Home is a Long Time Ago

by William F Lee

  "What were you doing in the Master Suite? Who was at this dinner?"

  "Oh, Mom, c'mon. It's nothing weird. Mister Gallagher had Pete and Anna and me . . .me, over for dinner. Did you know that Mister Pete and Anna are getting married? Bet you didn't know that? Did ya? And Mister Gallagher is going to send them to Rome for their honeymoon." Colton is just about out of breath from talking rapidly without inhaling.

  "No, I didn't. That's nice. Now don't you think you should get ready for bed? It's late and you have to work again tomorrow." She pauses, then before he can say anything, goes on. "Oh, wait a minute. You only work in the afternoon. Okay . . . okay, you can stay up some and chat if you want."

  "Yeah, I work tomorrow afternoon for Mister Pete, but Mister Gallagher is going to take me out in the morning on his boat. Let me take the helm, get the feel of her. I'm going to be--"

  She interrupts, her voice taking on an irritable tone now. "Going out in the morning? Get the feel of the boat? What for? I don't think that's a good idea. You need your rest. You've been working hard, and staying out late with your friends this week. You better not."

  "Mom, I'm going to work for Mister Gallagher. Both he and Mister Pete, and they want me to get them another hand therefore when both boats are out, I'll be on Mister Gallagher's. He's going to be doing more than just fishing. As a result I need--"

  "What? What does that mean? Doing more than fishing. Listen young man, I've been thinking. I need some help around the office, help picking up clients, driving and such. I could use you, and it'll pay more than working on those boats, and be a lot cleaner and more dignified. How about helping me? Working for your Mom? Won't that be fun?"

  "Mom, I've been workin' for Mister Pete for years. I can't leave him now. Besides, that would be leaving him high and dry right when it's getting busy. And they're going to get more business. It's not fair to leave them now, and you always want me to be fair, to be responsible. Right? And, besides, I don't want to work inside. I like going out on the boat."

  "Well, I don't like this idea of working for both. For this Mister Gallagher in particular. The old man was a close friend of my Uncle George therefore I let you work for him as a favor. I don't know this Mister Gallagher. He just blows into town and right away, he . . . he . . . never mind. You can work for the old man, but that's it."

  "Mom, I can't do that. This is a great chance to make some extra money."

  "No."

  "Mom, have you ever met Mister Gallagher? He's a great guy. Nice. Pete and Anna love him. You should hear them talk about him."

  "What did they say about him? What did you hear?"

  "I don't know, Mom. They just say nice things, and Pete calls him his son, his boy. And at the table tonight when he said grace."

  "Who mentioned Grace? Who was he talking about?"

  "Mom. Mom, grace, like a prayer. You know, at the table. What the devil is wrong with you? I've never seen you act like . . . be so . . . upset or whatever. When he said grace, he thanked God for the food, and for bringing his boy home safe. That's all. Neat stuff. All three of 'em."

  "Well, I don't know."

  "Mom, what did they mean, bring him home safe? Was he in the war? Is he a hero or something? Everyone in town is talking about him. And there's something strange. I catch him staring at me sometimes."

  "I don't know him and don't care to. Enough about this. We'll see how it works out."

  Holli Callahan sits quietly, trying to calm her breathing. Working to regain her composure. Colton goes in the kitchen, comes out with a glass of iced tea. Sits on the sofa and puts his feet on the coffee table. Holli says, "Feet off the table with your shoes on. Besides, it's not polite to do that with or without your shoes, particularly those smelly sneakers. I'm afraid you'll do it in someone's home someday and embarrass the daylights out of me."

  "Like going out with a hole in my underwear?"

  "Yes, and that's not funny." She laughs softly. Then turns serious and says, "Your feet . . . off young man."

  "Okay, Mom." and moves his feet from the table top and simultaneously flicks off his sneakers with his toes. He fumbles with the magazines on the table, searching for one he hasn't seen. A few moments pass.

  Holli says, "I'm sorry for going off the deep end. You can continue working for them. But this is your last summer. Next year, if all goes well, you'll have Plebe summer at the Academy to prepare for."

  "We hope."

