Chapter 20

Saturday morning brought sunshine, but not warmth. Conley watched the Kendricks’ mini-van pull into Ocean Park Municipal Marina, a crowded yard full of tired-looking fishing trawlers and lobster boats put up for winter. Kit and Leshawn strained against their seatbelts, necks stretched, eyes wide, peering through the van’s windows.

Curious about the world.

Madie looked too, but her wrinkled brow showed inquisition mixed with concern. Brown-bottomed boats sat on jack stands. Weathered scows lay on their sides, as if they’d been lashed and scattered by a Nor’easter. Lloyd Kendricks maneuvered around potholes in the unpaved lot, breaking thin layers of ice that frosted dark puddles of slush.

Conley sat near the launch ramp in his BMW, motor running, a plume of exhaust growing from the tailpipe. Kendricks parked next to him and they stepped out of their cars onto frozen dirt. Madie cradled a picnic basket in the crook of her arm. They gathered near the water.

“Which one’s yours, Lloyd?” Conley asked.

Kendricks pointed to a solitary lobster boat in the harbor that listed toward them as if longing for shore.

Conley whistled. The sorry-looking boat clung by a frayed line to a baby blue buoy. The bow had yellow streaks the color of egg yolk. A tarnished pulley wheel hung from the wheelhouse, its spool empty.

“Don’t be judging me, Conley. I bought it for almost nothing.”

“Looks like you almost paid what it’s worth.”

Kit looked at the boat and dropped his knapsack.

“We gonna swim to it?” he asked.

“We could,” Conley said. “Let’s take the rowboat instead and we’ll pick everyone up at the pier. We got a rowboat, right, Lloyd?”

“‘Course we do.”

They passed an upside-down stack of small boats and stopped at a weather-beaten skiff. Its name—DESTINY—shone in bright letters on the stern, letters as white as cake frosting. They dragged the heavy boat to the launch ramp, scraping a shallow trench in the hardpack. Beautiful reds, blues, and purples swirled an oily welcome when the bottom met water. They found a single wooden oar near a pile of broken pallets and rusted drums. When the two of them stepped into the boat, a gob of gray putty popped from the floor and danced on a tiny blossom of water.

Kendricks stared at the puncture.

“That gonna hurt us much?” he asked.

Conley shrugged. “Water’s on the wrong side of the boat, Lloyd.”

Conley rowed with the one paddle, Indian style, and made his strokes longer and faster as the water inside deepened. His boots were soaked, feet already numb from the frigid water. The fast-filling rowboat barely moved from the one-oar stroke.

They reached the buoy and he fastened the prow ring quickly. He pulled himself into the lobster boat clumsily, hands slipping on the low wall. The salt air and countless coats of paint had made it as hard and greasy as a clamshell. Kendricks followed. The rowboat was a quarter full now, pulling the line to the buoy taut.

At the cockpit Kendricks reached under the steering wheel, retrieved a rusty key, and turned the ignition.

A faint whirr sounded, slowed, quieted.

“Who sold you this boat?” Conley asked.

Kendricks hesitated. “Louie the Lug. He needed bail money.”

“Ever listen to the engine, Lloyd?”

“‘Course I did. Sounded healthy. Loud and strong.”

Kendricks turned the key again and after three weak chugs, the engine coughed to life and sent up a flag of white smoke from the stack pipe. Floorboards shook and a steady clang rang from the centerboard. A squeal escaped from somewhere under the deck.

“Bilge pump,” Conley said.

“That’s good, right? It’s working hard.”

“Working too hard, Lloyd. It needs a new bearing.”

Madie and the boys stood at the end of the dock. Kendricks wiped his palm across his forehead.

“We going to pull this off, Conley?”

Conley looked toward the pier, then back at the buoy. The rowboat was almost underwater, only its outline visible, dark water covering the seats.

“Let’s just get to the pier.” He nodded at the rowboat. “We don’t have much choice.”

He nudged the throttle lever forward. The engine growled, speed dipping dangerously, smokestack spewing. The prop splashed behind them and the boat shuddered and lurched forward.

The Kendricks family was waiting, six eyes following every move.

“We take them around the harbor,” Conley said, “and hug the shore in case we have to beach it.”

Kendricks nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

Conley spun the ship’s wheel and maxed the throttle. The boat turned drunkenly toward the pier. Madie frowned and hugged Kit with one arm. Kendricks hung on to the gunwale, knuckles as white as the ice clouding the windshield.

