The fog was so thick that it seemed to have palpable weight and bulk. Connor felt as though he would have to slice into it in order to move through. Emerging from his car on the deck of the ferry, he looked around but could see only two cars ahead. Everything beyond that was shrouded in the dull grey dampness that lay heavily on the ferry, its passengers, and the waters of Ogumconquit Bay.
The ride to the island would take a little over two hours, Connor knew from having vacationed on the island for the past three years. The previous three years, he had shared the rented cabin with Michael, but he and Michael had broken up nearly six months ago, and there was no one new in Connor's life as of yet. This year he would be staying in the cabin alone.
Not wanting to spend the over-two-hour-long trip crunched in the front seat of his Toyota needlessly, Connor headed to the snack bar. Seated at a table there, he could stretch his long legs while he chowed down and perhaps strike up a conversation with a fellow passenger to make the time pass more easily. He made his way to the snack bar counter and perused the menu, which was posted on a chalkboard over the cash register.
Good! They still offered pizza dogs. He and Michael had always devoured the pizza dogs in the ferry's snack bar during the crossing each way. This year there was no Michael—a thought that brought an involuntary sigh to Connor's lips—but he'd still be able to enjoy what he thought of as the snack bar's specialty.
There was only one empty table, he observed after he ordered. He was hungry. He would easily be able to devour two pizza dogs and a large orange soda. When he paid the requested amount, he noted that the prices had gone up since last year. But then, that was hardly a surprise. The price of the cabin rental had gone up, too.
As he waited, a muscular fellow with curly brown hair and a thin moustache walked up next to him and peered up at the menu. Then he turned to Connor and asked affably, "What won't give me ptomaine?"
Connor laughed. "For a snack bar, the food isn't half bad. I'm partial to the pizza dogs myself. I always get one or two."
"You take this ferry often, then?"
"Every summer, for the past…well, this will be my fourth year."
"Are you vacationing on the island too, then?"
"Yes, I'm renting one of the cabins. And you?"
"I'm staying at the guest house."
The counterman briskly advanced to take the newcomer's order.
"I haven't decided yet. Give me another minute," the fellow requested.
"Okay. I'll be back," the counterman said.
"What do you recommend?" the brunet asked Connor.
"Have the pizza dog," Connor suggested, just as the counterman returned with a small cardboard tray bearing his order.
"Are those pizza dogs?" was the next question.
"Yep."
"Okay." As the counterman was walking away, the brunet called out to him, "Buddy? Can I get one of what he's having? And a cup of coffee, milk but no sugar."
"Enjoy your lunch," Connor said as he picked up his tray. That one last empty table he had noticed was still available, and he walked over to it, put his tray down at one of the four places, and yanked the wooden chair out decisively. Easing his lean frame into the chair, he hitched the chair into the table and took a swig of his orange soda before digging into the fancified hot dog.
He was about a third of the way through that first hot dog when the stranger appeared at the table. "Mind if I sit here? There are no other empty tables, and—"
"Sure. Grab a seat."
The brunet put his tray down, pulled a chair out next to Connor, and seated himself heavily. "Paul," he said, thrusting out his hand to shake.
"Connor." Connor grasped Paul's outthrust hand and shook it heartily. As he did, he noticed that one of Paul's eyes was a seafoam green while the other was hazel. Connor let his hand linger in Paul's grasp, and Paul seemed none too eager to break the connection either.
"So what's in this thing, anyhow?" Paul asked, jerking his thumb toward his pizza dog. He took a sip of his coffee while he waited for Connor to answer.
"It's a hot dog with marinara sauce, mozzarella cheese, and pepperoni slices. It's pure junk food, but it's seriously delicious."
Paul took a cautiously small bite, chewed, swallowed, then took a larger bite and mumbled an "Mmm-hmmm!" of agreement.
"I'm surprised you got only one," Connor commented.
"I wanted to see if I liked it, first. I do! I may go back and get another one—although this is awfully filling. You may have to roll me back to my car if I have another one."
Connor chuckled. "So this is your first vacation on the island?" he asked. "And your first time on this ferry, I take it?"
"Yes to both. But you've been there before. What's it like?"
"Peaceful. Foggy mornings till around ten. Then the sun breaks through. It seldom rains this time of year. You can swim in the bay, fish from the pier or rent a boat, or just go out in a boat without fishing, of course. You can lie on the beach and soak up rays or hike in the woods. I think the guest house, where you'll be staying, has a pool, too—an advantage we cabin dwellers don't get to enjoy. I think the guest house owners have bonfires on the beach some nights, too. It's a good opportunity to get back in touch with nature. I like it."
"Do you live in the city, then?"
"Yes. And you?"
"Yes," Paul answered. "Us too."
"'Us'?"
"Patrick and I. Patrick's—umm—kinda—well, we've been together almost five years now." A troubled shadow passed across his face.
Connor was disappointed. He'd been intrigued with Paul and had been hoping this conversation was going somewhere. He'd already been envisioning the two of them spending time together during his week on the island. But now it seemed there was a Patrick in the equation. He couldn't help but notice, however, the expression on Paul's face. "Why the look? Trouble in paradise? Or am I overstepping my bounds by asking?"
"Yes to the first question and no to the second. Well, not exactly trouble, but…. Let me see. How do I put it? No relationship is perfect, but ours is even less so. The spark is gone. We get along fine, we don't fight, and we enjoy many of the same things, but…well, sometimes it feels more like I'm living with a roommate, or a brother."
"No sex?"
"Occasional sex. And just barely satisfying."
"Then why do you stay?"
Paul seemed to be thinking the question over before he answered. "A combination of inertia and gratitude, I guess."
Connor cocked an eyebrow inquisitively.
"Inertia in that it's a pleasant enough relationship, easy enough. I know there should be more to a relationship than that, and I know I'm missing out on something better that's out there somewhere, but it's easier to just keep going along. It's stress-free and familiar and…well, easy."
