by DW Davis
I let Rhiannon know that when she was ready to move into the house, all she had to do was let my father know and he’d get things set up for her. It was then I realized that the place was still full of mine and Maeve’s stuff. When I mentioned this to my father, he said it would be taken care of. We told Malori that Rhiannon was moving into the house. No one mentioned anything about Mal moving in with Rhiannon after Malori turned eighteen.
My mom and dad left after lunch to head back to Wrightsville Beach. Rhiannon left for Greenville shortly thereafter. Malori was going to fly back to Wilmington with me. I would leave the Cessna in the hangar at ILM while I was gone.
Malori had earned her pilot’s wings that spring and asked if she could fly us back. Since I’d taught her to fly the Cub years before, I had no qualms about letting her take the controls. She did a good job and put us on the ground in Wilmington in one piece.
“Have you flown the twin-engine yet?” I asked her, gesturing to the Seneca.
“No,” Malori said resignedly. “Dad wants me to wait until I have more single-engine hours.”
I was willing to defer to our father's judgment on that.
“I suppose that’s not a bad idea,” I said. “I wonder if I should even keep it.”
Malori looked stricken. “Please keep it, Mike. I’d like to be able to use it after I transfer.”
Malori was transferring. This was news to me. “Transfer, where are you transferring to?” I asked. It was the first I’d heard about her wanting to leave UNCW.
Proudly, she explained. “Notre Dame, I’ve been offered a chance to go to Notre Dame to major in Romance Language Studies. I haven’t told anyone…”
Her lip began to quiver and her eyes grew moist. “…anyone but Maeve.”
“Maeve never mentioned it to me,” I said.
That Malori had shared it with Maeve didn’t surprise me. The two of them had become very close. Their common interest in horses had really brought them together. For the first time I began to recognize I wasn’t the only one who’d lost someone they loved when Maeve died.
Malori swallowed hard. “I made her swear not to tell until I was ready to tell. I knew if Mom found out, she’d try to stop me. She’s gonna have a fit when she finds out.”
Malori’s lips tightened into a thin line. “Mike, I have to get away from Wilmington.”
“I think you underestimate Mom, Malori. If this is what you truly want to do, I think she will back you all the way.”
Malori made a face like she just tasted something sour.
“I don’t know. She still treats me like a kid,” she complained.
“Sister mine, I hate to tell you this, but you are still a kid,” I said with a big brother smirk.
“When you were my age, you were practically on your own and, may I remind you, still in high school. You spent more time at River Dream than you did at home,” Malori reasoned. “I’m already in college. Listen, Mike, I love Mom and Dad. I love Wrightsville Beach. But I’d need to get away for a while. This is a great opportunity for me.”
Maybe my kid sister wasn’t such a kid anymore. “Do you want me to talk to Mom and Dad for you?” I asked.
“No, just be there and be on my side when I tell them tonight,” she said.
With a newfound respect for my baby sister, I told her, “That I can do.”
That night after supper we sat down in the living room, and Malori announced her plan to transfer from UNCW to Notre Dame that coming spring semester.
Mom was beaming as she exclaimed, “Malori, I think that is wonderful. Why have you not shared this with us earlier?”
I gave Malori an ‘I told you so’ look.
“I didn’t think you’d want me to go,” Malori said, somewhat abashed.
A perplexed look crossed our mother’s face. “What on Earth made you think that? This is a great opportunity for you. Notre Dame is a fine school.”
Malori hadn’t expected such a quick victory and didn’t quite know what to say. I decided this would be a good time for me to say good-night and headed to the Nadeau house. I parked the GTO in the otherwise empty garage and made my way upstairs. Checking the clock, I decided it wasn’t too late and picked up the phone.
“Hello,” Rhiannon said with a bit of a yawn.
Thinking maybe it was too late to call after all, I said, “Hi, I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Mike, no, I was just getting ready for bed.” Rhiannon said. “I’m surprised to hear from you.”