  "Yes, we hope, but I believe from what the Dean at Valley Forge says, and others I've talked to, it will happen. Besides we will have the recommendation letter from Senator Thomas. Then you can be in the Navy like your . . ." her breath catches and she goes flush. Fortunately, Colton has heard little and seen nothing. He's busy flipping through the pages of a Sports Illustrated that was lost in the pile.

  After several minutes, Colton gets up, says, "Mom, I'm goin' to bed. Okay?"

  "Yes, goodnight, dear."

  "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine. Forget what I said. I'll see you in the morning. Set your alarm."

  "Okay, goodnight." And he bounds up the stairs to his bedroom in stocking feet. His smelly sneakers lie beneath the table.

  Holli starts to call after him, stops, sighs. Then she, or Grace in Holli's body, puts her book next to the lamp on the chair side table. She can feel her heart still pounding, wildly. Like bass drums in a band keeping the beat. She murmurs, "I've got to get a hold of myself. My God, I'm losin' it. This is not me." She gets up and strolls to the back door, opens it and steps out onto the wooden walkway leading to their dock. Looks up at the sky, then down the bay toward the Marina where Pete's boat is. And now his as well. It's a beautiful night. Not a cloud. The stars provide an amazing amount of light. A plane, wing lights blinking on and off, flies north, probably for either Newark or New York. She takes in a deep breath, allowing the smell of salt air to help calm her. Then lets it out slowly. Feels her heart rate returning to normal. It'll be okay. Stay calm. Simply stay away. The summer will pass, then I'll handle this.

  After several soothing minutes she comes back inside, closes the door, and leans her back against it.

  The trouble is that seeing Colt is like seeing him. They're so alike. He's bound to see that too.

  "O Lord, I remember--"

  "Hey, Mom. My alarm is busted. Will you get me up?"

  "Yes. And early. Goodnight."

  "Night. I love ya, Mom."

  CHAPTER 17

  Time flits by for all. Pete and Anna, restless to get married, are anxious for the restaurant to get finished. At times doubting their decision to wait. The only solace for Pete is that he is busy, more so than a beaver building a dam. He's passed several of his customers to Sean's "flush" fishing business. The increased trade from the advertising campaign that Sean put into effect is good for him and has increased Pete's as well. That's the good news. The bad, Pete is tiring of the long days. Most of his trips now are "all day" outings and with larger parties. The latter means more work on board, baiting and untangling snarled lines. And when finished, more fish translate to more work. Pete pushes both Colt and the new boy, Robert, harder on the way in to finish up the cleaning and filleting of the fish. As a result when they dock, the work to do is less before they go home.

  The new boy is good. He's somewhat like Colt in that he works hard, is smart, a quick learner, and appreciative of the work and the money. Although his name is Robert, Pete calls him Roberto. Sean prefers staying within his military vernacular consequently and calls them Wanderer1 and Wanderer 2. It's like having two platoon commanders. Formerly it's Wanderer One Actual and Wanderer Two Actual, and he uses that when being stern with them. The boys like it and call Sean, by his design, Wanderer Six Actual. In military terminology the commander is the 'six', and 'actual' means it's him, in the flesh. This makes Sean happy as a rat with a gold tooth.

  On Monday, the fourteenth, Sean receives a postcard from Rachael. It's a standard "wish you were here" with a picture of the Eiffel Tower. She doe
s say that she misses him more each day and will be back in touch. Other than bills, advertisements, and his first copy of "Semper Fidelis" the Marine Corps quarterly publication for retired Marines, the post card was it. Thus it had more of an impact than Rachael might have imagined. Since he's been busy with his initial business in fishing and cruising, and frequently the restaurant, he hasn't had many thoughts of women and virtually no contact. Horny might not be an adequate definition for his condition.

  On the twenty-third of the month, after Father's Day which has no significance to him as he knows it, he receives a note, a short letter from Rachael with a snapshot of her somewhere in Paris sitting at a table at a street side cafe. She looks beautiful, tanned, fashionably relaxed and exhibiting a seductive smile. It is nice to have except Sean wonders who has taken the photo. It is a snapshot. The note states she is doing fine, enjoying herself, and working through her problems. Sean wonders what working through problems means and whether or not it's fun. He's working his way through problems and while it is fun in some regards, it isn't the same as problems he imagines he would have if she were in town. For him, he is enmeshed in sub-contractors, designers, his contractor, and salesmen. The restaurant is coming along rapidly, however not fast enough to suit him. He, Pete and Anna have met with an immeasurable number of sales people, first selecting them or their company, then selecting dishware, separate for each side of the bar and grill. They choose flooring, carpeting, silverware, furnishings, glassware and all of the necessities for their restaurant.