"You mentioned gratitude?"
"Two years ago my dad had a massive heart attack. He's a self-employed sole practitioner, a business consultant, and he had been laid up for quite a while and had no money coming in as a result. My folks had already gone through all their savings because of the recession, and I was strapped, too. Patrick stepped up to the plate. He loaned them ten thousand dollars—interest-free, too. They're still paying him back. I was and still am extremely grateful. I didn't even ask him to help them. He volunteered."
"And your dad?" Connor asked. "He's all right now?"
"There was lasting damage, but he's essentially okay."
"I can see why you'd be reluctant to leave Patrick for no apparent reason."
"Yeah. It's not like we had a fight or—or—well, you know, like something went wrong between us. How do you tell a guy, 'Well, it's been a nice five years, but I think I'll be moving on'? Especially after what he did for my family."
"It's tough," commiserated Connor. Then he asked, "So, where's Patrick now?"
"Stretched out in the back of the van, catching a nap." He took the last bite of his pizza dog. "Gonna go get seconds. Can I get you anything while I'm up?" he offered.
"Not unless they're handing out new stomachs. This one's pretty filled." Connor thumped his belly loudly with his hand. "I don't think I can even finish my soda."
"I'll be back. Do you wanna stick around, even though you're done eating? I'm enjoying talking with you."
"I'm enjoying talking with you," Connor answered, spontaneously adding, "I like your smile."
Paul's mouth seemed turned perpetually upward, and his eyes sparkled. Connor found this very attractive. He also admired Paul's loyalty in not wanting to leave Patrick after what Patrick had done for his folks—although the selfish side of him wished Paul would leave Patrick. He thought he and Paul might make a good couple.
When Paul returned to the table, he had a fresh tray with a new pizza dog on it. "I think my eyes are bigger than my stomach. I'm not sure I can finish this. Want part of it?" he offered.
Connor laughed and shook his head. "I'm stuffed to the gills," he protested. Then, as Paul bit into his pizza dog, Connor added, "You know, you're quite a fellow."
"I like you too," Paul said softly, placing his hand on Connor's arm. He let it rest there, and Connor felt warmth and a strong current flow from Paul to him.
"I'm sorry you're spoken for," Connor said softly, putting a hand on top of the hand that was resting on his arm.
"I'm sorry too," Paul said in a voice laden with emotion.
"What do you do back home?" Connor asked, feeling a change of subject was in order. He found himself wanting to get to know Paul better even though a relationship seemed out of the question.
"I'm a salesman in a high-end jewelry store. And you?"
"I'm a cameraman at the TV station. I work one of the studio cameras for the morning show and the noon news, and in between I go out and cover events as they happen. I work from five AM till one in the afternoon. It's a great shift if you don't mind getting up early—and I don't mind. I have morning metabolism anyhow."
"What happens when you have something you want to do late in the evening—a party, or going to the theatre, or something?" Paul asked.
"Easy! I take a two-hour nap in the afternoon," Connor answered.
"Want to go see if the fog has lifted yet?" Paul suggested. "If I sit here any longer I may fall asleep."
"You didn't finish your pizza dog."
"Can't. Too much food. But it was good! Thank you for recommending it." He stood and picked up Connor's tray and his own two trays. Everything was disposable, and he headed for the nearest trash basket.
Connor stood up with a "Thank you" for clearing his tray, which Paul waved off with a dismissive gesture. Then they left the snack bar and headed outside.
The fog was as thick as before. They walked to the railing, but Connor couldn't see a thing beyond the boat. He could hardly make out the waters of the bay just off to the side of the ferry.
"Fascinating, isn't it?" Paul said with a hint of awe in his voice.
"I like the fog," Connor agreed. "I feel protectively wrapped—I guess that's the best way to describe it."
"I know what you mean," Paul said, putting a hand on top of Connor's hand as it rested on the railing. He patted the back of Connor's hand twice, then let his hand rest lightly on top of it. Once again, Connor was aware of the warmth and current that passed between them.
"I wish we had met at a different juncture in my life," Paul said with a huge sigh of regret.
"Me too!" Connor exclaimed forcefully. They stood side by side in silence for a few minutes then, each absorbed in his own thoughts. Paul moved slightly toward Connor, till their arms were lightly pressed together. Paul's hand remained on top of Connor's as it rested on the railing.
"I haven't had many regrets in my life," Paul began awkwardly, "but when I do, they're usually big ones."
"I guess I've had a fair number of regrets, but mostly smaller ones," Connor said. "What other regrets have you had?"
"I play the saxophone, and I think I'm not half bad. I wanted to join a band when I was younger, but I took the sensible route and got into high-end jewelry sales instead. I make a reasonable living at it, but I've always wondered what would have happened if I had pursued my dream."
"Is it too late?"
"I think so. I'm only thirty-four, but…." His voice trailed off.
Connor put his free hand on Paul's arm and squeezed it compassionately. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, from which he extracted one of his business cards. It had his cell phone number on it. "If—you know—if things change, or just if you want to talk, or—whatever. Anyhow, here's my card."
Paul took it, then replied in kind, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a business card case from which he removed one of his own cards. He proffered it to Connor. "Here's mine," he said. "I'd be happy to hear from you. There's no reason we can't have lunch sometime. Just as friends."
"Just as friends? I don't know. I admit I want more than that."
"I do too," Paul agreed, "but…" Once again he let his voice and the thought trail off.
"What do you like to do for fun?" Connor asked him.
"I like going to art galleries and the museum. I have a telescope, and I enjoy looking at the night sky. I enjoy the British comedies on TV. I like jazz and big band concerts. I'm not a big fan of rock. I can take it or leave it. And I can't dance to save my soul. I also like eating in restaurants that serve foods I've never had before. I guess I'm a culinary explorer. And you?"
