“Ready, Ed?” she called.
He cast off the bow line and made ready to release the stern line. “Ready.” He released the stern line.
Mitch shifted into forward and the cruiser smoothly slid out of the slip. The twin diesels weren’t fast, but they were reliable and easy on fuel. They sounded good this morning, smoothly throbbing under the deck beneath their feet. Dawn painted the sky behind them in fiery pastels while she guided the boat out of the marina and into the channel. Minutes later, they glided past the saw grass flats comprising a good deal of this portion of the Florida coastline. Channel markers slid by one after another as they left Aripeka behind them and made their way out into the Gulf.
The water looked like satiny glass, something only seen early in the morning before the sea breezes rippled it, or on certain afternoons when the Gulf was calm to begin with and the wind bowed its head to the scorching sun. As they moved farther out toward the head marker, Mitch left the cockpit and took her coffee up to the flybridge. She did her best thinking up there, with the salty breeze to help organize her thoughts and clear the cobwebs from her mind.
They passed several shrimpers heading east, back into Hudson. Mitch knew that as the sun rose, smaller pleasure boats would start flying past the Sun Run as if the cruiser stood still.
Jack stuck his head into the flybridge. “How long till we get there?”
She consulted her watch. “About four hours.”
Jack laughed. “Ron’s not going to like that.”
“Ron’s just going to have to be patient. We’ll be out all weekend. A few hours won’t kill him. If he behaves himself, maybe we’ll bring him up some lobsters when we hit the Middle Grounds.”
Jack’s eyes lit up. “That’s right, I forgot. Lobster season opened last month, didn’t it?”
“Yeah, and I’ve got a couple of good spots out there. You know that picture of me Dad liked?”
“You mean with the lobster nearly as big as you are?”
“That one. I pulled it out from under a ledge in the Middle Grounds.”
“I heard you had a little help from Ed with that.” Jack enjoyed teasing her.
She smiled. “Yeah, well I was only twelve, Jack. Give me a break.”
* * * *
They reached the head marker. Mitch eased back on the throttle long enough to allow her brand-new handheld GPS unit to cycle on the location’s coordinates. She’d checked the marine reports and found out they’d be traveling through a fish kill area caused by red tide, but it shouldn’t be an issue for them once they reached the Middle Grounds.
She left the flybridge and returned to the cockpit. Jack, always curious about electronics, tagged along.
“What is that thing?”
“My new GPS. Got it last week on sale.”
“What’s wrong with your old one?”
“Nothing.” Ed read her coordinates out of a notebook, and she punched them into the old unit, and then the new one.
“It’s a shiny new toy,” she joked. “And it’s a handheld. My other one is a dash mount.”
Ed set the autopilot and closed the notebook. “I’m done.”
Mitch put down the GPS. “You want to cook or steer the boat?”
“I made breakfast last time,” Ed said.
She smiled. “Any chance of me talking you into switching?”
He smiled back, shaking his head. “Not a snowball’s.”
“All right. Off to the slave pit. Come on, Pete.” Pete, who knew the routine, followed her, wagging his tail in anticipation. By the time she finished cooking breakfast, the sun was up with its usual vengeance and had quickly turned the cool morning into a typical tropical Florida scorcher. With the seas calm, she opened up all the cabin’s windows to catch what little breeze she could and keep the interior cool. Then she took up a position in the upper cabin, in the cockpit, to eat breakfast.
Lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t pay much attention to the men’s conversation. Ed’s voice finally pulled her out of her reverie.
“Earth to Mitch.”
She turned, momentarily startled as Ed waved his hand in front of her face. “What? Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”
He laughed. “No kidding. Do you want me to drive?”
She shook her head. “No, that’s okay, I’ll handle it.”
He motioned at the bow. “Then you’d better. We’re heading right for that shrimper.”
