Home is a Long Time Ago

by William F Lee

  "That would do well. For us. It would be for us, wouldn't it?"

  "Of course. For any other I would use a tablecloth."

  "There shouldn't be any others. At least, better not. Are we going skinny dipping tonight?"

  "Oh yeah. You bet."

  She smiles, pauses for a few seconds, then, "Let's take the dip, then go play tonight. I like the smell and taste of the bay on your body."

  "We'll do whatever you like, luv."

  "You know what I want first. The taste of the bay will add zest."

  "You're a naughty woman. Wish I'd known that in school, we could have--"

  "You didn't have the guts, besides, you were too busy playing sports and working for ol' man, Ponzio."

  "True. But you didn't look the same back then."

  "Close, but virginous. Is that a word? Perhaps it's virginal or virtuous?" Whatever the case, she gets the last word, again. They finish the last sip of the wine in their glasses. Clear the table, strip down in the bedroom, dropping their clothes on the foot of the bed and head down to the aft deck for the water. The sun has set, night has engulfed the bay and hence the boat. However, the moon is bright which will aid any teenage boys on shore with binoculars. As they prepare to slip into the water, Rachael playfully asks, "Do you think any of the boys, in particular your two, will be watching?"

  "If I were them I would . . .but naaaw. At least not Colton. Me thinks his mom has him on a tight, tight leash."

  "Too bad, he's cute and a dead ringer for you when you were young," and she splashes into the bay, followed by Sean. He yelps, "What's that mean?" Gets no answer, but they laugh and yelp like two school kids, skinny dipping for the first time.

  * * *

  Pete is soulful. Hurt. Frustrated. He had seen the Wanderer come into the upper bay behind him when he was heading to the dock with his boat load of fisherman. He mutters, "I work. He plays. With that . . . that, hussy. Satan's handiwork."

  Oh Lord, what to do. Just stand around and watch. Lord, I think you're asleep at the helm. Anna tells me to be patient. It's hard, Lord, especially when I know your plan.

  Colt clamors up to the bridge, shouts, "Hey, Mister Pete, we're making one heckeva wake in here. You aren't goin' to run us aground, are you?"

  Pete snaps out of his trance, quickly throttles back, and growls at Colt, "Get to your tasks, young man. I'm just in a hurry." The boy frowns, slowly climbs back down the ladder from the bridge and goes aft, ready to dock.

  His crewmate, Robert, or Roberto to Pete, a line in hand, asks quietly as if the ol' man could hear from the bridge, "What's the matter with him?"

  "I don't know. He's been on the rag ever since that blond woman came here. Must be something about her and Mister Gallagher." He looks around, says to Robert. "Let's get ready, he's backin' her in. And be careful not to talk about her around him . . . or get caught lookin'"

  Pete shouts from the bridge, "Step lively down there, boys." They do without looking up or even muttering a single word.

  Once in, customers on the way home, and boat cleaned, all are more than ready to go home. Anna is here with Pete's truck. The boys, off quickly, pump their bikes as hard and fast as they can, getting away from the wrath of the ol' man.

  As Pete slides in next to Anna, he says, "They're at it again. Out in the bay."

  Anna knows what he's talking about. What else lately. "Good. And you're becoming a busybody. A reala gossip." Again, when she's angry or intense, her English falters.

  "Stow it woman."

  "No, Ponzio, you stow it. You're letting thissa monkey business of Sean's interfere with our life. It'sa making you a sourpuss. Now, you stoppa it. Now." She pauses, calms herself by looking skyward. "Let's go home and have a nicea meal," she pauses again realizing she's not yet there, then goes on. "Then go for a walk along the beach. That always feels good, and it'll help."

  "You're right, Anna my love. Hell, you're always right."

  And I'll have time to figure out what to do, Pete thinks.

  CHAPTER 22

  Colt drops his bike at the back door on the run. It clatters against the house as he bursts inside. Yells, "I'm home."