  The old building has been gutted, the extension completed, and the galley is well underway. Work on the interior will start in a few days. The primary contractor is always explaining that everything has to be accomplished in a particular order. Sean and Pete want things done yesterday, or better yet, all at once. It frustrates both, but at the end of the day, they know progress is being made, the quality excellent and there is a reasonable chance it will be completed before the end of summer. That is important, not only for Pete and Anna's plans, but being able to open with some of the summer crowd still here. They can use the revenue for sure, however more important will be building a reputation and customer base for next season.

  On the twenty-ninth of June, Sean receives another letter from Rachael. She is wondering why he hasn't written for one thing. If she knew him as well as Pete she would have known that letter writing is not his trump suit. He feels bad about this, especially since she mentions it specifically and in a part of the letter that seems to allude to questions in her mind about his intentions. She writes that she isn't sure that she solved her dilemma, and that is her choice of words, however she is planning on returning after Bastille Day. Shamefully, Sean had to look this up although he had a good idea of the date. It's not hard to tell the difference between Yankee Doodle and Frenchy Faux Pas. One is brave as a lion and the other shivers like a badly tuned diesel engine. Mentioning the latter in the same breath with The Fourth is blasphemy in Sean's eyes. In terms of the calendar this meant she will be back sometime after the fourteenth of July, another few weeks.

  Although Sean is busy, he is becoming lonely. He hadn't intended to enter a monastery but it seems the Wanderer is becoming one. A good liberty run would help clean the pipes. On the other hand, Rachael's letter is additionally full of remarks about missing him and wanting to spend time alone so they could get to know one another. The pale coral stationary loaded with an aromatic fragrance keeps her cemented in his mind's eye, and of course the photo at the cafe table, the buried trait of jealousy. He overcomes the evil in that with thoughts of New York, the mirrored bedroom, the marble tub, and the breakfast table. However, these thoughts make him hornier; hence lonely, and perhaps in need of a cold shower.

  * * *

  On the weekend before Rachael was to return, Sean has a commitment for two couples, both flush, and married, to go out for a weekend of cruising, and perchance a little fishing. They seem to want to sit on deck, relax, view the scenery and drink. Play the game of a poor man's Mediterranean port jumping. Might stop to fish one morning early, keep the gentlemen happy while their much younger wives cloaked their young, hard bodies in sunshine on the forward deck. The latter activity will make the duty on the fly bridge pleasant. The cruising will take them far down the Jersey coast past the end of Long Beach Island, past the throat of Great Bay, past Little Egg Inlet, breeze by Brigantine and into Absecon Inlet, and Atlantic City. They might debark there for some fun ashore. Then back on board and work back north through Absecon Bay, Reeds Bay, Grassy Bay, Little Bay and into Great Bay. There they will go ocean bound, north to Barnegat Light, and into the bay and home. Not a short trip. They will leave on a Thursday evening. Sean would have preferred to take Pete along because of his maturity and seamanship, but the old man is booked with all day fishing trips. Good for business, but hard on their souls. As a result, Sean will take Wanderer One, Colton Callahan.

  They will be out three days and four nights, hence when Sean approaches Colton he tells him to ask his mother for permission to be out that long. He and Colton will be sharing the Master Suite, the couples in the berthing spaces below, but all the meals will be served up in the Master Salon, not the galley kitchenette. This also means cooking and serving two meals a day and some form of lunch for the couples and themselves. And tending bar, catering to the whims of all four, especially the two young wives who are sure to be demanding. These are fortyish husbands with seemingly second wives in the mid-twenty range. It might be an education for Colton. Hence, the permission from Colton's mother, considering the length of time out and the company.

  That evening, Wednesday the seventh of July, Colton arrives home late from an all day gig with Pete. The fishing party was large enough that both he and Robert worked the boat. He comes inside after having kicked off his sneakers at the door and gives the normal teenager declaration, "Mom, I'm home."