Mitch stood and went to the wheel. The other vessel was still a quarter of a mile ahead of them when she disconnected the autopilot and took the helm. By the time she finished her breakfast, they were safely past the shrimper, and she reconnected the autopilot. Ed took over the watch again while Mitch cleaned up the remnants of breakfast. Once she finished the dishes she went aft to rig leaders.
* * * *
Ed watched Mitch from the shade of the wheelhouse while she worked. She was an attractive woman. She’d pulled her long, sun-bleached auburn hair back in a ponytail through the back of a well-worn baseball cap shielding her face from the blazing sun. She had an enviable tan that accentuated her body quite nicely. All five feet eight inches of her were fit and firm, one of the benefits of her years of diving. Her long fingers rapidly tied the leaders, mute testament to her years of training under her father’s watchful eyes.
Mitch was Ray and Susan Jackson’s only child, but she turned out to be daddy’s girl. He taught her everything he knew about boats and fishing. Susan didn’t like the fact that Michelle was a tomboy, and retaliated by teaching her more “feminine” pursuits. Mitch learned how to crochet and cook, but always followed in her father’s footsteps.
Almost as if reading his thoughts, Mitch looked up and flashed him a smile. Ed waved back and she returned to her work, leaving him with his thoughts. He turned back to the horizon and let his mind drift again. He’d known her ever since she was ten and he was a teenager. Throughout the years, and his own marriage and divorce, he’d developed feelings for Mitch deeper than friendship.
He wanted to tell her how he felt, the emotions that had built inside him, that he thought he not only loved her, but was in love with her. His nerves deserted him every time. He didn’t think he could stand it if she didn’t feel the same way.
He found it easier to suffer in silence.
Pete, apparently realizing he wasn’t getting any more handouts from his mom, went up to Ed and sat at his feet, wagging his tail with what seemed to be high doggy hopes. Ed laughed and gave him the last bite of his egg sandwich, patting him on the head.
“You know I’m a sucker, don’t you, boy?”
Ed wasn’t sure if Pete’s soft woof was the dog’s way of agreeing or not, but it made him chuckle and earned the dog a scratch on the head.
* * * *
Mitch didn’t expect any problems that weekend, but the first one cropped up less than ten miles from their destination. Over the years, she had developed an experienced boater’s ear, one that told her in a heartbeat, even before a gauge could register it, when there was a problem with her vessel. Although the instruments in front of her on the flybridge dash showed nothing amiss, Mitch knew one of the engines sounded wrong. She climbed down the ladder just as Ed emerged from the cabin.
“You hear that?” he asked. She nodded, and together they opened the engine compartment hatch. The quiet thrum became a roar with the insulating cover out of the way. Flashlight in hand, Mitch wiggled into the cramped area to examine the port engine. It just didn’t sound right, like one of the cylinders had a miss. The backup temp gauges agreed with the one on the console, so the engine wasn’t overheating.
She looked up at Ed. “When was the last time we replaced the injectors?” she asked.
He thought about it for a minute. “It’s been a while. Several years, at least. I think it’s due.”
She extricated herself from the cramped compartment. “I think so, too. It’s not bad, just a little miss every once in a while, but I think we need to go ahead, do �
��em all, and get it over with.”
He nodded. “My thoughts exactly.” They replaced the cover while Ron and Jack looked on.
“What does that mean?” Jack asked.
“It means a lot of damn work on Monday morning,” Ed said. “I wonder what else’ll happen this weekend?”
She looked at him over her shoulder. “Bite your tongue, hopefully nothing.” As she expected, while they’d passed through a red tide area, the water around them now was clean and beautiful. Some floating patches of turtle grass here and there, but no dead fish. “I’m looking forward to a nice, relaxing weekend.”
Chapter Two
They had beautiful weather. Gentle two-foot rollers and a slight breeze out of the west. Mitch eased back on the throttle approximately a half mile from the numbers and turned the bottom recorder on. She watched as the dash-mounted GPS finally zeroed out, indicating their arrival.
Ed stood ready with a marker buoy. When a spike appeared on the bottom recorder, she yelled, “Jug it.”