"I do my culinary exploring at home. I like to cook, and I enjoy trying out new recipes. I enjoy art galleries too, and I'm with you on the British comedies. I've never looked through a telescope, though. And when it comes to dancing, I have two left feet. As for music, my tastes are eclectic. I do enjoy rock but also classical and bluegrass and jazz."
"Bluegrass, huh? I really don't know bluegrass at all."
"I have quite a collection. Come over some time and I'll—" Connor stopped as he realized what he was saying, and an awkward pause hung between them. "Well, anyhow, if you ever get the opportunity—if things change—I do have a lot of bluegrass recordings, and not just on CD. I still have quite a lot of vinyl, too."
"You have a working phonograph?"
"Uh-huh."
"I still have a bunch of thirty-threes myself," Paul said, "but I don't have anything to play them on."
"You're welcome to bring some over to my place."
The suggestion hung there.
"I guess maybe that's not such a great idea," Connor said lamely. "But you would be welcome."
Just then, a bell rang aboard the ferry. Paul looked at Connor questioningly.
"We're approaching the dock on the island," Connor explained.
"We'd better get back to our cars," Paul said in a voice draped with regret.
"Yes," said Connor, not moving.
Finally Paul withdrew his hand and turned to face Connor. "Well, I really enjoyed meeting you," he said.
"Look. The fog is starting to burn off. I enjoyed meeting you, too," Connor said. "Maybe we'll run into each other on the island."
"Yes—all three of us," said Paul with a tinge of irony in his voice. "That will be jolly!"
"Yes, well…."
"It's been great!" Paul said, squeezing Connor's arm hard. Then unexpectedly he embraced him, letting him go before Connor could hug him back. "I'd better get back to the van," he said.
"Me too. To my car, I mean. Well, see ya."
"I hope so!" Paul said fervently.
I doubt it, Connor thought. Then he headed back to his Toyota, aware that the fog was lifting measurably. Good! It would be easier to find his way to the cabin once he drove off the ferry. And Paul, who wasn't at all familiar with the island, would be able to find the guest house.
He looked around to catch a last glimpse of Paul, wondering if he'd ever see him again, but Paul had already vanished among the rows of cars. Feeling his shoulders slump, Connor walked heavy-heartedly toward his own car.
Reaching the Toyota, he unlocked the door and let himself in, positioning himself behind the wheel and turning the key to Accessories. Now he could listen to music while waiting to drive off the ferry, without turning the car on. He heard the boat's horn and knew they must be approaching the ferry slip. Idly he wondered if Patrick, who had surely woken up between the bell and the horn, was asking Paul what he'd been doing while Patrick slept, and how Paul was answering him.
A thud told him the ferry was docking, and he turned the key in the ignition to start up the motor. Not too long thereafter, he saw slow movement in the line of cars ahead of him, and then the car directly in front of his began a careful crawl forward. As Connor got out into the open, he saw that the fog was dissipating more rapidly now.
Having no idea where on the boat Paul's van was parked, or what color or make it was, he looked around idly but didn't particularly expect to see him. Then it was his turn to drive off the ferry, and soon he was headed up the gravel road that led to the cabins.
He stopped at the main cottage, signed in, got his cabin assignment, then drove to "Meadowlark." Thankfully, the name was painted on a large plaque on the front of the cabin to identify it. Hauling out his large suitcase and one shopping bag, he hefted them into the cabin and consulted his watch. It was one o'clock. Dinner, he knew, would be served at six sharp in the dining hall, a large cabin near the main cottage. The two pizza dogs were still sitting heavily in his stomach, but by six o'clock he was sure he'd be ready for some more food. Meanwhile, he'd leave the unpacking for later and go and take a dip in the bay and maybe lie out on the beach for a while.
There were no lounge chairs provided, he knew, although guests could rent them for a nominal fee at the main cottage, but he was content to lie on a large beach towel. He had packed two, prudently leaving them in the top layer in his suitcase, and he unlatched it now to extricate one beach towel and his bathing trunks. Shortly he was on his way to the beach, wearing his swimsuit and carrying the beach towel, a bottle of sunscreen, a bottle of water, and a book.
He lay in the sun for perhaps twenty minutes, just soaking up the rays and relaxing, not even reading his book, before he sat up, rose to his feet, and trotted down to the water's edge. There was no other person in his immediate vicinity. Down the beach a ways to his left he could see a lounge chair and someone in it, and off to his right at an even farther distance he could see two people—a hetero couple?—lounging on a beach towel. He certainly had privacy, though he found he craved company at the moment.
No, that wasn't quite right. He craved Paul's company. But that, of course, was not available to him.
He dipped his right foot in the water. And shivered. Even in mid-July, the water of the bay was chilly, and it was with great hesitancy that his left foot joined his right one. But soon enough he became acclimated and he walked out bravely into the water till he was up to his waist. Then he dunked himself in the chilly bay, and splashed his face with the water too.
As he relished the feel of the water and the contrastingly warm sun, he thought of letting the sun warm his body all over, and soon enough he forsook the water for the comfort of his beach towel and the sun's penetrating rays. He slathered a fresh coating of suntan lotion all over, lay down, and picked up his book.
But he found himself unable to focus on a perfectly good locked-room mystery, one that he'd started reading at home the night before. His thoughts kept drifting to Paul. He wondered what Paul and Patrick were doing now and alternatively, what Paul and he himself would be doing if Paul were only there with him.
If only.
He had rented the cabin for only one, but it was clear to him now that there was more than one person present. The image, the specter, the what-if of Paul was haunting him, and clearly it would continue through the remainder of his stay on the island.
*~*~*
The next morning, Connor decided to hike around the island. The morning fog was still very much a presence so it was not yet beach weather, although he was sure the sun would burn through the fog as the morning progressed. The thought of fishing didn't seem that appealing, and he was reluctant to rent a boat lest he lose sight of the shoreline in the fog and become lost out on the bay. No, a walk seemed just the thing.
