Dreams Adrift (A River Dream Novel)

by DW Davis

  Emily had gotten a couple of steps ahead when Rhiannon put her head close to mine and whispered, “Michael J. Lanier, here with me and flirting with her. You have no shame.”

  Then she stifled a laugh at the look I gave her.

  Emily did give us an excellent tour of the place, even taking us behind the scenes to show us areas of the aquarium that are off limits to most guests. During the tour we learned she was close to finishing her master’s degree at UNCW.

  “If my thesis gets approved, I’ll have my Master’s by May, Emily told us. “I’m in line for the Assistant Director’s job here at the aquarium, but it all depends on my finishing my degree.”

  We had somehow avoided running into Malori during the tour. I found out when Malori got home that night she’d been out in the marsh collecting specimens. On a cold overcast day like that one turned out to be, collecting specimens in a marsh was not a job I’d have wanted to be doing.

  Thanking Emily and Mrs. Watson, Rhiannon and I left the aquarium and headed back to Wrightsville Beach. We both wanted to change and maybe grab a nap before taking over at the pier. When we got to the Nadeau house, I got out of the car and started to go inside with Rhiannon.

  She gave me a puzzled look. “Michael, are you going to come in?”

  Suddenly it dawned on me, I didn’t live there anymore.

  “Old habits die hard,” I said. “I’ll see you at the pier.”

  I turned to get back in the car.

  “Michael, you can come in if you want,” Rhiannon said softly.

  Part of me wanted to, but I wasn’t ready, not quite yet.

  Opening the car door, I said, “Another time, Rhiannon, okay?”

  “Another time, Michael, when you’re ready,” she said.

  The gentle look on her face almost made me change my mind. Mentally taking a deep breath, I got into the car and drove to my folks’. On the way there, it started to rain.

  Thirty-seven

  The rain became a steady light sprinkle, the kind of rain that accompanies a warm front. The forecasters said it would probably keep coming down all night and into the next day sometime.

  Taking into account the weather, I expected it would be a slow night at the pier. Putting on a foul weather jacket over a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, I added a pair of allegedly waterproofed leather boots and headed over to the pier.

  It was a short walk from my folks’ house to Lumina Pier, so I only got a little soaked. Reaching the door of the pier house, I heard a car pulling into the nearly empty parking lot. It was Rhiannon. I waited for her just inside the door.

  “Hi, Mike. What a night,” she said by way of a greeting.

  Shedding my jacket, I said, “I know it. I don’t think we’ll be very busy tonight.”

  Rhiannon nodded her agreement. “Only the most diehard fisherman will come out on a night like this.”

  “Personally, I’m against fishing in the rain,” I said, and then glanced at Rhiannon.

  “Okay, Hank Jr.,” Rhiannon said with a grin. “Let’s get checked in so Dad can start his night off.”

  We hung up our rain gear and went in to tell Uncle Lind that his relief had arrived.

  “Some night you picked to give me a night off,” he said. “Believe it or not, there are a couple of guys out there fishing.”

  Helping myself to a cup of hot coffee, I said, “I believe it. I’m surprised that Mrs. Schultz isn’t out there.”

  “She’ll come when it’s cold, but she doesn’t usually fish in the rain,” Uncle Lind said.

  “Well, Daddy, you can go on home to Momma,” Rhiannon told him. “Mike and I can hold down the fort.”

  After showing us where everything was and making sure we knew how to operate the new cash register, Uncle Lind finally left. I made up some fresh coffee and, while Rhiannon straightened up the shelves behind the counter, I swept the floor.

  About seven one fellow came in, asked how the fish were biting, walked out on the pier, and left. Around eight the rain started coming down harder, and one of the two guys that were out on the pier fishing packed it in.

  “I was getting just enough bites to keep me at it when the rain wasn’t so bad, but not good enough to put up with this,” he told us.

  He decided to have a cup of coffee and a piece of crumb cake before he went home. I think he was hoping the rain would let up. It didn’t, and after he finished his coffee and cake, he left.