He tossed the jug overboard and went forward. She slipped the engines into neutral and waited until the buoy’s lead weight reached bottom and all the line unwound. When she saw which way the current ran, she nosed the cruiser forward until the spike reappeared on the recorder. The jug floated right alongside it.
“Drop it, Ed.”
Ed tossed the anchor over the rail and fed rope out. Mitch shifted into neutral and waited for his signal to back up. He gave it a tug and securely set and tied off the anchor. She shut the engines down and stretched, enjoying the sudden silence.
“All right, boys. Start reeling them in.”
Ron glanced at her. “You’re not wetting a hook?”
“No, not right now. I’m going to go relax up front for a little while. I might go down later today with a spear gun.” She went forward and lounged against the cockpit window, pulled her baseball cap down over her eyes, and listened to the conversation behind her. Ed laughed at a raunchy joke Ron told, while Jack talked about his brother’s fishing trip two weeks prior. Pete curled up next to her. She absently scratched his ears.
“Hey, Mitch?”
She didn’t realize she’d dozed off until Ed’s voice called to her from the stern. She felt Pete sit up.
“Yo.” She turned to look at them through the windshield and saw Ed suiting up.
“Wanna go down?”
Mitch shook her head. “I’d rather wait. If I go now, it’ll max me out for the day. If I dive, I’ll spearfish. If I spearfish, I’ll push my limits which means no diving the deeper spots we’ve got planned for later.”
Ed turned on his air and checked his pressure gauge. “Okay. I’ll be back up in a while.”
“Don’t forget to turn your computer on.”
He smiled and pressed the button. “Thanks, hon.” His dive computer, a model so horrendously simple and reliable that they both owned one, was easy to use but had to be activated on the surface. It was easy to forget.
Five minutes later, he rolled into the water and headed for the bottom. Mitch knew he’d still try to sneak a dive in later on, no matter what his computer said. Jack disappeared into the cabin, probably sneaking a snack. Mitch couldn’t believe he ate as much as he did and never seemed to gain weight. Just a couple inches taller than her, he was solid, but in good shape.
She stood and walked aft, sitting on the gunwale to watch Ed’s bubbles.
Ron’s answer to drinking beer early in the day was a bottle of nonalcoholic O’Doul’s. “I’m a redneck wannabe,” he joked. He pulled one out of the cooler and offered it to her. She declined. He closed the cooler and opened the bottle, draining a third in one long swallow. “Why didn’t you go down?” Ron asked her.
“Because we’ll be heading deeper later on, and if I go now, I’ll max my limits.”
“What about the buddy system?”
“Since when did you two become dive students?”
Ron obviously enjoyed ribbing her. “So you’re saying you don’t practice what you teach?”
“I’m saying that Ed’s been diving for over twenty years and doesn’t need me to keep an eye on him. God, what, is it pick on the girl day and someone forgot to tell me?”
Ron laughed. “No, hon. I’m just yanking your chain.” There weren’t many men she’d tolerate calling her hon, and three of them were on the boat that weekend.
“Well, don’t yank it too hard. You don’t want to piss off a potential client.”
“What do you mean?”
She scanned the water for Ed’s bubbles. She located him about fifty yards off their starboard stern. She automatically tracked him while talking to Ron.
“I want to file.”
“Against your husband?”
“No, against Bill Clinton. Who do you think?”
“Touchy, aren’t we?”
She took her eyes off Ed’s bubbles long enough to glare at him.
“Just kidding, Mitch. Seriously? You’re finally going to do it?”
She nodded.
“How long have you been married to him?”
“Five years back in July,” Jack called out from the galley. “And he’s a fucking asshole, if you ask me. Hey, where’d you stash the bread?”
“Same place it always is, genius,” she hollered back. “Second cabinet on the right.”
“Ah, got it! Thanks!”
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Ron said, “what was the whole story behind that?”
She didn’t enjoy telling it, but time had dulled the pain.
A little.