He told himself he was not trying to run into Paul, yet he found himself peering around intently wherever he walked, hurrying to catch up to figures in the distance 'til he could make out their faces, and lingering in the vicinity of the guest house. When he didn't encounter Paul, Connor wondered if Paul and Patrick were cozily ensconced in their guest house room in pursuit of more intimate pleasures, and he found himself growing jealous.
He tried to shake it off and decided a brisk run might clear his head of the unattainable. Sticking close to the shoreline he sped along the sand as quickly as his legs would carry him. Breathless and with his calves burning, he pulled up to a stop on a deserted part of the beach. Maybe he would cut through the woods and see if he could find his way back to his cabin by a more direct route than the circumference of the island. But first he had better sit down and rest his legs a bit.
When some ten minutes had passed, the burning sensation in his calves had abated and he had his wind back, so Connor scrambled to his feet and set out to cut through the woods. He hoped to come out at his cabin although he had no compass or other tool to guide him, and the sun was still obscured by the fog.
He made his way through the trees, bushes, and underbrush till a vine snagged his ankle and he felt himself pitching forward. Oh, great! he thought as he found himself face-down on the ground. Cautiously he pushed upward on his arms. They seemed undamaged except for a few scrapes and bruises. Next he pulled his right knee up and wiggled his right ankle. So far, so good. His left ankle, however—the foot that had been caught by the vine—hurt. He sat upright on the ground and probed at the ankle. It didn't seem broken, and the pain was far from excruciating, yet he had obviously twisted it.
He stood, intent on getting back to his cabin, and when he took a tentative step on the left foot, he found the pain was bearable. Hunting around for a suitable stick to utilize as a cane, he found a slightly crooked branch that he thought would do. Connor broke it off and experimentally put weight on it. It held. Now, which way had he been heading?
It took him a minute to get his bearings, but then he determined which way he needed to go and proceeded to strike out for his cabin. He winced with every step he took on his left foot but gamely continued. He chided himself for not bringing his cell phone with him on his walk, but he hadn't expected to get injured. Even if he'd called the main cottage and asked, "Can you come and get me?", how would he have explained to them just where in the woods he was?
Step by painful step he worked his way through the woods. Despite the injury, he was able to appreciate the stillness of the woods that was broken only by the occasional chirp of a bird or the rustle of leaves when a breeze came though. He came to a blackberry bush and stopped to pick and eat some of the berries. Then he resumed his slow progress.
At last his persistence was rewarded. Up ahead, he could see that the woods seemed to peter out at what might be just a clearing but he hoped was the beach near his cabin. When he reached the spot, he saw that indeed it was the shoreline but not the one he was hoping for. Looking up and down the beachfront, Connor spotted some specks in the distance that he took to be the cluster of cabins. He still had a hike to get back to his cabin, but at least he had gained the shoreline. He decided to sit and rest on the sand for a bit.
He didn't have a beach towel with him, nor was he attired in swim trunks. Lying on the sand and getting his arms, legs, hair, and clothes all sandy was not the worst eventuality in the world, but going into the bay for a refreshing dip was certainly out of the question—unless he took his clothes off. As the thought hit him, he took a look around. There was no one in the area, and no one seemed to be approaching from either direction. Skinny-dipping suddenly seemed a real possibility.
The sun was visible now, albeit through some residual haze, and the day was warming up. The sun was permeating the air more strongly by the minute. The waters of the bay would still be chilly, however. They always were.
After one more glance in every direction—including the woods behind him—to make sure there was no one around and no one approaching, Connor stripped off his clothes. He walked as quickly as his damaged ankle would permit toward the water, stopped when he was ankle-deep because the chilly water was momentarily forbidding, then strode forward till he was waist-deep in the bay. At that point he ducked down under the water till only his head remained above the surface. Then he brought his body to a horizontal position and began to swim.
Connor was a fairly strong swimmer. If not for leaving behind his clothes on the beach, he might have tried to swim to his cabin, but then he'd be naked when he came out of the bay, so that totally blew that idea out of the water. After swimming around for quite a few minutes, he saw a figure on the beach down near the cabins and, thinking someone might be walking in his direction, he decided it would be most prudent to get some clothes on, so he headed back to shore.
Once attired, he lay down on the sand and reveled in the warmth of the sun, fully brilliant now. Its rays permeated his body and soothed it. The figure he had noticed earlier seemed to be nearer now. Connor fantasized that it was Paul, that he would soon be standing over Connor's supine body, then plopping down onto the beach to lie there with him. Perhaps they would even enjoy each other's body right there on the beach….
But as the figure grew closer, Connor could make out with increasing certainty that the person was not Paul. Ah, well.
Deciding that he wasn't in the mood to talk to the approaching stranger, Connor got up from the sand, brushed himself off, and headed back along the shoreline to the cabins. As he passed the stranger, a middle-aged fellow with a grey beard, they exchanged "good mornings" and comments about the weather, but neither of the two men lingered. The bearded fellow continued his jaunt along the water's edge, and Connor started back toward the cabins.
By the time he reached his cabin, still favoring the one foot although the ankle's discomfort had eased up, his watch said it was twenty after eleven. He had been thinking of changing into his swim trunks and grabbing a beach towel and the sunscreen, but lunch would be served at noon. He had best postpone any further sunbathing and swimming till after lunch. For now he would grab a quick shower to get the sand off his body and out of his hair, then read till it was time to go and eat.
The cabin had a porch—all the cabins did—and Connor read out there till it was time for the midday meal. In the afternoon he followed through with his plan to return to the beachfront. The rest of the day passed quickly, and he noticed with relief that his ankle continued to hurt less and less as the day wore on.
He spotted Paul the next day. Connor had gone to the pier to fish and had caught and released five fish of varying species and sizes. He'd had enough and was heading back to his cabin when off in the distance, he saw a man he was reasonably sure was Paul. The man was walking with another fellow, tall, rangy, and bearded. They weren't holding hands, walking close to each other, or in any way being demonstrative or affectionate. Still, Connor was pretty sure that must be Patrick. Connor stared, willing Paul to turn around and notice him, but the effort failed. Paul never noticed him at all.
