The First Step, page 10
“Ocean, boats…. You know, things people dream about.”
“These aren’t exactly yachts, you know,” Reed pointed out. “They’re working boats.”
“You’ll find a way to fit in some of the pretty ones too,” Cal said. “I’m sure of it.”
“So why did you call? Really?”
“Me?”
“Cut the bullshit, Cal.” Reed tapped his foot against the table and waited.
“Well… ah…. How do you feel about staying another week or two?”
“What?” That was the last thing Reed expected. Even more unexpected? The huge relief he felt knowing he’d be seeing Justin again.
“You been following the weather?” Cal asked, bringing Reed’s focus back on the job.
“Weather? Yeah, it’s pretty nice down here.”
“You really do tune out everything else when you’re working on a story, don’t you?”
Reed snorted. “And this matters why?”
“There’s a hurricane headed in your general direction. If you’d been following the news like any normal reporter, you’d have heard about it.”
Reed opened his laptop and pulled up the latest Atlantic hurricane forecast. “Looks nasty. But what does that have to do with me?”
“This is your ticket back to the political beat,” Cal said. “Management wants you to stick around. Cover the hurricane.”
“Me? I don’t know anything about covering—”
“BeaconCorp’s already got a TV crew headed to Wilmington. This isn’t about a play-by-play. They want human interest stuff. How people prepare. What they’re feeling. All you need to do is post a few paragraphs on the website a few times a day and we’ll link your updates to the TV coverage,” Cal replied. “Who knows? After it’s over, you might even write a follow-up to the story on the seafood industry.”
“If it hits here. Right now this forecast is just a bunch of computer modeling.”
“Think of it this way,” Cal said. “You won’t have to rush to finish your pilot story tomorrow. And if the storm really is taking aim at the Carolinas, you’ll have a front-row seat. You can even watch how those pilots of yours handle a big storm.”
This last bit sounded interesting. “So if I stick around and cover this baby—Florence—I get my old job back?”
“That’s the deal.”
“Even if the storm ends up heading back out to sea?” Reed asked.
“Even if the storm ends up hightailing it. Yes.”
“You got it.” He’d covered Hurricane Sandy and the flooding in New York in its aftermath. He could do a few paragraphs about how the locals were dealing with the storm.
“Good. I’ll have Rosemary cancel your return ticket. We’ll leave your departure date open. See how things progress.”
“Works for me.” Reed disconnected the call and walked over to the window. Outside, moonlight reflected off the river’s surface. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves on the trees in front of the hotel.
Two weeks ago he’d wanted nothing more than to get back to New York City. Now he smiled at the prospect of an open-ended stay. More time to finish the pilot story was just what he needed.
Face it, you’re happy because you’ll be seeing more of Justin. He’d give Justin a call in the morning and surprise him with the news. His smile became a grin.
AROUND NOON, Zach walked into Reed’s office at the River Watch. He frowned at Reed over his reading glasses.
“Hey, Zach. I didn’t hear you come in this morning,” Reed said.
“Probably because you were whistling too loud.”
“Sorry.” Reed tried not to smile. He’d uploaded his first post to BeaconCorp’s website a few hours before—a story about the shrimper he’d interviewed moving his boat to safer waters ahead of the storm—and he was feeling pretty good about it.
“At least if you’re going to apologize, do it like you mean it.” Zach’s own smile belied his harsh words. “I take it things are going well with the story?”
“It’s going great.”
“Why doesn’t it sound like you’re talking about the story?”
Reed shrugged. “Think what you’d like. I’ve gotten a thousand words written on the pilot story and I’m feeling good.”
“A thousand words?”
He nodded. Most of what he’d written he’d probably edit out of the final draft. He always worked better writing his way through a story first, then trimming it down once he’d put all his thoughts on paper.
“Cal called this morning. He says you’ll be sticking around a while longer,” Zach said. “My condolences.”
“New York City will still be there when I get back.” Reed grinned and looked back down at the computer screen. Already, there were nearly three hundred hits on his first hurricane story and a dozen or so reader comments.
“I’ve never seen someone so happy to be waiting on a hurricane.”
Reed shrugged. “More time for my pilots.”
“Your pilots?” Zach raised an eyebrow but let the subject drop.
“So what’s up?”
“I spoke to Carl Vandevender,” Zach said.
“Who?”
“He’s the administrator of Stately Pines.”
“The facility where Marty Gaines lives?” Reed sat up straighter in his chair. He’d been hoping to get the facility’s okay to visit Marty. He’d nearly given up on it, but now that he had more time in town….
“The one and only. He says you’re welcome to speak to Marty. He thinks it’d be good for him. He likes talking about old times. They contacted the son in California. He didn’t object either.” He pressed his lips together and shook his head.
