Port Townsend, Washington
floated high above her red waterline marking. Tied up on the opposite side of the marina, the sturdy thirty-eight-foot double-ender had been christened the year Hank was born. Benjamin picked her up in Hong Kong as a retirement present for himself. A few years later, he picked up Kiki in Copenhagen. They hadn’t lived on land since. Hank needed to say goodbye to his cruising friends and Osprey would be a safe place to spill minutes. Maybe he’d even get lucky.
“Ahoy Osprey.”
Benjamin eased himself out of the companionway and responded with a hardy, “Hank my man. How's it hanging? Come-aboard.” Hank had never asked but judging by his sea stories and history as an investment banker, his friend must be over seventy, but could pass for a weathered fifty-year-old. His height almost matched Hank’s six-foot two-inches, but he stood somewhat stooped. A beard of grey and a full head of straight dark brown hair added to the curious mystery of the man’s age. Even the salt and pepper transition between beard and hair gave no hints.
Kiki popped her head out next. She raced her fingers through her pixie hairstyle, squinted in the sunlight, and zipped up her ever-present fleece jacket. Half the size of Benjamin and possibly half his age, she sprung onto the built-in bench like a gymnast and grabbed Benjamin’s arm to steady herself.
“We’re just about to crack open a cask of rum. You’re just in time.” Benjamin said with a large lingering smile of perfect, bright white teeth. His freckled companion shook her head in agreement.
Benjamin reached his muscular, tattooed arm toward Hank for a handshake. Hank grabbed it, enjoying the old-fashioned gesture. Kiki dove in for a quick hug. It was the same every time they met. Even if he climbed on board a few times a day, they were consistent in their desire to greet him with open arms and they were always cracking open a cask of rum.
“Thanks, but I’ve got to work. Unless you’re leaving for Alaska in the next few hours? Then I’ll have a drink and request you carry me up to where you clear Canadian customs… or better yet, just before.”
“Maybe in a few days. Her bottom’s getting dirty, sitting here in the marina.” Benjamin said, glancing down at Kiki.
She swatted him and looked at Hank. “He’s talking about Osprey.”
“What did you think I was talking about?” Benjamin asked Kiki with a sly grin. Then, turning his attention to Hank, “Before customs?”
“I’m leaving. Canada’s my next stop. Figure I can get a job as a hand. Ship or yacht, I don’t care.”
“Why not just post it here or Port Angeles?” Benjamin asked.
“I have my reasons.”
Kiki took the cue and changed the subject. “Oh, Hank, we’ll miss you around here. Can we help?
“Actually, I was hoping you could do something for me.” He dug into his bag and pulled out a pair of Nikon binoculars and a handheld VHF radio. “I could use cash.”
“That’s never a good thing. You’d be lucky to get half their value negotiating like that,” Benjamin remarked.
“Half is fine.”
Kiki slipped down the companionway and returned, handing Benjamin a purple bag with a gold string closure. She said, “I’m going down to put on some rice.” She wrapped her arms around Hank and gave him a big hug. “Goodbyes aren't my thing.” Then stretched up and gave him a peck on the cheek. She turned to Benjamin and said, “Be generous.”