Disheartened, Connor returned to his cabin and lay down for a nap. He did not spot Paul at all for the remainder of the week.
*~*~*
The rest of the week passed enjoyably, with no further mishaps and no sign of Paul, and then it was Sunday, time to go home. Connor wondered if Paul—and Patrick—would be on the same ferry again. Would Paul be in the snack bar? Would he look for Connor? Or would Patrick be with him? Perhaps Paul had forgotten about Connor already. Then again, they hadn't ever talked about how long a vacation Paul and Patrick were taking. Maybe they were staying for two weeks. He might not be on the same boat at all.
The fog seemed thicker than ever as Connor navigated cautiously down to the ferry terminal. At the slip, Connor looked around for a van with a familiar-looking occupant, but he didn't see any sign of Paul. When the gate went up, the cars drove aboard the boat, and Connor took his place among them. The warning bell sounded and Connor knew the ferry was ready to leave the slip. The boat cast off its moorings and began the slow crossing to the other side of Oguncomquit Bay. Connor made his way to the snack bar and looked around for Paul, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Ah well—perhaps it was just as well. Connor knew he still had Paul's business card, but realistically what reason did he have for calling? He headed to the counter, ordered two pizza dogs and an orange soda, then found an empty table, of which there were several this time to choose from.
He had just taken a bite of his first pizza dog when he heard a familiar voice. "Connor! There you are!" Looking up quickly, he saw Paul bounding over to him, his face swathed in a wide smile. Connor looked around but didn't see anyone who seemed to be with him. Connor gestured to a chair, and Paul sat down. "I was hoping I'd run into you!" he enthused, clasping Connor's free hand between both of his. He squeezed tight before letting go and sitting back in his chair to smile at Connor.
Warmth and excitement flooded Connor's body.
"You want one of these pizza dogs?" Connor offered, thrusting one at Paul.
"Don't you want it?"
"I can get another one."
"Let me get up and get one for myself. I want some coffee anyhow." Paul stood up, and Connor returned the pizza dog to his tray. A few minutes later, Paul was back with a pizza dog, a small bag of flavored potato chips, and a cup of coffee.
"So, how was your vacation?" Connor asked.
"Fine. And yours?"
"Except for twisting my ankle in the woods, it was good, and fortunately I got over the injury quickly."
"What happened?" Paul asked. Connor related the story of his hike and mishap.
"You're lucky nothing worse happened!" Paul exclaimed. "You could have broken a leg or something. How would you ever have gotten help?"
"I don't know. It's a scary thought. Fortunately I didn't have to find out."
"Migawd!" Paul exclaimed again, wiping his forehead with his hand.
"Well, I guess it's back to the real world and work tomorrow," Connor said, quickly changing the subject. He didn't want to dwell on the what-ifs of having a broken leg in the middle of the woods with no way to call for help.
Paul sighed heavily. "I guess so," he said.
"I enjoy my job, but I admit I wouldn't mind if the vacation had lasted longer," Connor said. "The island is quiet, as I guess you found out, but quiet can be pleasant too."
"Yes," Paul agreed. "It's kinda relaxing. It's a change from the hustle and bustle of the city."
"Do you think you'll come back next year?" Connor asked. I hope I don't have to wait that long to see you, he mentally added. Besides, what were the odds they'd book for the same week again?
"Who can plan a year ahead?" Paul answered.
Just then there was a tremendous jolt to the ferry, accompanied by a horrifying crunching sound. Paul looked at Connor, his eyes wide with fear. "What was that?" he asked.
"I don't know, but it didn't sound good or feel good."
The ferry's horn started blowing Ahh-ooh. Ahh-ooh. Ahh-ooh. Ahh-ooh. Then a metallic voice announced over the loudspeaker system, "All passengers proceed quickly to the aft deck and put on life preservers. The rear of the ship. Now!"
The boat was starting to tilt. Was the ferry going to go down?
"Let's go," Paul said urgently, taking Connor by the hand and pulling him up from his seat. Connor still had one pizza dog uneaten in front of him. He pulled the aluminum foil wrapping around it, pinched the aluminum to seal it, and thrust it into his pocket. He could hardly believe the ferry was sinking. When things had settled back down, he would take the pizza dog out of his pocket and eat it. There was no sense in wasting good food. Besides, he was still hungry.
It seemed the boat was sinking. The passengers were crowding the aft deck urgently reaching for the lifejackets that the crew members were handing out, and in fact some of the people had already jumped overboard. The ship's list to one side was getting more pronounced, and Connor's heart rate speeded up considerably as he contemplated the prospect of jumping off the ferry and into the fog-shrouded waters that surrounded it.
Were they anywhere near land? He couldn't tell. The fog was so thick that visibility was near zero. Surely they were nowhere near the mainland yet, but Ogumconquit Bay was studded with numerous smaller islands besides the larger one he'd just been vacationing on.
There was much jostling and shoving in the throng of people crowding toward the six crew members who were handing out life jackets. Understandably, everyone wanted to be sure they got a life jacket before the boat went down—or possibly the supply ran out. People jostled Connor, trying to wedge in ahead of him, and he fought to maintain his position. He was not going to lose out on getting a life jacket if by any chance the supply was short, or if the boat went down quickly. It seemed to be listing more and more pronouncedly, and Connor's heart raced.
Paul kept peering around, and Connor was sure he was looking for Patrick, but it seemed he didn't see him among the crowd. Connor didn't look around. To begin with, he still didn't know what Patrick looked like, and besides, he was focused single-mindedly on getting to the front of the crowd and not letting other passengers usurp his place in the group as it moved toward the life jackets.