I shifted the phone to my other hand so I could adjust myself into a more comfortable position in the recliner.
“I just wanted to call to tell you some interesting news I heard from Malori tonight.”
That piqued her interest. “Really, what kind of news?” Rhiannon asked.
“She’s transferring to Notre Dame after this semester,” I told her, with just a smidgen of pride.
“Well, how about that,” Rhiannon said, sounding surprised and pleased. “Wait, that means she won’t be moving into the house with me.”
“I guess not,” I said, suddenly concerned that Rhiannon might change her mind about staying there.
“Do you still want me to live there then?” Rhiannon asked, sounding like she was afraid I might have changed my mind.
I quickly put that worry to rest. “I would very much like you to still live there, I mean, here. Will you?” I asked her.
“As a favor to you, Michael, I will force myself to accept the offer of your waterfront home to live in. Thank you,” Rhiannon said with a laugh.
I laughed too, “Good, that’s good.”
Changing the subject, Rhiannon asked, “How soon are you leaving for the Islands, Mike?”
Mentally, I thought through all I would have to do before departure.
“The boat arrives Wednesday,” I said. “I’d like to take her out and shake her down a few times. I probably won’t leave until after Labor Day.”
“Then you’ll still be around when I move back to Wrightsville Beach,” Rhiannon said. The way she said it, it was more of a question than a statement.
“I’ll be at River Dream, but if you want help moving I’m sure my dad and I can bring the Suburban to Greenville.”
“That would be a big help. Between that and my dad’s truck, we should be able to handle my little bit of stuff,” Rhiannon said, clearly relieved.
“Just let me know when you need us to come up.”
She didn’t say anything for several seconds. I started to think we had lost the connection. When she spoke again, it was in a very quiet voice.
“Will you always come when I need you, Michael?” It was almost a plea.
“Yes, Rhiannon, if you need me, I will come,” I assured her.
“Thank you, Mike, I’ll let you know when I’m ready to move,” Rhiannon said in her normal tone.
Twenty-seven
The next morning I got up and worked out for the first time in days. I usually tried to get in some kind of exercise every morning. These weren’t quite the vigorous workouts from my high school or Navy days, but they helped keep me in shape. My run-in with those two gents at the Minnesott Grill confirmed that. I followed up with a quick swim off the dock and had just gotten out of the shower when I heard my father come in.
“Hey, Mike, do you have any plans for today?” he asked when I came into the kitchen. He was putting on a fresh pot of coffee.
“I thought I’d go through the stuff here and try to get this place cleaned up some for Rhiannon. Speaking of which, will I be able to borrow the Suburban to help her move?”
“I don’t know. Can you drive something that big?” my father joked.
I gave him an exaggerated eye roll and shook my head. “No, I can’t,” I said. Then I informed him, “That’s why you’re going to come along, to drive your bus and help move her furniture. She said Uncle Lind was going to go up with his truck.”
“That sounds fine, son. I’ll be glad to do it.” He got himself a mug out o
f the cabinet and poured himself some coffee. After a tentative sip he turned to me and said, “Now, are you still sure you want to do this trip to the Islands?”
I took my empty mug to the sink and washed it out. “Yes, Dad, I’m sure. Why do you ask?”
He stared into his coffee, his lips pressed tightly together. Finally, my dad took a deep breath and said, “Because I’d like to go with you, at least for the first leg.”
I looked at him in surprise. “Dad, I’ll be fine. You don’t have to do that.”
His expression told me I’d misinterpreted his reason for wanting to go. “Oh, I have no doubt you’ll be fine, Mike, but I’d really like to go for myself,” my dad said. “I talked it over with your mother, and she agrees. I need to get away from here for a while. And I think it’ll be good for us, as father and son, to spend some time on the sea together.”
The idea made me chuckle. “Dad, first Malori, and now you. Why is everyone so anxious to get away from here?”
My father shrugged as he refilled his mug. Holding the carafe out to me he replied, “I don’t know. I just need a little change of scenery to recharge my spiritual batteries, I guess. Besides, I’ve always wanted to take a slow cruise down the coast. What do you say?”
