McBride stood on the pier at the bottom of his ship’s gangway. The skippers of the two commercial tugs were waiting for him, but he’d insisted on checking one more time. Finally, he realized he wasn’t going to find her onboard. His radio buzzed.
“We can’t wait anymore, Skipper,” the radio said.
“Piss off,” he answered without pressing the button. He looked down the pier, into the glare of morning. There were palm trees down there, on the black sand beach, and maybe she’d gone there to read and had fallen asleep. Except, he’d gone down and looked. Twice.
“Where are you?” he said, and then before he could change his mind raised the radio to his lips and said, “Okay then. Let’s go.”
He walked up the gangway stairs. As he stepped onto the deck he looked across the pier to the Army LSV, to the skipper there standing, leaning on a rail. The man raised a hand, and McBride raised a hand back.
“Good luck,” Mannino yelled, and McBride nodded and stepped inside the house of his ship.
The morning outside was bright but the blind drawn and the cabin dark. They’d slept like the dead, then woke, then slept again.
Lorraine hadn’t said anything to him yet. Nothing. Just moved her stuff in without a word. It was so odd, so strange, he said nothing in return and didn’t question it. If she wants to be here, Junior Davis thought, I won’t stand in her way. It wasn’t until after they’d slept the first time, in that dreamy, dozy place in between naps, that she spoke. They’d ended up with their arms around each other, and made no move to unwrap on waking. It was warm. When she did speak, she had one simple question.
“What is it that you have,” she asked.
He told her.
“I thought so,” she said. She kissed his chest, and they both went back to sleep. He woke later, alone, and slipped from the bed. He pushed the shade aside a little, and saw they were under way. The silent passage of a towed ship, a dead ship. He could see the mast of one of the commercial tugs, and the clouds and sky beyond. In his desk he found an unopened bottle of whiskey.Our last sail, he thought.What better reason for a toast.
Junior Davis crawled back into bed with the bottle and an empty glass and poured himself a drink.