“You know, it was four months after I walked in on him screwing that tramp before I could talk to him without wanting to scratch his eyes out. Another three before I could talk to him without fighting the urge to call him a ‘bastard’ or an ‘asshole.’”
“So why didn’t you do this sooner?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. I guess sheer stubbornness. I didn’t want to admit he won. I didn’t even sleep with him after I found him with that slut. I moved all my stuff into the guest room. I lived off and on in the house for almost a year. Then Dad died, and I moved back in full-time with Mom to take care of her. Then she died, and I didn’t want to move back. I’ve been gone three and a half years now.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “I guess it’s just that it still stings that he had me so completely fooled.”
“I didn’t realize how much you loved him.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not that. I mean, yes, I did love John in the beginning. Or at least, I thought I did. Maybe he just swept me off my feet and I ignored the things I saw in him that I didn’t like. He can be so charming, but it’s just a face he puts on in the morning, like his socks and his underwear, he’s not…” She paused, at a loss for words.
“Not like Ed?” Ron helpfully suggested.
“Exactly.” She fell silent again.
“I’ve been wondering how long it would take you to finally get it over with. You need to move on with your life, hon. It’s an unpleasant thing to go through, but once it’s done, John’s out of your life for good. Besides that, you’ve got other things to do.”
“I know. I’ve got the shop and the boat to worry about. The last thing I need on my mind is John.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
She turned to him. “What are you talking about?”
“You know damn well what he’s talking about,” Jack called out from the galley.
“Shut up,” Ron said. “I’ve got this.” He chuckled, his voice low. “I think you know damn well what I’m talking about. You just haven’t seen it yet.” He motioned over his shoulder with the bottle, in the direction of Ed’s bubbles. “Him, Ed. He’s right in front of your nose, dear, and frankly, I’m surprised the two of you aren’t hitched.”
She felt stunned that Ron’s words struck so close to home, defining thoughts she’d had but refused to act on out of fear of losing Ed completely. “Ed’s my friend.”
“And a
damn good one at that. The two of you are closer than most married people. You certainly get along better than a good portion of them, and the chemistry between the two of you is unmistakable to anyone who sees you together.”
“I’ve never thought of him in that way,” she lied.
“Oh, don’t give me that line of crap. I’ve watched you watching him, the look on your face. And I’ve watched him watching you. Whether or not you admit it, you’ve got it bad for him.” He finished his drink. “Face it. The two of you are meant to be.”
She didn’t have an answer for that.
“I’m your friend, and I’ll help you any way I can,” he said. “Come to the office Monday morning and we’ll draw up the papers. Take my advice, talk to Ed, go to him and tell him what you’re feeling.
“Ron, I don’t know what I’m feeling right now,” she protested.
He smiled. “You will, hon. You will.”
“Promise me you won’t say anything to Ed about this. About me filing. I’ll tell him when I’m ready.” She looked at the cabin. “You either, genius,” she yelled.
“Mouth’s sealed,” Jack called back.
“I don’t understand why,” Ron said, “but I won’t tell him.”
Mitch noticed Ed surfacing in the distance to check his position. He gave them the okay sign and resubmerged. Jack reappeared, sandwich in hand, and Mitch tried to keep up her end of a conversation while her thoughts turned to what Ron said. His words had struck a little too close for comfort.
Even before her father’s death she’d been close to Ed. It was only natural, since Ed and Ray Jackson had been not only business partners, but close friends. She’d grown up knowing Ed. And of course she’d had the natural puppy love crush on him when she was younger. But he couldn’t feel anything romantic for her.
Could he?
Ed finally returned to the boat and handed up a stringer full of fish—grouper, hogfish, and several large snappers.
“Wow!” Mitch checked their sizes before dumping them into a cooler. “Those are nice. You did good.”
Ed passed his gear to Jack and climbed into the boat. “This is a good spot.” He looked at Ron and Jack. “How many did you put in the cooler?” He grinned.
Dalton, Tymber - Red Tide (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 2