In response to his unspoken offer to pour me more coffee, I held up my empty mug and then placed it in the strainer. That gave me a few seconds to think over his request to join me on my trip. Surprising myself, I realized I’d be glad for his company.
“I say, welcome aboard. Just remember, on my boat I’m the captain.”
He laughed and then suggested that we take Hey 19 out for a day of practice. “It’s been a while since I trimmed a sail, Mike.”
That decided, we headed back to their place, rigged Hey 19, and headed out through the inlet to open water.
My dad was a little rusty. Years before, he’d sailed often with Malori, but as she grew older she took Hey 19 out less and less. Other interests, most specifically horses, had replaced sailing for her. Malori never forgot the promise she made me, though, and kept the boat ship shape all those years. Before we were done for the day, my father was back in the groove. We’d missed lunch, but we didn’t care.
When we docked the boat, my father was a little slow climbing onto the dock. I reminded myself that he was fifty-six years old. My father was in great shape, but a long day on the water, when you’re not used to it, would wear anyone out.
My mother had evidently been watching for us because by the time we’d secured Hey 19, she was coming down the dock with two big glasses of freshly squeezed lemonade. She wouldn’t allow powdered drink mix in her house. I don’t know why. I loved Kool Aid. It was a taste I developed over many summers at Camp Riversail.
Handing us our drinks, my mother told us, “While you two boys were out sailing up and down the beach like a couple of pirates, Malori and I were working ourselves ragged trying to get your house into decent shape for your guest, Michael.”
I took that to mean they’d boxed up all Maeve’s things that had been left in the house. “We left you a few things you may need while you are still here. Do you want to look over what we packed up?”
After nearly emptying my lemonade, I replied, “No, I don’t think so. Unless you noticed something special, everything I wanted was at River Dream.”
“Very well then. You two should go clean up. We, Malori and I, have decided that you are going to treat us to dinner at Primavera’s,” my mother said. “I am in the mood for something expensive for dinner.”
My groan elicited a tight smile from my mother.
I drove to the Nadeau house, cleaned up, and changed clothes. Before long, my mom, dad, and Malori arrived in my mother’s new Buick LeSabre. I don’t think she’d ever owned any other make or model.
My mother moved to the back with Malori, and I sat in front with my dad. I tried to remember the last time the four of us had gone out to dinner as a family like that, and couldn’t.
“Mike, promise me you won’t beat up any guys that give me the eye,” Malori teased from her seat behind me.
Turning around in the seat, I teased back, “I can’t make any promises.”
“Michael, you had better behave,” Mom warned me with a stern glare.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. I hadn’t been to Primavera’s in years. I wondered if Mr. DeLuca would remember me.
Twenty-eight
“Michael Lanier, is that you?” a familiar male voice boomed out from behind the hostess station as we walked up to get our name on the waiting list. I looked around and there was Mr. DeLuca, looking a bit older, but a lot happier, than I remembered him.
“Yes, Mr. DeLuca, it’s me,” I said, stepping over to take his proffered hand. “How have you been?”
“I have been well,” he said. Then with concern, he asked, “How are you, Michael? I was very sorry to hear about your lovely wife.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, biting my lip and shifting my feet.
Then I remembered that Mr. DeLuca had lost his first wife tragically following the suicide of his son Dominick all those years ago. If anyone understood what I was going through, it would be him.
“You understand how hard such a loss is,” I said.
His eyes misted over as he nodded soberly. “Only too well, Michael,” he said. “But we must go on, mustn’t we?”
“Yes, sir, we must,” I said, blinking away the tears forming in my own eyes.
“Come with me,” Mr. DeLuca said, gesturing for us to follow him. “I have a table for you right over here. Tonight’s dinner is on me.”
His offer took me by surprise. “Mr. DeLuca, that’s too kind. You don’t have to do that.”