  Holli returns the exclamation with her own melodic shout, "I'm in the kitchen. Dinners ready. Go get cleaned up. I'm servin' it up." She hears the shouted "Okay" over the thumping of feet going up the stairs two at a time. Within minutes, Colt is down and at the table fumbling with his fork, trying to speak, taking a gulp of iced tea and eating all at the same time. His hands busier than a three-legged dog running and mouth moving faster than a backyard gossip readying to pass a juicy rumor. His face flushed, partly from the sun and by in large from excitement.

  "Mom, I saw her again today. She's a knockout. Was on Mister Gallagher's boat."

  "Who is she?" As if Holli didn't know what was coming.

  "Miss Waters. Rachael Waters. What a name. What a body! Mom, you shoulda seen her."

  "Colt, I'm not interested in Miss Waters by any name. Eat before everything gets cold." She pauses, but only momentarily so Colt can't wedge in another comment about the woman. "Do you like the lasagna? It's Anna's recipe. I think it's better than mine."

  "Yeah, Mom. It's good. Great." He pauses to catch his breath. "Mister Gallagher and she have been out for a couple of days or more. She's really something."

  "Colt, I'm not fascinated with Mister Gallagher's antics. And certainly not hers. I've seen what they do. I don't think his boat is a good environment for you. It's not healthy."

  "Not healthy? Mom, c'mon now. Man oh man, I'd say she's healthy. Real healthy. I mean she's got legs that don't quit."

  "Colt. Dammit!" She pauses feeling herself getting warm and certainly bordering on being frenzied. She takes a deep breath. "Colt, let's not talk about him nor her at the table. I don't care for it, nor do I care to hear of their shenanigans at sea or elsewhere. Please just eat if you can't think of anything else to talk about."

  "Okay, Mom. You sure do get hyper when I talk about her or Mister Gallagher. "

  "Colt."

  "Yes, ma'am. This lasagna is especially good. So is the bread. You're a great cook, Mom."

  "Colt, don't you dare patronize . . .Thank you, son. It is good. I'll have to thank, Anna."

  The meal goes on quietly. Colt shovels in heaps of lasagna like a man stoking a furnace. He scoops out another massive helping of the lasagna and packs it in and four slices of garlic bread as if someone is going to steal his food. It all goes in the teenage furnace as fuel. Holli smiles. Seconds always please the cook, as does the aroma in the kitchen and taste at the table please the diner.

  "Mom, thanks for dinner," as he gets up and takes his plate, silverware and glass to the sink. "I'm goin' out. Hangin' out with the guys tonight. Will be back early. Okay?"

  "Yes. Okay. And, Colt, I'm sorry for being so short with you. I'm just a little on edge I guess."

  "It's okay, Mom. But you should get snazzied-up and give that woman a run for her money."

  "Oh, God, Colt. Go."

  He leaves laughing, door slamming behind, and he starts pedaling toward town. To the drugstore. Old man Gudis likes the business at his soda fountain, and the boys, but not the hanging around outside. Complains it disrupts his business and irritates his customers, however, never too loudly and not that often.

  * * *

  Pete and Anna enjoy a quiet meal. Finally chatting about matters other than Sean or the Waters woman. After dinner Pete helps with the dishes until she shoos him from the kitchen. He takes a shower, puts on a clean pair of khaki shorts, slips on his flip flops and says, "Ready for a walk when you are."

  She says, "In a minute. I'll take a shower when I get back."

  Within a few minutes she's at his side on the porch, also in khaki shorts and a sleeveless white blouse. They step off and head for the beach. They struggle with the loose, still sun-warmed sand of the dunes. However, within moments they are at the shoreline. They slip off their sandals. Stroll in the hard, cool, wet sand, with wa
ter gurgling over their ankles as each wave expends its energy. It lessens somewhat as they amble along since the tide is ebbing. They walk nearly a mile up the beach, looking out to sea, then peering at the twinkling lights of houses and a few condos on the beach front all built on concrete and steel pilings to protect them from storm surges. Wondering aloud how long it will be before it is nothing but homes and condos along the entire beach, tucked away behind the dunes. As he looks seaward again, Pete says, "I remember during the war when you could see the flashes from the explosions on ships. Way out to sea. German U-Boats along our coast. Then days later, some oil, some debris. Terrible times. So much more peaceful now, at least here, yet in a few years, with all the houses, it will be crowded. It will be less peaceful at night on the beach."