  “One diehard left,” I noted. “Maybe I should walk out and see how he’s doing.”

  “That might be a good idea,” Rhiannon agreed.

  I walked down the pier to where the guy was set up, almost all the way to the end. He was sitting there bundled up against the rain, sipping on what by then must have been a very cold cup of coffee, and watching his lines.

  “Good evening, sir. How are they biting?” I asked when I got close enough.

  “Better than you might think on a night like this, Mike,” he said.

  I knew the voice but couldn’t place it right off. Then he turned towards me with a big grin on his face.

  “Wes, you son of a gun, what are you doing out here in this mess?” I exclaimed.

  “Mike, I’m home on leave, and tonight’s the only night I’ll have to go fishing. I promised myself I was going fishing at Lumina Pier tonight, no matter what,” Wes said.

  I smiled at his determination. “Home on leave. Then you’re still in the Corps?”

  Wes nodded and said, “Yeah, man, still in. I just made Gunny.”

  That, as I well knew, was a big deal for a Marine.

  “Congrats, man,” I said shaking his hand. “It’s good to see you.” Remembering the day I heard about Wes getting hurt in Beirut, I realized how really glad I was to see him.

  “Yeah, you too man. Hey, Mike, I was sorry to hear about Maeve.” Wes said. “That really sucked.”

  “Thanks, Wes. Yeah, it did,” I said.

  Somehow it didn’t sting as much hearing it from Wesley. I don’t know why not. Maybe it was because we’d been through so much of the same stuff.

  “I’m sorry, man, maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Wes said.

  “No, it’s all right. I’m handling it a lot better nowadays,” I told him.

  We stood quiet in the rain for a few minutes before Wes asked, “What are you up to these days?”

  Glad for the change of subject, I brought him up to date. “I’ve been sailing around the Caribbean for the past several months. I came home for Spring Break. Figured I’d leave the Islands to the college kids. I just got into town yesterday.”

  “Will you be in town long?” Wes asked.

  “I’m leaving next Monday,” I said.

  Wes frowned. “Awe, man, that’s too bad.”

  I turned my collar up against the cold, wet breeze. “Why’s that too bad?”

  “I’m home for thirty days, and I’m getting married a week from Saturday. It would have been nice to have you there,” Wes said.

  Wondering if I might know the bride-to-be, I asked, “Who’s the lucky girl?”

  “You wouldn’t know her,” Wes said. He was quiet a moment while he tightened his line with a few cranks of his reel. “I met her in Jacksonville. She’s a nice girl. Her family has lived in Onslow County for generations. They weren’t too crazy about her dating a Marine, but after they got to know me, they warmed up to the idea.”

  I congratulated him again and was about to head back in when he asked, “So what are you doing out here on a night like this, Mike? You don’t even have your fishing pole.”

  “I’m working, that’s what,” I said, chuckling. “Rhiannon and I decided to give her dad and uncle a night off and took the six to six shift for them.”

  “Is Rhiannon back in town?” Wes asked. “Say, are you two…”

  Shaking my head, I said, “No, it’s not like that.”

  Wes bit his lip and looked out over the dark ocean waves. “No, it wouldn’t be. Too soon, huh? I understand.”


  “All right, Wes,” I said, getting the feeling it was time to leave him alone. “It’s been great talking to you, but I think I’ll let you stay out here and fish in the rain if you want to. I’m going back inside and get warm.”

  Looking at his dripping fishing pole, Wes said, “I can’t say as I blame you. I probably won’t be far behind.”

  Back inside I shook out my raincoat and poured myself a fresh cup of coffee, adding a dollop of maple syrup from the cooler.

  Rhiannon stopped rearranging the snacks on the display rack long enough to ask, “What in the world kept you out there so long?”

  Taking a big sip of the hot coffee, I told her, “I ran into an old friend.”

  “Really, who is that out there?” she asked, leaning back against the counter.

  “Wesley Hunter,” I said. “He’s home on leave and bound and determined to get in some pier fishing tonight if it kills him.”

  Rhiannon thought about that for a moment. “Is he still in the Marine Corps?”