Placing his hand on my shoulder, Mr. DeLuca looked me in the eye and said, “Michael, you once did me a great service; this is the least I can do.”
It was all I could do to reign in the tears threatening to fall. “Thank you, Mr. DeLuca,” I did manage to say, past the lump in my throat.
“I’ll get your waitress. Please, enjoy your meal. I will oversee it personally,” Mr. DeLuca said.
When he left to find our waitress, my father turned to me. “Michael, I had no idea you knew Mr. DeLuca so well. Or that the two of you were on such good terms. Isn’t he the one that year at Christmas…” he said, his voice trailing off.
That was a bittersweet memory. “Yeah, actually, that’s when we became, I guess, friends.” I said. “It’s a long story.”
I related to them a carefully edited version of what I had learned from Mr. DeLuca that day. My father knew part of the story, but my mother and Malori were hearing it for the first time.
Her voice breaking with emotion, my mother said, “In all these years we have been coming here, I had no idea.”
“Wow, Mike, you sure have a way with people,” Malori said in a tone between respect and amusement.
When our waitress took our order, I surprised everyone by ordering the eggplant parmesan.
“Really, Mike,” Malori said, “eggplant, since when?”
“Actually,” I replied, “I’ve never had it before. But it’s the only thing in the menu I’ve never tried, so, I’m gonna try it.”
Malori ordered the Clams Italiano. Our mother had her usual, Stuffed Shells with meatless marinara. Seven-Layer Lasagna was our father’s choice. Between the salad, Italian bread, and our entrées, we ordered our dessert – four slices of Primavera’s famous chocolate mousse – to go.
The meal was delicious. Good to his word, Mr. DeLuca did not present us with a bill. I tried to guess what the tab would have been and tipped our server accordingly. We thanked Mr. DeLuca profusely for his kindness. Much to my surprise, he actually hugged me as we left.
“Remember, Michael, your money is no good at Primavera’s. When you’re in town, you come by anytime. There will always be a table for you.”
It was a quiet ride home. When they dropped me off at the house, my dad and I set a time for me to go by his place and pick him up in
the morning. We’d be driving up to River Dream in the GTO, and I wanted to get an early start. There were some things I needed to get done before the new boat arrived.
Twenty-nine
When my dad and I got to New Bern the next morning, I realized I hadn’t been thinking very clearly in bringing the GTO. “Uh, Dad, I think we’re going to have to go on to River Dream and get the Cherokee.”
My father frowned. “Now that you mention it, I guess that would be a good idea. I don’t think the Goat is going to be able to hold everything you’re planning to pick up.”
That being the case, we drove out to River Dream, pulled the Cherokee out, and parked the GTO. We had lunch at the Minnesott Grill before heading back to New Bern.
Once I’d picked up the supplies I needed in New Bern, we headed straight for Oriental, picking up Highway 55 once we crossed to the east bank of the Neuse. As we passed through the town of Stonewall, my eyes were drawn to the old boat lying half-submerged next to the bridge.
“Dad, how long do you suppose that old boat has been sitting there?”
Sitting forward in his seat so he could see the derelict as we drove over the bridge, my father replied, “I don’t know, Michael. It’s been there in that run-down boat house for as long as I can remember. It must have been there twenty years.”
I slowed down as we drove over the bridge so I could get a good look at the boat.
“I’d say it’s been there longer than that. When I was a kid and first saw it, it looked like it had already been sitting there for that long.”
“Could be,” my father agreed, settling back into his seat.
“I wonder how it got there,” I said. “Why do you suppose it was left there to rot?”
It was a wooden boat, looked to be about a twenty-six footer. It was, or had been, a white boat. The deck and cabin roof had been weathered nearly gray, with traces of brown holding out against the elements. All the colors were faded and dirty. The boat listed a bit to its starboard side, the side towards the highway, and the stern on that side had become nearly submerged. The boat was pulled into the boat house bow first, and the way the old structure had collapsed down on it, the bow couldn’t be seen from the bridge as we drove past.