  "I'm in the kitchen. Dinner will be ready in a jiffy."

  Colton excitedly bounced into the room unable to control himself over his coming seafarer assignment. "Mom, Mister Gallagher needs me for a three day, four night cruise. He says I need your permission. Can I go? It'll pay good because of the tips."

  "Where will he be going and why?"

  "South, along the coast to Atlantic City and back. Back up through the bays, probably drop anchor in one of the bays each night. Do some fishing, 'God willing but by and large it will be the young hard-bods willing', at least Mister Gallagher thinks that. Mostly cruising for the two rich couples."

  "Couples?"

  "Yep. Married, Mom. Married."

  "And what is it that you bring to this voyage besides your innocence?"

  "Mom, I'm not innocent. I'm not naive. I'm eighteen."

  "You're seventeen, and I admit it seems going on thirty, but this sounds like some type of playboy soirée."

  Colton pauses trying to ensure he's capturing his Mom's tone and lingo. He says with some degree of hesitancy, "Mom, nothing quirky will be going on. Mister Gallagher wouldn't allow anything like that on the Wanderer. He needs me at the helm more than anything, particularly at meal times when he's cooking and serving the meals. If we anchor up in the bay, then I help serve and stuff."

  "Well, I don't know. Perhaps he --"

  "Mom, c'mon. You can trust Mister Gallagher."

  Holli, or the Grace in Holli, gags slightly. Something catching in her throat as she tried to respond. Colton comes closer, pats her on the back and says, "Something go down the wrong pipe, Mom?"

  "Yes, but for sure it won't happen again."

  "Huh?"

  "Nothing. Okay, you can go but you tell Mister Gallagher that if anything happens on that boat that's unfit for a teenage boy to see or hear, he'll have me to deal with. Do you understand? Tell him."

  "Yeah, okay, Mom. Sure. Thanks. What's for dinner?"

  She places her hand on his shoulder, stares him in the eye. "You tell him what I said. And don't get flippant with me."

  "Okay, Mom. I will. An
d Mom, I wasn't being a wise . . . butt. Sorry."

  She moves her hand from the shoulder, puts it around his neck and pulls him close, and hugs him. "Colt, I know you weren't. I worry about you around that man." She releases him, steps back, flaps her hand saying, "Anyway, we're having some of that flounder you brought home yesterday. Stuffed with crab meat. And rice and corn on the cob. Okay?"

  "Great. I'll be down in a sec. Gotta get cleaned up." He spins around, and in a half shout emits, "Yeeaaahh." His thumping feet on the stairs rattle the overhead light in the dining room and some decorative pots, a bird house and other knick-knacks above the kitchen cabinets.

  Holli shudders and shakes her head at the galloping footsteps and goes about serving up the dinner. Her mind half on the chore and half on Sean Gallagher. I should call him and tell him myself. No, he might recognize my voice. She stops half way back from the table, holding the pot of rice. Tilts her head. I can disguise my voice. Surely I don't sound like an eighteen year old girl now. I need to think about this. No, it might be too risky. Her thoughts are interrupted by the heavy thumps of sock-clad feet coming down the stairs two or three at a time. As he enters the kitchen she says, "Dinner's on. Except for the tea. Go on and sit down, it and I will be there in a sec."

  "This smells great, Mom." Teenager or not, he is well bred, well schooled, well trained, and well mannered. He waits for his mother to sit down before even one taste. Moreover, there will be her prayer before the meal. Every meal. Home or out. The same Catholic prayer. One time Colt murmured along with her, "Bless the taters, bless the meat, good God, let's eat." He got scolded, but it drew a laugh seconds later. When her laughter subsides she adds, "I know. I know . . . Father, Son and Holy Ghost, whoever eats fastest gets the most."

  "Hey, Mom. Wow."

  "I was young once you know."

  They eat the meal. She mannerly, he with a teenager's, well-mannered or not, appetite. She talks of her day. New customers looking for summer houses. He of his day, and some of Sean Gallagher. During these latter bits of information she listens intently for any signs the ploy is penetrated. None tonight. Only more comments about what a "neat" guy the Major is and how busy he is with the boat and the restaurant.