  Anna sighs, "Yes it will. But the campfires on the beach will be nice, if not the noise. And we should hope it's crowded. That means business for you and Sean, and the restaurant. That's what we want, isn't it?"

  "I suppose. What I want is--"

  "Not tonight, Ponzio. Let it lie, please."

  "Aye, I will." And as another couple approach from the opposite direction, Pete and Anna say in unison, "Good evening. Nice night." The couple, much younger, respond with a 'good evening', a 'yes it is' and a giggle. Pete and Anna smile. Shortly after they pass, Pete and Anna turn around and head back, trailing the young hand-in-hand couple by fifty yards or more.

  Over the dunes and at the house, Anna goes in to shower and says over her shoulder, sound trailing away, "Don't stay out here too long, Peter. I'm tired tonight."

  "I won't. Want to think for a while." But Anna has already reached the door and is too far to hear his faint reply. Pete for a reason that makes no sense to him, or anyone if others would have been present, starts whistling the tune of Taps. After a few bars he sighs aloud, "Day is done. Gone the sun." Then hums a few more bars, and finishes with, "All is well, Safely rest. God is nigh." He smiles. "Sean taught me the words to Taps, and the story behind them."

  He settles for a moment. Thrusts his hands in both pockets of his shorts. Mutters, "God if you're near. Please hear my prayer. Guide Sean to Grace. To the boy. Away from Satan's ploy."

  He turns as he hears Anna from the doorway. "Peter, come on in."

  Pete looks up, mutters, "Please," then takes a step, finishes with, "Amen," and ambles to the house.

  * * *

  After the dishes are picked up and in the dishwasher, Holli goes out onto their dock and sits in one of the two canvas folding chairs. She has a tumbler of scotch on the rocks in her hand. Occasionally she has a drink stronger than a glass of wine, and then each time a scotch on the rocks, and always mostly rocks. The night is bright and once again she sees Sean's boat anchored in the bay. A little further out than a few evenings ago, making allowances for the tide. Nonetheless she hears the shouts of glee. Then more, and laughter. Like me and Sean years ago in my aunt and uncle's pool.

  She's brought back to the present when she again sees the two pull themselves out of the bay and onto the aft end of his boat. Naked as new born babes but not looking near like them. She mutters, "Dammit. This isn't right." She tosses her drink in the water next to her sailboat, and stalks toward the house with empty glass in hand, muttering louder. "I'm going to call Chuck Barto. As Mayor, he needs to put an end to this. It's not decent. People all around. Kids out and about." She breaks a fingernail snatching the back door handle. Shakes her hand, looks at it, shouts, "Dammit. Damn, damn, damn." Slams the door behind her and stalks to her room, glass still in hand.

  Once in the room, hot as a tea kettle but not whistling, she stomps her foot.

  Damn that man. No, damn that woman. How dare she. She takes a deep breath, releases it unhurriedly. Sighing.

  Oh God, what am I saying? What's happening to me?

  * * *

  After pulling themselves aboard, Rachael and Sean retire quickly to the bedroom, and without toweling off they literally dive onto the bed, and Rachael then seductively rolls over on her back guided by the gentle urging from Sean's hand on her thigh. He begins with her toes, gradually works his way up her tanned legs. First one, than the other, closing on her thighs with passion. He satisfies her earlier desire, and his, and more.

  * * *

  At midnight, after their lovemaking, the two take a shower, this time much too exhausted and satisfied to play. They towel dry, he slips into a pair of white shorts, she into her nightie, and they sit on the salon deck. He has pulled the chairs from the table so they are together, an end table between, facing aft. Sean has poured them each a snifter of Apricot Brandy. They sit and talk of the day.

  After a time, Rachael sighs, lays her head to the side facing Sean, and says, "Sean, I think I'm falling in love. I mean I truly feel it, in my heart."

  "Good, me too, I think."

  "If this is happiness, then, I'm happy. What is happiness to you?"

  Sean chuckles softly and before he can respond, Rachael asks, "What was that about?"