At length Connor and Paul found themselves at the front of the surging throng, and each quickly secured a life jacket for himself and put it on. The crew members were urging the passengers to jump now, jump clear of the boat and swim away, before the ferry went down. Connor hesitated for a moment, staring toward the fog-obscured waters, wondering how they might be rescued, and remembering how cold the bay's waters were. The boat lurched, and now the deck was at even more of an angle. Connor and Paul took each other's hand and, with one last look at each other, leaped overboard, swimming out into the fog and the unknown.
They had to let go of each other's hand in order to swim, but they kept up a conversation in order to know where each other was. Otherwise it would have been too easy to lose each other in the fog. They swam strongly, quickly, urgently away, so they wouldn't be pulled under when it finally went down. When they were a safe distance from the sinking ferry, they agreed to tread water rather than continue to swim pointlessly, not knowing in which direction to head. "When the fog lifts, we'll see if we're near any land," Connor suggested, and Paul agreed that was a reasonable plan of action.
"I wonder if I'll ever see my home again," Paul mused.
"Don't talk like that. We'll get rescued," Connor answered with more conviction in his voice than he truly felt. "I'm sure the ferry sent out a distress call. The shore patrol will be combing the waters looking to pick up us survivors."
"They'll never find us in this fog."
"You know the fog will lift. It always burns off by mid-morning."
Suddenly a large piece of wood drifted toward them. Connor wondered if it had come from the ferry. Had the boat gone under? Had it broken up before it did? Well, no matter—wherever the wood had come from, it was a godsend. It would give them additional buoyancy beyond what the life jackets afforded them. "Let's grab on to that wood," he suggested, and he and Paul swam toward the wood and then grabbed on to it. Having no sense of whether they were near land, they let the currents of the bay take them where they would, drifting aimlessly.
Occasionally they heard chatter and even shouts that presumably came from other passengers who were adrift in the water, but the fog shrouded them from sight, and after a while they didn't even hear any further voices. Experimentally Paul called out, "Hello out there. Helloooooo? Can anyone hear me?" but nobody answered.
Paul wore a waterproof watch, and at ten-thirty he commented that the fog ought to have lifted by now.
"It's dissipating," Connor said. "Look. Over there. You can see farther than before. There's some more wood floating."
Paul peered around. "What's that?" he asked, nodding his head in the direction of a barely discernible blob.
"Dunno," Connor answered, "but we ought to be able to make it out soon."
Indeed the shape's form became clearer and clearer as the fog thinned out. "It's an island!" Paul exulted. "Let's swim for it!"
"Hold onto the wood and kick," Connor suggested. They each held on to one end of the large piece of wood and propelled themselves toward the island, which wasn't too awfully far in the distance. Eventually they reached the shore. The island was quite small and definitely uninhabited, but it afforded them some dry land to rest on while hoping for a rescue.
"Do you think anyone will find us here?" Paul woorried aloud.
"There are quite a few islands in the bay," Connor answered. "I'd think the shore patrol would check them out." His voice wavered. He was speaking with more conviction than he truly felt.
*~*~*
They made a circuit of the small island to see if there were any other survivors from the capsized ferry, but it seemed the pair had the island to themselves. They did find several wild blackberry bushes, and they ate some of the berries, noting there was a plentiful supply. Connor ruefully remembered the pizza dog he had stuffed in his pocket. Surely it was waterlogged and no longer edible.
He knew the water would also have ruined his cell phone, and Paul's as well. They had no way to call for help. They would have to hope the shore patrol found them.
"I'm scared," Paul admitted. Connor wrapped his arms around him. "They'll find us. They'll surely go out looking for survivors. They'll find us." He rubbed slow circles on Paul's back and took great pleasure from feeling Paul's body next to his. Paul's muscles were taut, and Connor tried to relax him by kneading his shoulders.
After a while, Connor couldn't resist a more intimate form of connection, and he leaned over to press his lips to Paul's while his hand started traversing purposefully down Paul's torso.
When Paul realized Connor's intent, he pulled away and shook his head. "It feels good, but it doesn't feel right," he said. "I don't want to cheat on Patrick. I do want to break up with him, and then you and I can do whatever we want whenever we want. If we get back home safely—"
"When we get back home safely," Connor gently corrected him.
"After we get back home safely, I mean to have a talk with Patrick. This experience has been a wake-up call. I don't want to go through the rest of my life just drifting in a relationship that's comfortable but nothing more. Life is for living. Life is for enjoying. Life is for living to the fullest, not for drifting along in a relationship that isn't really satisfying anymore. I want to be with you. Assuming Patrick survived the disaster and makes it home safely, I'm going to break up with him. I'll do it as nicely as possible. I don't want to hurt his feelings any more than I have to just by ending the relationship. He doesn't deserve to be hurt unnecessarily. He's done nothing to deserve that. But my future is with you—if we have a future."
"Of course we have a future," Connor said, speaking with more conviction than he felt, yet hoping with all his heart that the words were true. He had more reason now than ever to want to live. Once again he embraced Paul and held him, soothing and gentling him with his hands, stroking his back and his arms.
The sun was fully out now, the fog completely gone, and they went searching for berries for their lunch. After they'd eaten their fill, Connor suggested they lie on the tiny strip of beach and soak up some rays. "I sure don't feel like swimming," he added with a laugh. "I've had enough of the water to last me for a while. But I wouldn't mind working on my tan."
"We don't have any suntan lotion," Paul pointed out.
"We each have a good base tan," Connor replied. "I think we can lie in the sun for a while without burning to a crisp."
"You sure?" asked Paul skeptically.
"I think so," Connor replied.
Just when they'd stripped off their clothes and settled down on the sand, a boat appeared on the horizon. Paul scrambled to his feet and began wildly waving his shirt.
"Save your energy. They're too far away to see you," Connor advised. "Wait till they get closer."
But the boat never did get closer. It crossed from the left to the right without veering in their direction. Paul sank down again, obviously disheartened, but Connor felt cheered by the event. "See? There are boats out there—probably searching for survivors. They'll find us eventually," he said comfortingly. "Meanwhile lie down and let's take advantage of the sunshine. It's like getting an extra day of vacation!"