The boat slowed and eased into neutral. They drifted to the gray pier, toward Madie and the boys, frozen as statues.

“Take the wheel, Captain,” Conley said to Kendricks as he checked frayed lines and faded pink bumpers, leaped onto the dock, and tied the boat to a cleat.

Kit put his hands on his knees and bent over to look at his father. “You the captain, Daddy?”

“He sure is,” Conley said, planting his foot against the boat when a plastic bumper cracked like an eggshell and wood knocked against wood. “And I’m the mate.”

“Daddy your boss?” Leshawn asked.

“Captain’s everybody’s boss,” Kit said angrily.

Madie and the boys got into the boat.

“This boat’s crooked, Lloyd,” Madie said.

Conley led them to the port side of the deck—the high side—and had them sit on the weathered bench.

“I’ll take over, Captain,” he said and steered the boat toward the inlet that led to open ocean.

Kit peered past his father. “You letting your mate steer, Daddy?”

“Just a little.”

Kendricks sat next to Madie, arm around her. The boys got brave and tried their sea legs, exploring the boat. Kit opened the wooden bait bin, smelled decades of fish heads, and closed it fast. He looked in the tiny cabin and saw the flapping door to the head.

“Can we sleep down there?”

“Sure,” Conley called. “Just need to swab it first, clean the toilet maybe.”

“Mate stuff, huh?”

He looked back at Kendricks and Madie, arm in arm on the bench. The harbor opening framed them, blue sky and bluer sea. Kendricks stared straight ahead, smiling as if he saw something that pleased him in the air.

“That’s right,” Conley said. “Mate stuff.”

The engine clanged louder. He cut the speed and knelt next to the engine hold. He lifted the door on a creaky hinge and watched the vibrating Mercury engine. It was caked with dirt, spark plug cables cut and frayed. Brown water sloshed underneath.

Kendricks knelt next to him, hands on his knees.

“What’s the problem, Conley?”

“Bad plug or cable if you’re lucky. Bad piston if you’re not.”

“I vote for the plug and cable theory.”

“We’ll change them first, then do a compression check.”

“We gonna sink?” Kit asked from the other side, hands on his knees like his dad.

“No way,” Conley said. “Can’t sink on a shakedown cruise.”

“That’s good. That water down there is pee-eew.”

“Lloyd,” Madie called. “Maybe we should go back.”

“What do you think, Conley?” he whispered.

“Smart lady. We’re almost to the other side of the harbor. I nurse the engine and take it back to the marina dock. Worst case is tide goes out and you’re grounded. These boats have big skegs that protect the prop.”

“I like it.”

He swung the boat across the harbor inlet, prayed it didn’t quit near the foaming sea. They motored past the Ocean Park Yacht Club, home of gleaming pleasure boats and gaudy yachts. The pier in front had a fancy canvas cover.

The engine held, coughing, dieseling. He finally cut the motor and they drifted back to Gibbs Marina as if on a track. Kendricks grabbed the lines this time, jumped onto the dock, and tied off the boat the way Conley had.

Madie was already unpacking sandwiches and handing them out. Kit leaned over the side and started tearing pieces of bread and dropping them to minnows. Leshawn joined him.

“How bad a shape this boat in, Conley?” Kendricks whispered.

“Every boat needs something, and some boats need everything.”

“I’m talking about this boat.”

“I’d say this is one of the everything variety.”

“Take a lot of money, won’t it?”

“Yep. Unless you do it yourself.”

Kendricks nodded. “I got a confession. I don’t really know much about boats.”

“Shocker.”

Kendricks glanced at his family, folded his hands, kneaded them. “Hey, Conley. I got a proposition for you. How’d you like to go in half on this boat? No cash. Your know-how and my git-up-and-go. Like an investment.”

Conley looked at Madie and the boys. They were quietly eating now, staring at the glitzy boats across the harbor. The boys leaned into their mother like bookends. Lloyd didn’t know boats, but he certainly knew families. Kendricks was blessed with something better than yachts and mansions. His family was his treasure.

Kendricks unlocked his hands and thrust his right one out hard, thumb up. Madie’s gaze drifted toward them. Conley shook the hand.

A big cabin cruiser—a twin to his and Lisa’s—left the yacht club and purred by. It left a wake that roiled the water around them and made the lobster boat seesaw and its gear shake. Suddenly the rusted pulley snapped and crashed. A tiny cloud of rust powdered the deck.

“We better start right away,” he said as he watched the sleek boat clear the harbor and disappear into the horizon. “Cruising weather will be here before you know it.”