  "Oh, you're going to smack me for this. Happiness. We used to say in the Corps, 'Happiness is a belt-fed weapon.' Sorry, it just popped into my mind."

  Her voice changing a little, taking on more of her acquired New York accent. "That's encouraging. Romantic. And what is a belt-something weapon?"

  "It's not important. Happiness right now is you. Being with you."

  Rachael sits up, not angry but still miffed. "Your answer, I should say your answers, sound vagabondish. Is that a word?" As her attitude melts some.

  "I didn't mean to piss you off. Yeah, it's a word. It's a nomadic expression similar to the Japanese phrase, butterfly boy."

  Again with some antagonism. "I know what that means. It means a boy, a guy, that goes from flower to flower. Is that you?"

  "Whoa. Wait a minute. This is going the wrong way. I was only trying to be witty, a little humor. Let's start over."

  Silence drapes itself over the couple. Rachael eases back in the chair. Both take a sip of brandy, then she says, "I think I'm falling in love with you, Sean."

  "I feel the same. What should we do about it?"

  She gets up, drops her nightie once again with the same adeptness as earlier, and stands in front of him. "Let's do it. Right now. Right here. On the dining table."

  Before he's fully on his feet, his shorts are around his ankles. He steps out of them, picks her up and sets her knees on the dining table and slides between her legs. She clasps the table's edge as he guides himself into her, deep, to the soul. They begin to the cadence of Taps, and finish to the tempo of The Star Spangled Banner.

  Body glistening with perspiration, she turns over, slides on her butt off the table and onto her feet and clasps him around the neck with both arms. Holding tight she lifts herself from the deck, wrapping her legs around Sean's hips. Purrs in his ear in her raspy contralto voice, "Oh, God. How many ways do I love ye."

  As one they lurch to the master suite.

  CHAPTER 23

  Sean backs the boat into his slip. It's busy, summer season at its height this Saturday morning at the marina. Red skies on the horizon register its warning with Sean. Might not be good later today, or by nightfall. He checks with the Coast Guard Station by radio and is told that it will cloud up late tonight with scattered rain showers on into Sunday morning, clearing by afternoon. Then clear and hot for the next several days.

  Colt is waiting on the dock since he will be working Sean's boat this afternoon and evening. They have two couples for afternoon fishing, the evening meal aboard always coming from their catch, a bay cruise after dinner until around ten tonight. Colt ties off the boat for his boss and comes aboard.

  As he makes his way topside to see Mister Gallagher, Rachael and he collide in the hatch leading to the galley. She's on her way out, he in. She's dressed in slacks, blouse and sandals on her way to see Holli Callahan about leasing a place. Rachael and Colt are startled by the collision. He clutches her by the shoulders to prevent her from falling over backwards. He's no
t only surprised by the sudden encounter, but overcome with her beauty and the scent of her perfume. She by the bump and him grasping her, but also by his astonishing likeness to Sean. Both stand motionless, staring at each other.

  Finally after what seems like minutes but is only seconds, Rachael says, "Well, good morning. You must be, Colt. Mister Gallagher's, what did he call it . . . ah, yes . . . First Mate."

  "Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry for . . . for, oops." He releases his grip. "I am, sorry. I mean . . . ahhh, I'm Colton Callahan but everyone calls me Colt. Well, everyone except Mister Gallagher."

  "And what does he call you?"

  "Wanderer One, or Colton, or sometimes, Mister."

  "Sounds like him. My goodness, you two are twins. Like brothers except for the age of course. Could be father and son. Strange. Are you two related somehow?"

  "No, ma'am. But it is weird. Sometimes I feel strange around him, like . . . like . . . I don't know how to say it. It's just weird. But, good 'cause he's such a great guy. Don't ya think, ma'am?"

  "Oh yes, he is . . . a nice man. By the way, what does your father do? If I may ask? I've heard no one speak of him."

  "Ma'am, my dad's dead. He died before I was born. He was a pilot in the Korean War. He crashed. My mom doesn't like to talk about it."

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. I am sorry for prying. Anyway, I'm off to call on your mother this morning. Going to see about renting a place, or whatever."