Read Online Body of Immorality by Brandon Berntson - Free Book Online Page B

where it mattered most. Love was in the hull , the sound of the motor coming to life, the places she took him. Surely, the good Lord—since Carl loved her so—would let him take Preservation beyond Heaven’s Gate when all was said and done. You spent time in Heaven, after all, with those you loved, right? Just bury Tallard and Preservation together at the bottom of the sea. Nothing, he thought, once he parted from the salt of the earth, could be more romantic.
    “I’m sorry I didn’t see it, honey,” he said, thinking of Marion in New York. He rubbed his hand over the brass rails of Preservation. He felt no emotion when Marion left, oddly enough, when she told him of the affair. It was luck, perhaps.
    Loneliness didn’t victimize him. It was a weak and timid emotion, evincing an obvious lack of fulfillment. He was happier once Marion left. He could dedicate all his time to nautical hobbies without hearing a single whine or complaint. He could watch Jaws whenever he felt like it.
    Tallard believed he and Jaws would’ve been the best of friends. The only disappointment he experienced was when he had to return to land for more beer, meat, and potatoes. Running his toes through the sand was part of that love, too.
    As often as he sought the comforts of solitude, Preservation provided opportunity with friends.
    On that breezy, warm, July evening, the sun began its descent below the horizon, sending orange, yellow, and red embers across the sky.
    Sailor’s delight, Tallard thought, and smiled.
    The wind played, rippling the dark blue plastic of his windbreaker, bringing with it the rich salty smells of the ocean. Carl’s dad, along with the telescope, had bought him a hat similar to the one Skipper wore on Gilligan’s Island. Tallard wore it religiously.
    Thanks for the memories, pop. Thanks for everything.
    Something about friends, a voice suddenly issued in his brain. You can’t always trust them, know what they’re about to do, how they’re going to betray you.
    Puzzled, Carl cocked his head, and quickly shook the voice off as age, a problem with his ears.
    On that July weekend of the 24 th in 2008, Tallard sacrificed his solitude, his lack of loneliness, for a weekend trip on Preservation with his two closest friends, Art Langly and Tommy Folleter. Art, a culinary artist and owner of Tasty Art’s in Santa Cruz, was below deck in the galley preparing appetizers. Tasty Art’s was a cultural dining, atmospheric experience for friends, families, and lovers. Whenever Tallard returned to land and civilization, he made at least one stop at Tasty Art’s, not only say hello to his friend, but for the atmospheric, fine dining experience. Tasty Art’s, after the last review, was a four star restaurant.
    Tommy Folleter lounged on a lawn chair several feet from Carl, nursing a cold beer. He was a real estate agent who complained about the phone calls, the 24/7 routine, and how—once a day off was finally savored—you often missed an important sale.
    Tallard didn’t mind Tommy’s complaints. The man made decent money at a job he was good at. He had a wife, two boys, Eric and Lucien, and a girl, Tess, in Sacramento.
    The evening light provided Tallard enough time to scan the sea with the portable telescope. Carl’s father found it in an antique shop in La Jolla for Tallard’s twenty-first birthday. The telescope was copper and gold, extending to the size of a small baseball bat. It was probably, Carl estimated, over one hundred years old.
    Carl and his two closest friends had been on the Pacific for three days now, enjoying Art’s cooking, cold drinks, laughter, fishing, and one another’s company. Tallard provided this vacation for his friends every year in July. It became a tradition, more special than Christmas. They ate steamed crabs, oysters, relaxed in the hot sun, and drank exotic beverages. Paradise, indeed, Tallard thought, was on the Pacific, on Preservation.
    Sometimes (as he was doing now), Carl simply