Chapter 4 – James

I can’t believe she was so offended.

Seriously, it was just a joke. This is a backwater town of ancient fishermen; I just thought it would be fun to push her buttons. After all, she’s a city girl and an academic. I thought she’d enjoy the quaintness of a good, old-fashioned misogynist sea captain. Seems I was wrong, and she didn’t even give me a chance to make up for it.

I guess that’s why I’m still single. Me and the opposite sex, we just don’t mix.

I’ve already been to see my mom this morning. She still lives in the house where I grew up, which I managed to keep up payments for even in the early lean years after my dad passed away. Nowadays it’s all hers, lock, stock, and barrel, but there were times when it looked like it might be repossessed. She doesn’t walk anymore, the atrophy of her leg muscles is something no doctor has been able to fix, but I’m hoping that might change soon. There’s a surgeon in Texas whom I’ve been in touch with, and he’s confident he can make her legs work again. It will be expensive, but it will be worth it.

The boats in the harbor are quiet this time of the morning, the sea as flat and still as bathwater. Gentle slurping is the only sound as they rock gently back and forth, along with the occasional call of a gull overhead.

I love it when the world is this quiet. It only happens at this time of the day, before anyone else is ready to go about their business. I love to stand here on the dockside and watch the horizon, watch the sun rise, waiting for the time to come for me to go out on the water.

As I watch, a few fishermen—and women—start to arrive, readying their boats, big and small. Some of them have crews, some of them do everything by themselves. I know every face among them, and I’ve taken each one under my wing at some point in their lives, even those who are older than me.

Not that I’m old, although it feels that way sometimes, what with the way the new sailors look up to me and all. I’ll be thirty-five in a few months’ time, but I know these waters, and I know how to fish them.

For one thing, I know that the best catch won’t be made at this time in the morning, not the kind of catch that I’m associated with; the high-quality, tastiest, largest fish. They don’t bother themselves coming near nets until after the sun’s over the yardarm. By that time, I’ll have my boat out at the shallow grounds near Edgar’s Point, where they’ll congregate at this time of year.

“Howdy, James!” Eric Gregson shouts up to me, one hand shielding his eyes from the sun’s glare. He’s in his midfifties, lived here all his life. My dad used to know him, back in the day. White hair, a thin white moustache, heavily tanned arms. I wave back to him before he carries on. “Would’ya mind taking a look at my radio ifn’ya have a moment? I was struggling to get a decent signal when I was coming in to dock yesterday evening.”

“Sure,” I call back. “Give me a minute.”

I grab my lime and soda before I head out to his boat with him. On our way over, we pass the monstrosity of a yacht, The Beachcomber, that belongs to Lance Pollack.

Well, it belongs to his dad anyway, but Lance has full use of it. The thing’s not really built for docking in a fishing harbor like Port Hope; it should be in some luxury marina down in Florida or maybe Saint-Tropez. Gregory Pollack owns the sawmill, which has an international reputation for quality and brings in a lot of cash. Greg pays a man just to keep the boat clean and sparkly-white, which it is.

The yacht is the most modern thing in the harbor, too, and filled with all kinds of electronics I wouldn’t have a clue how to work. Gizmos and gadgets really aren’t my thing. But it means that despite its size, one person can pilot it without any trouble. In reality, it could pilot itself so long as someone just set the controls to begin with and there was nothing in the way.

“Here’s your problem,” I say to Eric as we stand on his deck, “you’ve had a rat on here sometime in the last week I’d say. Chewed nearly right through the cable. Might be worth putting some bait around, but it’s probably jumped ship by now, just passing through while you were docked. Still, can’t be too sure.”

“Thanks, boy, you’re a lifesaver. Can you fix it?”

“Do you have a bit of gaffer tape? It won’t be a permanent job, but it will get you through until you can get it into the shop.”

After I’ve patched up Eric’s radio, I head back out onto the dock, planning to give my own boat a thorough check through before setting out myself. I doubt there’s anything to worry about, but one of my mantras is that it’s better to check and find nothing than wish you’d taken those few extra minutes. If there’s been a rat chewing through wiring, then who knows what other damage it might have done?

Lance Pollack has arrived now, and he’s standing with the girl I met in the bar last night—what did her friend call her? Ev? Is that short for something, maybe Evelyn? She looks so good I can’t avoid my mind wandering to ideas of forcing her onto her knees, stripped down to her bra and panties, her eyes looking up at me...

Fuck, Jesus, get a grip on yourself.

I have to be sensible here. Not only did she make it very clear that she wants nothing at all to do with me, but there’s also the fact that she’s a researcher from another goddamned state. Nothing could ever happen between us. And I’m not even sure I want it to. I have to physically force all the thoughts of Sarah and everything that happened to her out of my mind.

“Beautiful morning,” I say, giving the girl a thin smile, and she nods back, a look of recognition in her eyes. Maybe I catch a glimpse of something more, but it’s gone as soon as it’s arrived.

“Taking your rust-bucket out on the water are you, Jimbo?” Lance flashes me a sneer as he takes the girl’s hand to help her up onto the yacht. “When are you going to join the modern world? Or can’t you afford to?”

His attitude riles me, and the nickname makes me want to start throwing punches, but what really twists the knife is the way he’s touching her. Sure, she may not want me around and I can respect that, but Lance thinks he’s got some sort of God-given right to treat women any way he wants.

I have a mind to give him a piece of mine, and then maybe lay him out on the deck of his own yacht for good measure, but with a woman around, I have to keep myself in check. I may not be as old-fashioned as I was making out last night, but there is such a thing as manners.

“Take care out there,” I say, keeping my cool and ignoring Lance’s insults. “There’s a possibility of a storm later, judging by the taste of the air.”

“Pfft. There’s been nothing forecast. Besides, this thing has the most state-of-the-art equipment in the world. I think it’ll weather a little rainstorm.”

I shrug, trying not to care, but the truth is, he has someone else going aboard with him, and I don’t want anything to put her in danger.