Page 22 of As a Last Resort
The ferry schedule was tight.Tight enough that if I added any more runs, I’d be working my crew into the ground.We were already running six days a week, filling any daylight hours with runs across the water.I didn’t personally like nighttime runs.The view of the island in daylight was a much better first impression but if numbers continued to grow like they were, I wouldn’t have a choice but to add a few onto the schedule.
What I needed was a bigger boat.And bigger boats were expensive.
“You go see that two-hundred passenger for sale yet?”Patrick asked as he mopped down the deck between runs.A sightseeing charter in north Florida had been bought out and had a boat for sale a couple hours away.It was the perfect upgrade to my current one-boat show, and the new owner wasn’t local.He wanted to get rid of it quickly, so the price was right.
“No.Ran out of time and couldn’t squeeze it in.”
“Want me to go take a peek?I’ve got the time tomorrow whileyou’re running.Or,” he switched to his Jamaican accent, “I could run the ferry, mon.Allow me to introduce your guests to the beautiful world of Rock Island—the authentic way.”
I did a double take.He really did look like the Bolt.
“And what exactly is authentic about a Jamaican ferrying people to an island in Florida?”
“Similar climates.And people always love the accent, you know that.”One corner of his mouth pulled up and he wagged his eyebrows.“For real though, you need to take a look and this ferry needs to keep running.I’ve got you, man.”
Generally speaking, I’d rather do something myself and make sure it gets done right, even though I trust Patrick as much as I’m capable of.Previous experience in trusting other humans would lead me to believe it’s a safer bet to rely on yourself.If something were to happen on my watch, the guests’ safety would be in my hands.But if I’m not there, I can’t do anything about it.
My mother calls itguarded.I call itbeing responsible.
“What do you say, Capt’n?You promise to go take a peek at that new boat you need to be buying, and I promise not to sink this one.Deal?”
Click-click-click.
My head shot up.
There was something about a certainclick-click-clickcoming down the dock that told you the owner of that noise was going to be trouble.That sound meant one of two things—the owner had never been on a dock before and didn’t realize their heels would inevitably get caught in the open slats, or two, they knew and didn’t give a shit.
I didn’t need the confirmation of the big floppy hat and oversized sunglasses to tell me this one was the latter.
Click-click-click.
I watched out of the corner of my eye.She halted halfway down the dock as her suitcase slammed into her leg.One heel had wedged itself into the open crack of the old wooden boards.
She mumbled something under her breath.
Well, that’s what happens when you walk on a dock in inappropriate shoes—they’re not exactly high heel friendly.Her oversized hat engulfed her frame as she bent down, dropping her purse to the ground as her rolling suitcase fell over to the side.She worked to get her heel out, then fell back on her butt.She took her glasses off, turned her head to the sky, and exhaled loudly.
Holy shit.
It couldn’t be.
I guess technically speaking it could be, but the chances were so slim I shook my head and squinted my eyes just to make sure.
Here’s the thing about our small town and the people who grow up here—there are three types.There are the ones who stay.Forever.They marry their high school sweetheart they walked on homecoming court with, have babies soon after graduation, then your mom ends up teaching their kids first grade eventually and you’re cheering at the same Little League games with them.You see them every Friday night at the high school football game working concessions, then at the grocery store every Saturday afternoon, then nestled in a church pew on Sunday morning.
Then, there are the ones who boomerang—they leave for a little bit, but inevitably come back to run the family business, take care of a sick parent, or they just partied too hard in college, flunked out and have nowhere else to go so they make it work.
Then there were the Samantha Leighs—they left and there wasn’t a shot in hell they’d ever come back.
Patrick’s voice rang out from beside me.“You good, man?Youlook like you’ve just seen a ghost.”He followed my eyeline and whistled.“Now that’s a fish outta water if I’ve ever seen one.”
She had managed to wrench her heel free and was almost to the boat, but Patrick shot up at the sight of her, always the knight in shining armor, and leaped off to help her.She was looking up at the signs on the dock, but there was no doubt in my mind she was headed for ours.
I counted how many seconds it would take for him to recognize her.She was a few years behind us but she had one of those faces that’s hard to forget.
“You looking for a ride to Rock Island?”
I saw her eyebrows pull at the sight of his name tag, probably trying to reconcile a semi-familiar face with a totally bogus name.“I am.Are you with Scuttle’s Ferry?”