"How can you be so cheerful?" Paul marveled.
"It's how I keep my spirits afloat," Connor answered.
"I like it. One more thing to admire and enjoy about you," said Paul, making an imaginary tally mark in the air. Connor laughed. Then Paul hesitantly lay down on the sand beside him. "What if a boat passes by and we don't see it because we're lying here with our eyes closed?" he worried aloud.
"Boats don't move that fast. If we open our eyes every few minutes and look out over the water, we'll see any boat that's nearby. And if it's not nearby, they won't see us anyhow."
What Connor said seemed to make sense to Paul, as he slowly settled back on the sand, although he kept opening his eyes and raising his head to scan the waters for any sign of a vessel. After he'd done this ten or so times, Connor said, "You do a very good imitation of a jack-in-the-box, but relax. You don't have to check for boats quite that often. Besides, I'm watching, too."
As they lay there, they exchanged information about themselves. Paul asked Connor about his friends back home in the city, and he told Connor about his own friends. They talked about their respective hobbies and interests, their childhoods, what it was like to come out as gay, and what their deepest hopes for the future were. Paul regaled Connor with a few funny stories that had taken place in the course of his work as a jewelry salesman, and although Connor couldn't think of any equally funny stories from his work, he did remember a few particularly interesting incidents and held Paul's attention with those.
The day passed, and in a preponderance of caution they sought shelter from the sun after a couple of hours of sunbathing and continued their storytelling under a tree.
"We have no shelter if it rains," Paul pointed out practically.
"Let's hope it doesn't," Connor replied.
Since it was summer, the sunset was late, but eventually the sun went down, leaving the pair in virtual darkness. A half-moon cast some light, but not much. "We may as well go to sleep," Connor suggested.
They lay down, entwined in each other's arms. Although Paul would not have sex with Connor till he'd officially broken up with Patrick, he had no such reticence about cuddling. They kissed and stroked each other, and since both men professed not to be sleepy yet, they exchanged still more interesting stories from their respective pasts. It was while Connor was telling Paul about the time when he'd gone to Washington, D.C., on a class tour in his senior year of high school that he realized Paul had begun to softly snore. "You're asleep, aren't you?" he asked softly and got no answer in return. Tightening his grip on Paul, he lay there till he, too, fell into slumber.
When Connor woke up, it was daylight and once again foggy. His arm was cramped in a position under Paul's head, and much as he didn't want to disturb his sleeping companion, he just had to move that arm. Connor tried to be gentle about it, but as soon as he tried to move, Paul stirred and opened his eyes. He looked at Connor and smiled.
"Good morning," he said sleepily, through a yawn.
"Good morning to you," Connor replied, brushing Paul's cheek with a soft kiss. "What time is it?"
Paul peered at his watch, then reached into his shirt pocket for his reading glasses, which had survived the dunking. Putting them on, he again looked at the watch and said, "A little after seven."
"I hear the island is serving berries for breakfast," Connor commented jocularly, thinking fondly of his abandoned pizza dog. He had long since removed the squooshed foil wrapper from his pocket and left it, still wrapped, in the bushes.
"Berries sound good, but I need to pee first," was Paul's reply.
"Me too."
When their bladders were empty, they went after their fill of berries and then returned to the thin strip of beach. It was way too foggy to see any vessel that was not right up against the island, but they took up the vigil, knowing the fog would clear by mid-morning.
"I feel grungy," Paul said. "I think I'll take off my clothes and dunk in the water."
"Don't go far," cautioned Connor.
"Do you think I'm a nincompoop?" asked Paul affably. "I certainly don't want to get lost in the fog. Are you coming in?"
"I've had enough of the water to last me awhile," Connor answered with a laugh. "I'll wait here."
Paul removed his clothing and walked cautiously into the water. Although he was only a little way out, he kept disappearing from Connor's sight in the thick fog, then reappearing again. He made quick work of his impromptu bath and came back up onto the island, although he left his clothes off and sat on his shirt.
"That's the idea," encouraged Connor. "Don't get your wet butt all sandy."
"Do you suppose a boat will come for us today?" Paul asked in a plaintive voice.
"They're bound to be out looking for us," Connor answered with all the optimism he could muster.
"How can we signal a passing boat?" Paul mused.
"Let's gather some wood," Connor said.
"What are you planning?" Paul asked him.
"When the sun comes out we'll aim it through your glasses at the wood and see if we can make the wood smolder. If we start a fire, maybe any passing boat will see it."
"Wow! That's a clever thought!" said Paul admiringly. They foraged into the center of the island looking for broken twigs and branches, dead leaves, anything that was likely to catch fire relatively easily. Then they piled everything up in a bonfire configuration and waited for the sun to come out.
Predictably, by mid-morning the fog began to thin out and the sun to make an appearance. Connor waited till the fog had fully burned off and the sun was strong before asking Paul, "Now let me have your glasses." Paul complied gladly, reaching into his shirt pocket and passing the eyeglasses over to Connor.
As he did, he spotted another vessel off in the distance. "Hurry!" he said. "There's a boat of some kind out there."
Connor angled the glasses so the sun's rays shone through them onto the pile of wood and leaves. But no matter how long he held the pose—and his arm ached badly after a while—he couldn't start a conflagration. The leaves and wood absolutely refused to catch fire. Finally he gave up on a note of despair.
Paul, refusing to accept defeat, said, "Let me try." He rearranged the pile of tinder and then held the glasses just above it, but he had no better success than Connor had.
By now the boat they had spotted had disappeared from their view without ever getting close, but the two men agreed that if another boat were to come into sight, it would be good to have the fire already burning brightly. Despite their best efforts, however, they could not get the pile of tinder to light. When Paul's arm was tired, Connor took over again, and when Connor's arm pained him unbearably, Paul took another turn. It was all to no avail.
