Camp Lejeune from Okinawa. I’d just turned twenty, and she was nearly eighteen, fresh out of high school. She’d been a beautiful girl; tall, with long, wavy hair the color of honey, and a bright smile. She was a lot of fun to be with in those days.

  She’d promised to wait for me when my unit deployed to Lebanon just four months after we’d met. I remembered not holding out much hope for that. It was a four-month deployment and that was a long time for a pretty eighteen-year-old girl.

  But she did wait and we’d resumed our relationship with a new fervor when I returned. Sandy became pregnant and we’d married in a small ceremony on base. I reenlisted two weeks later and was subsequently promoted to sergeant.

  Less than a month after we married, my unit was rotated back to Lebanon for what was to be another four-month tour. It turned out to be a little longer. During that deployment, a suicide bomber in a truck full of explosives destroyed our barracks in Beirut and killed 220 of my brothers. I’d been one of the lucky ones, out on a mounted patrol near the airport. We’d had to fight o
ur way back to the barracks to set up a perimeter, allowing the clean-up to proceed. I could still remember the smell.

  When I’d returned home after the bombing, I’d sensed a strain in our relationship. I knew that I had changed after the attack. Many of those who perished were friends; it would have jaded anyone. I’d tried to hide it, to shield Sandy from the pain I felt, the loss of people she barely knew. In the last months of her pregnancy, Sandy hadn’t known if I was one of the 220 Marines killed or not. She’d only found out through the chaplain, who’d asked her help in notifying the other wives.

  When Eve was born, just six weeks after my return and three days after Christmas, it changed everything in my eyes. I became a father and was suddenly confronted with what that meant as a Marine. I learned to change diapers efficiently and sanitarily in either boots and utes or in my dress uniform. I stayed up when Eve was cranky and Sandy worn out. More than anything, fatherhood gave me a greater sense of my own mortality, and a sense of what would happen to others should anything happen to me.

  When Eve was just three months old, the Corps transferred me to the drill field, and we moved to Parris Island, South Carolina for Drill Instructor School. My days were very long then; out of the house a couple of hours before sunrise and not returning home until late in the evening. When I picked up my first platoon of recruits, I stayed in the squad bay on duty every fourth day. Sandy and I rarely saw one another during those two years. They were tough times.

  While on the drill field, I was promoted to staff sergeant, and at the end of my tour we’d been transferred back to Camp Lejeune. Sandy seemed to like that. She was happy to be back in familiar surroundings, with family and friends close by. I reenlisted again, figuring things were going well. And they did go well for a couple of years. My job became routine, there wasn’t a whole lot going on in the world, and I started to relax and enjoy life with my little family.