  “Yup,” I replied, taking another sip of coffee. I could feel it starting to chase away the chill.

  Coming over to sit next to me at the counter, she asked, “Is he stationed at Camp Lejeune?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so. He said he’d come home on leave to get married. He’s marrying a girl from Onslow County. I got the impression he’s been away.”

  “Maybe so,” Rhiannon conceded.

  Wesley came in about ten, soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone, but with a cooler full of fish. We offered him a cup of coffee, but he said he’d rather just go home and climb into a nice, hot shower.

  For the next couple of hours it was just the two of us. We straightened and cleaned and swept until there was nothing left to straighten, clean, or sweep. It rained even harder.

  Around midnight a couple of guys came in with their gear and bought passes. They said they had just gotten off work and were bound and determined to get in an hour or so of fishing. It was a tradition with them. They went fishing every Tuesday night after work and weren’t going to let a little rain stop them. They bought a half-pound of shrimp, a cup of squid, and two cups of coffee. They joked and said it just didn’t seem like a beer night.

  The rain finally started to ease up about two in the morning, just about the time the two diehards packed it up and left. I guess it was worth it to them. They caught a mess of fish. By four, the rain had stopped altogether. I went out and walked the length of the pier. A warm wind was blowing, warm being a relative thing. It was warmer than it had been all the day before.

  At five, a couple of the early morning regulars came in. They were retired fellows that came and fished every day. They’d been coming for years and had annual passes.

  “Well, young lady, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you behind that counter,” one of the men said.

  Treating him to a warm smile, Rhiannon agreed. “It has been a while, hasn’t it, Mr. Proux? What can I get for you this morning?”

  “If the griddle is hot, you can fry me a couple of eggs and some country ham. A cup of coffee would go nice with that,” Mr. Proux said before taking a seat at one of the tables.

  “And how about you, Mr. Davies?” Rhiannon asked the other man.

  “I’d just like a plain biscuit and a cup of coffee, thank you kindly,” Mr. Davies said as he joined Mr. Proux.

  “When did you come back to work for your daddy, Rhiannon?” Mr. Proux asked when she brought them their coffee.

  “I sometimes fill in for him in the evenings. This overnighter was just for this one night, I imagine, sir. My friend Mike is back in town, and we used to work here together when we were in high school. We decided to team up again and give Daddy and Uncle Ed the night off.”

  “Well that was right nice of you young folks to do that for your daddy,” Mr. Proux said. “Wasn’t that nice of them, Earl?”

  “Right nice of them,” Mr. Davies said. Looking hard at me he asked, “Aren’t you Owen Lanier’s boy?”

  “Yes, sir, that’s me,” I answered, respectfully.

  “I’ve known your dad a good long while, son. He helped me get my business on its feet some years back. He’s a good man, your daddy,” Mr. Davies said.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said.

  Rhiannon was looking at me inquisitively. I decided no good would come of educating Mr. Davies that the money to help his business was actually mine, not my father’s. It didn’t bother me at all. I felt pretty proud of my dad.

  The two men finished their breakfast and moved out onto the pier. Rhiannon was still busy at the grill.

  “Come and get it, Mike, omelet to order. You like ham and cheese right?” she said, putting a plate loaded with the omelet and hash browns up on the counter.

  My mouth watered as I eyed the food. “Rhiannon, thank you, you didn’t have to do that.”

  “Enjoy it. It’s all the pay you’re going to get,” Rhiannon informed me.

  I laughed and sat down as she put down a similarly loaded plate for herself.

  “I suspect we’re going to see an influx of the early morning regulars about the time Uncle Ed is supposed to relieve us,” Rhiannon said. “I figure I’ll stick around and run the grill for him. You can go ahead and take off once he gets here.”

  Swallowing a forkful of omelet, I told her, “You aren’t getting rid of me that easily. You run the grill, and I’ll run the register. That’ll give Uncle Ed time to do whatever sort of boss things he has to do when he comes in.”

  Rhiannon cast me a doubtful grin. “You sure you don’t mind?”