"It works in comic books," Connor said.
"It works for Boy Scouts," Paul added.
"Were you a Boy Scout?" Connor asked. "That's a story you didn't tell me yet."
"No, but my boyhood best buddy was."
"Tell me about your boyhood best buddy," Connor prompted, and Paul regretfully put the glasses back in his pocket and settled back to regale Connor with another story, after which he asked Connor about his best bud from childhood. Connor told Paul about both of them—his best friend through eighth grade, till Dan's family moved out of the area, and then his high school best friend. The pair were getting to know each other and their backstories ever better, but they were no closer to being rescued.
No more vessels appeared anywhere within sight for the rest of the day, and it was a weary and discouraged duo who lay down to go to sleep that night, once again entwined in each other's arms.
"At least it hasn't rained," Paul said.
"Thank God for small favors," Connor said.
A lone bird called from the top of a tree as the pair snuggled in each other's arms and once again talked till they were ready to go to sleep. This time sleep claimed Connor first.
Once again he was the first one awake, and once again his arm was cramped and, when he tried to gently move it, Paul stirred and awakened. Once again a bird was singing—a different song and presumably a different bird, but Connor commented, "A birdsong lullaby and a birdsong reveille. There are good sides to living out in nature."
"Yeah, if you don't mind being marooned and maybe never found," Paul commented morosely. The fog swirled around them. "Damn this fog. There could be a boat right out there and we wouldn't see them and they wouldn't see us."
"They're not out looking for us in the fog," Connor soothed. "They'll wait till the fog lifts.
And indeed when the fog lifted…there was a boat! It was moving in zigzag patterns, obviously sweeping the waters in search of survivors from the ferry wreck. The two men joined their voices to yell loudly, "Helloooooo! Over here! Helloooooo! Help! Help!" But the boat showed no signs that anyone aboard had heard them.
"Give me your glasses!" Connor said urgently to Paul while whirling around toward the bushes behind him.
"Sure, but what's up?" Paul asked, extricating his glasses from his shirt pocket.
"Watch," said Connor. He retrieved the abandoned pizza dog from its resting place and removed the foil wrapper. Hurrying back down to the shoreline, he quickly washed the residue of food from it in the waters of the bay, then tore off a piece just a little bit larger than one of the lenses of Paul's eyeglasses. He wrapped it around the frame of one lens then held the glasses at an angle such that the sun's rays bounced off the aluminum foil, magnified by the glasses. He hoped the glint would be visible to the occupants of the boat.
The boat made a few more zigzag sweeps across the water while Connor desperately flashed the glasses at them. Then the boat suddenly turned and headed straight for the island.
"They see us!" Paul exulted. "They're coming! They're coming for us!"
Indeed they were! As the boat got closer, the men could see that it was the shore patrol, and when they got closer there was a lot of "Hello"ing back and forth between the boat and the men on shore. The boat stopped just short of the beach. There were two men aboard. "Are you injured? Can you wade out?" one of them called.
"We're fine. Yes," Connor called.
"And very glad to see you!" Paul added.
"Is there anyone else on the island?"
"Absolutely not. Just us." Both men had reached the boat now and clambered over the side with an assist from the two shore patrol members. Then the boat turned and headed for the mainland with the grateful and relieved duo aboard. Paul asked for any news of Patrick and repeated the question when they pulled up at the dock on the mainland, but nobody seemed to know about him.
"How are we supposed to get home? Both our cars went down with the ferry," Paul said.
"I still have my wallet. My money's waterlogged but still valid," Connor said. "We'll take a taxi."
"Don't you want to get checked out at the hospital first?" asked one of the shore patrol members.
"I want to get home."
"Me too," echoed Paul.
"I want to take a shower, change clothes, call my job, call my insurance company, get a rental car to use till I can buy a replacement, get a new cell phone…." Connor reeled off a list of tasks.
"Me too. And I want to make sure Patrick got home safely."
Connor looked at him, wondering if Paul was having second thoughts about ending his relationship with Patrick. As if reading his mind, Paul turned to Connor and said, "I still mean to end it with him, but dammit, I want to know he's alive.
"I still have your card. It's waterlogged but legible. I assume your new cell phone will have the same number."
"I'll make sure it does."
"You don't have a landline?" Paul asked.
"Just the cell."
"I'll call you later. I still have a landline."
The taxi dropped Paul off first, then Connor. Despite his long list of things to do, Connor couldn't keep his mind off Paul. What if Patrick hadn't been found yet? What if he was home and so glad to see Paul that he wouldn't hear of breaking up? What if Paul himself had a change of heart when he found himself at home among familiar surroundings?" He worried his way through the afternoon and through the first decent meal he'd had in days.
Finally his cell phone rang. It was Paul.
"How'd it go?" Connor asked without preamble.
"All's well," Paul said, easing Connor mind with just two words. "Patrick's safe—and he had the same epiphany I did. Life is for living, not just for existing, and it's meant for true happiness, not just comfort. I didn't have to sell him on the concept of breaking up. He was already there. He's going apartment-hunting tomorrow.
"Hey, is it too late to come over this evening?"
"It's too late for dinner but not for—um—'dessert.' I presume there are no strings anymore, no barriers?"
"Nope. No strings. No barriers. Would it be all right if I planned to spend the night?"
"You'd better! When I called in to work, they'd heard about the ferry capsizing and surmised I was on it. They were very glad to hear I'd survived and been rescued. They gave me tomorrow off. So I don't even have to get up for work in the morning."
"Same here. When I called in to the store they said that they'd figured I was on the ferry that went down. I have tomorrow off too."
"Think we can figure out something to do with each other in the morning?" Connor teased.
"Definitely!" Paul enthused. "I already have a rental car. Just give me driving directions. The car doesn't have a GPS."
"Here's to a great night—and morning!" Connor said.
"Here's to a great future!" Paul replied.
Connor grinned. A great future indeed!