Chapter 7

On Saturday morning, I opened up the garage door and felt the cool spring air fill as sunlight shone on Johnny Bruce parked inside. Rich was rolling his truck to a stop in our driveway. Today was a new beginning.

“Ya ready to get started on this boat project?” asked Rich as he got out of his truck in our driveway.

“Yep, ready to go.” I reached out and shook Rich’s hand.

After being married to my dad, my mother had been in no hurry to remarry, and I can’t blame her. My mother is a saint. However, Rich is my stepdad after she finally remarried. Rich is a wonderful man, and he takes excellent care of Mother. We also get along pretty well.

“Let me get my tools,” said Rich.

The boat had been sitting in the backyard for about a month. I took some time to gather resources and come up with a plan on how to restore Johnny Bruce. Over that month, I spent time around the boat and continued to hear the voice whisper some guidance.

“I think I have everything we need to put in some new floors and decks,” I said.

I focused my free thought moments on how to fix the boat. At one point, I told Eileen, “This thing is therapy for me. It’s helping me deal with losing John.”

After losing John, I put my emotions on a shelf and tucked them away to make it through the daily routine of life. We had a child during that time. He started elementary school while our daughter Eva started high school.

When I talked about the boat with Eileen, she would look at me with a gleam in her eyes. “Your spark is returning. It’s good for you. You are talking about the good times with John. It’s nice to see you smiling more. I think he is in this boat, and you are reconnecting. You are getting back some of what the two of you had—a connection to the water. A connection to fishing. A connection to boats.”

“Yeah,” I replied, “but it feels even bigger than that, and I can’t put my finger on it. I can’t describe it. It just feels bigger.”

Now, we began the labor of demolition. Rich and I pulled out the screwdrivers, wrenches, sockets, crowbars, and hammers. We removed the trolling motor and every exterior part so we could remove the floor on the front and rear deck. We pried up the plywood to expose the framework underneath and removed the old wiring.

Meticulously, we took apart the interior of the boat John built. Instead of throwing things in the trash heap, we used the old parts as templates to cut new wood decks and guide us where to install new wiring. This was the gift John left for us. He did all the measurements, cutting, and installing. All we had to do was see what was there, test it to see if it was still good, and replace or reinstall.

It was a blur of activity for Rich and me. Eileen came to check on us. My son, Ned, came to see if he could work with us.

“Daddy, can I help?” asked Ned.

“I would love for you to help,” I answered. “But for now, we are using some pretty sharp and dangerous tools. Let me and Grandpa Rich get out all the old, and then you can help us put in the fresh stuff. How does that sound?”

“Okay, Daddy,” said Ned. The rest of the day he was in and out of the house. He rode his bike in the driveway, played with his toy helicopters and gliders, rearranged his yard spinners, and monitored what we were doing. He wanted to be near the action, just as I always wanted to be near the action when Daddy and Granddaddy were working on their projects. I learned how to use tools by watching them.

As we dismantled the boat, not once did I hear the whisper. Not once did the boat speak to me. I said nothing to Rich, wary that he would think I was crazy. Maybe it’s said everything it needs to at this point. Maybe it’s just waiting on us to get this part complete. Been noisy, too—hard to hear a whisper, I thought.

We installed the new wiring. We cut fresh wood, drilled new holes, and prepared to secure the floor and decks to the aluminum boat ribs and frame. Instead of solid plywood, we used ten-inch-wide planks that were one-inch thick with spacing between each plank. It looked more like a backyard deck than a solid boat floor. Instead of laying carpet, we varnished the wood to make it waterproof and allow the natural wood to shine through.

The varnished decks and floors were drying on sawhorses. They would sit overnight to be ready to receive another coat of varnish in the morning.

“Well, I’m exhausted,” I said. “Let’s call it a day. Besides, do you smell that?”

“Oh yeah, smells like an Italian restaurant,” said Rich. A door was all that separated the garage from the house. On the other side of the door was our kitchen, which was emitting an aroma of tomato sauce, cooked onions, garlic, and oregano. We breathed in this delightful, mouth-watering bouquet.

“I think Eileen has cooked us up some spaghetti with meat sauce to recharge our batteries,” I said as a blue car pulled into our driveway and parked next to Rich’s truck. It was my mother. She got out of her car wearing an orange, cotton top and brown capri pants with sandals on her feet.

“Hey, Mother,” I called.

“Hello, gentlemen,” said Mother.

“Great to see you, sweetheart.”

Eileen invited me to dinner,” Mother explained as she reached out for a hug.

I hugged Mother, “I’m sweaty, so not sure if you want to hug me or not.”

“Oh, I’m happy to get a hug from my son, anyway.” Her hair was short and gray, but her eyesight was still strong.

Mother looked to her left and to her right to make sure no one else was around and whispered to me, “I’ve got something to tell you about a visit I had.”

“A visit?” I asked. “Who came by to see you?”

“Not that kind of visit,” she said. “It was a visit from your dad.”