hotels. They make a
pissload more money than me, but they're never home. My idea of wanderlust involves going out in
the morning and being home by dinnertime. I mean, what's the point of working yourself half to death for extra
money if you never have the time to enjoy it?
We didn't talk
for too long. Belle had her reading
group to attend to, and it was her turn to host. That part made me glad that I was out on the
ocean instead of at home. Most of the
women in her group seem to find more excitement in a book than they do in the
real world. That would be okay with me,
if the books they chose weren't normally whatever crap Oprah suggested to
housewives all around the world.
After the
phone call, I set up the Parsonses in a room near mine. It was nice enough as cabins go, but
small. I figured they'd be asleep in no
time, but I was wrong.
I found them
up on deck, sipping coffee and watching the waters out toward the reef. They were engaged in quiet conversation and I
left them be, perfectly content to sit a ways off and enjoy the chilly night
air. It was cold enough that I wore a
sweater, and the air was the sort of dry that only seems to come around when it's autumn and the leaves are changing. Golden Cove was behind us, and the few lights
that burned in the town were just enough to illuminate the waves with a golden
counterpoint t the silver of the moon. It was nice and peaceful, just the way I like it.
I must have
spent a good half hour out there, just sitting and thinking about as little as
possible before the fog started coming in. You expect fog on the ocean, especially when the weather changes
drastically. But there's fog and then
there's the pea soup that came spilling over the entire cove, rolling in with a
gentle breeze that shouldn't have been able to move the thick layer of mist
that fast.
If I'd been
driving a car, I'd have pulled off to the side of the road and left my hazards
going. There are times when the fog
along the shoreline can seem like a living thing, and this was one of those
times. In a matter of seconds the reef
was lost. Off to the north, about a half
mile or so away, I could see the Cove Point Lighthouse, a long spire that sat
in the middle of nowhere and worked to keep anyone from running into the things
they weren't supposed to hit. The light
was automated, and only came into play when the visibility was bad. From this distance all I could really make
out was the flash of light that marked where it was whenever the rotating beams
cut through the darkness. The fog was so
heavy that it stole everything but the illumination. There was nothing out there to see otherwise,
just like with the moon far above.
The
temperature dropped a good fifteen degrees when the fog crossed over the yacht
and onto the shore. I let the heavy mist
wash over me and stayed where I was, ignoring the increased chill as best I
could.
Mary Parsons
moved closer to me and settled into the chair next to mine.
"Does the
fog always come in this fast?"
I shook my
head. "Now and then, but this is
one of the worst I've seen."
She looked out
at the water and I studied her for a few seconds. I was struck again by the notion that she
went out of her way to look unattractive. I guess it takes all types, but I was still a little puzzled by it.
"Your
first mate doesn’t like us much, I think."
"Honestly? I think you scare him a little. Charlie's a bit superstitious."
She sighed and
shook her head. "He should join the
club."
"Probably
would, depending on the dues."
"Do you
think you saw a ghost last night, Joe?"
I thought
about it, but in the end I didn't really have an answer. "Maybe. I think it’s a possibility."
She sat
silently for a few minutes, comfortable with where she was sitting, which was
kind of nice. There aren't too many
women I've met who were at ease with a relatively unknown man.
"What
made up your mind about
pissload more money than me, but they're never home. My idea of wanderlust involves going out in
the morning and being home by dinnertime. I mean, what's the point of working yourself half to death for extra
money if you never have the time to enjoy it?
We didn't talk
for too long. Belle had her reading
group to attend to, and it was her turn to host. That part made me glad that I was out on the
ocean instead of at home. Most of the
women in her group seem to find more excitement in a book than they do in the
real world. That would be okay with me,
if the books they chose weren't normally whatever crap Oprah suggested to
housewives all around the world.
After the
phone call, I set up the Parsonses in a room near mine. It was nice enough as cabins go, but
small. I figured they'd be asleep in no
time, but I was wrong.
I found them
up on deck, sipping coffee and watching the waters out toward the reef. They were engaged in quiet conversation and I
left them be, perfectly content to sit a ways off and enjoy the chilly night
air. It was cold enough that I wore a
sweater, and the air was the sort of dry that only seems to come around when it's autumn and the leaves are changing. Golden Cove was behind us, and the few lights
that burned in the town were just enough to illuminate the waves with a golden
counterpoint t the silver of the moon. It was nice and peaceful, just the way I like it.
I must have
spent a good half hour out there, just sitting and thinking about as little as
possible before the fog started coming in. You expect fog on the ocean, especially when the weather changes
drastically. But there's fog and then
there's the pea soup that came spilling over the entire cove, rolling in with a
gentle breeze that shouldn't have been able to move the thick layer of mist
that fast.
If I'd been
driving a car, I'd have pulled off to the side of the road and left my hazards
going. There are times when the fog
along the shoreline can seem like a living thing, and this was one of those
times. In a matter of seconds the reef
was lost. Off to the north, about a half
mile or so away, I could see the Cove Point Lighthouse, a long spire that sat
in the middle of nowhere and worked to keep anyone from running into the things
they weren't supposed to hit. The light
was automated, and only came into play when the visibility was bad. From this distance all I could really make
out was the flash of light that marked where it was whenever the rotating beams
cut through the darkness. The fog was so
heavy that it stole everything but the illumination. There was nothing out there to see otherwise,
just like with the moon far above.
The
temperature dropped a good fifteen degrees when the fog crossed over the yacht
and onto the shore. I let the heavy mist
wash over me and stayed where I was, ignoring the increased chill as best I
could.
Mary Parsons
moved closer to me and settled into the chair next to mine.
"Does the
fog always come in this fast?"
I shook my
head. "Now and then, but this is
one of the worst I've seen."
She looked out
at the water and I studied her for a few seconds. I was struck again by the notion that she
went out of her way to look unattractive. I guess it takes all types, but I was still a little puzzled by it.
"Your
first mate doesn’t like us much, I think."
"Honestly? I think you scare him a little. Charlie's a bit superstitious."
She sighed and
shook her head. "He should join the
club."
"Probably
would, depending on the dues."
"Do you
think you saw a ghost last night, Joe?"
I thought
about it, but in the end I didn't really have an answer. "Maybe. I think it’s a possibility."
She sat
silently for a few minutes, comfortable with where she was sitting, which was
kind of nice. There aren't too many
women I've met who were at ease with a relatively unknown man.
"What
made up your mind about
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