  “Mind,” I said, “I was thinking we ought to do this again tonight.”

  She straightened up and looked at me closely. “I’d like that, Michael, if you’re serious.”

  “I’ve got nothing else planned, honey,” I said.

  Thirty-eight

  We both stopped cold. Rhiannon looked at me with a shy smile. I took a deep breath. I waited. I don’t know what I was waiting for. Was I waiting for Maeve’s memory to accuse me, her ghost to castigate me? I don’t know, but nothing happened. I smiled back at Rhiannon. Before either of us could say anything, my father walked in for his morning coffee.

  “Well, you two, how did it go?” my father asked. “Did you have any fisherman brave the rain?”

  “There weren’t many, Dad,” I said as I handed him his coffee. “My friend Wes was out there.”

  Gingerly taking his first sip, my father asked, “Wesley Hunter, from high school; is he still in the Marines?”

  “He is. He just made Gunnery Sergeant,” I said.

  Rhiannon added, “We also had the Tuesday night regulars show up after they got off shift. I think they would come out in anything short of a hurricane.”

  “I imagine you two are looking forward to heading to the house to get some sleep,” my father said.

  “Since we’ve decided to work again tonight, I think that would be a good idea,” I remarked.

  “What have you decided to do again tonight?” Ed said as he walked in.

  Rhiannon told him. “Mike and I had so much fun last night, Uncle Ed, we’ve decided to give you and Daddy another night off.”

  “You kids don’t have to do that,” Ed protested.

  “I know we don’t, Ed, but we’d like to if you’ll let us,” I said.

  He confirmed what the look on his face had already told us. “I’m all for it. Rhiannon, I imagine your dad will go along, too.”

  Rhiannon’s dad did go along, and the next night we worked the overnight shift at the pier again. It was a much busier night as the weather was nice and the air blown in on the warm front lingered. During lulls we talked about my sailing odyssey, her new job, and what was going to happen when I finally returned home.

  “I think I’ll move back here,” I said. “I don’t think I’ll ever feel right at River Dream again.”

  “But Michael, that place means so much to you,” Rhiannon said.

  “It did, but now
it’s too full of memories. I read a book once that recommended that when a place becomes too chocked with memories it is time to leave it and cherish it from afar,” I said. “That’s how I feel about River Dream.”

  “What will you do with it if you move back here?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ll probably donate it to the conservancy. Maybe turn the house into a research office for studying the river. Who knows?” I said.

  “What will you do here if you come back?” Rhiannon asked guardedly.

  I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. “Maybe I’ll work on my doctorate. Maybe I’ll just volunteer down at the aquarium.”

  Looking around the pier house, I realized we were sitting at the table where we’d spent many evenings doing homework. The old pinball machine we’d been playing when I asked Rhiannon to the Ninth Grade Social still stood in the corner. It felt very much like home.

  “Maybe I’ll just come here to the pier everyday and go fishing.”

  Laughing, Rhiannon said, “I can just see you as one of the regulars.”

  “Hey, I used to come here pretty regularly, didn’t I?” I asked.

  “I always thought that was so you could see me, not to fish,” Rhiannon said with a smile.

  “It was,” I said softly, smiling back.

  When things slowed way down in the wee hours of Thursday morning, Rhiannon broached a subject I know was hard for her to bring up. “Mike, I may be a fool to ask this, but what’s going to happen to us?”

  I didn’t answer right away. I looked down into my coffee cup and carefully considered what to say to her. She waited patiently for my reaction.

  Finally, I looked up and met her eyes. I think it was the look in her eyes that made up my mind. In her eyes I saw the old Rhiannon that I saw on the beach the night she begged me not to hate her. In those eyes I saw my friend Rhiannon who was sorry for the hurt she’d caused me and who wanted to find some way, any way, to make it better. In her beautiful green eyes I saw fear and hope, fear that I would reject her overture, and hope that though things could never be like they were back in the day, maybe we could find something in tomorrow for the two of us. Most of all I saw in those eyes the love she had for me.