“That’s great news. So why the long face?”
“Only that old times are about the only thing he can talk about.” He sighed. “He’s got dementia. His memory’s good up until about three years ago. Short-term memory’s shot.”
“Sorry to hear that.” It would limit what Reed could discuss, but if his memory of his time on the water was still intact and if he remembered his time working with Justin, it would add a lot to the story.
“Seems your man Vance is a regular visitor.” Zach brightened a bit, then added, “Brings Marty gifts, spends a lot of time with him, unlike Marty’s son, who’s only visited once since Marty moved in.”
“Alone in a city of admirers.”
“It’s sad, really. Men like Gaines made Wilmington what it is.” Zach stood up and handed Reed a piece of paper with a name scribbled on it. “His nurse knows to expect you. I told Carl you’d be by sometime today.” He walked out of his office and waved before Reed could answer. “Oh, and,” he said over his shoulder, “Marty likes oyster po’boys.”
“I guess I’m having lunch with Marty,” he said to no one and snorted. Today was as good a time as any. He’d go see Justin afterward.
“MR. GAINES?” Reed poked his head into the private room.
“That’s me.” Marty grinned back at him from a recliner where he sat eyeing a tray of food with a cautious expression. “And who might you be?”
“Reed Barfield, sir.” He offered Marty his hand.
Marty shook it with surprising strength. “Should I know you?” he asked. “Memory’s not so good these days.”
“Nope. We’ve never met before.” Reed gestured to the other chair. “May I join you?”
“Suit yourself. But if you’re looking for lunch, I’d go someplace else.”
“I might be able to help with that.” Reed held up the two paper bags he’d been carrying. “I heard you’re partial to oyster po’boys. I just happen to have two right here—one for me and one for you.”
“Son, if you come bearing gifts like that,” Marty said with a toothy grin, “I’m more than happy to make your acquaintance.”
He handed Marty one of the bags, and they ate in silence. After ten minutes or so, Marty set down what was left of his sandwich and said, “Now who are you again?”
“Reed Barfield. I’m a reporter from New York. I’m doing a story on the Cape Fear River pilots for a national magazine.” Reed wiped his mouth, then handed Marty a napkin.
“Reed. Nice name. You from New York?”
“Yes, sir. Although I grew up in the mountains, near Hendersonville.” Reed hoped his North Carolina connections would help, and he was right.
“Nice area. I had a cousin who lived out near the Georgia border. Died a few years back. He had a nice place there. Log cabin he built himself when he and his wife got married.” Marty sighed. “My wife used to go up there in the fall to see the leaves.”
“It’s very pretty in the fall.”
“That it is.” Marty wiped his mouth and set the napkin down.
“If you’re done with that, I can make us some room,” Reed offered.
“Sure.”
Reed cleaned up the remnants of their lunch and pulled the tray away from Marty’s chair.
“So why’re you in our neck of the woods, all the way from… where was it?” Marty asked.
“New York. I’m writing a story about river pilots.”
“Right. Pilots.” Marty frowned as if trying to put the pieces together, but with little to show for it.
“I’ve been spending some time with a pilot,” Reed offered, hoping to jog Marty’s memory. “Justin Vance. Do you know him?”
“Justin’s a good man.” Marty had clearly been thrilled with the sandwiches, but the expression on his face when he spoke Justin’s name bordered on worship. “I don’t know what I’d do without him. Watches out for me, that boy does.”
“You’re very fortunate.”
“He’d tell you he owes me,” Marty said. “But that’s bull crap. That boy’s like a son to me.”
Reed nodded. “I hear Justin worked with you on a container ship for a few years.”
“He did.” Marty beamed. “He came to us from the Navy. Started out as third mate. I promoted him to second, and the year after I retired, he was promoted to first mate.”
“Is that fast?”
“Even with his Navy training, it was fast. Kid was talented. Still is. He’s a real natural.” Marty nodded a few times, then said, “Just needed someone to take notice.”
“Nobody did before that?”
“Sure. But the Navy wasn’t the place for him. He did real good there, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t think he was happy.”
“But he was happy on the cargo ship?”
Marty seemed to consider this. “I’m not sure. Sometimes he was, I think.” Marty pointed to the wheelchair in the corner of the room. “Can we go outside?”
“Sure.” Reed helped Marty into the chair, and Marty directed him down a long hallway and out to a patio and gardens in the back of the building. Reed hadn’t expected the place would be this nice. He’d visited his own grandmother in what his parents called an “old age home,” and it had been sterile and uninspired. Not that this place couldn’t be lonely—anyplace, no matter how nice, could. Marty seemed upbeat, though. Reed guessed that was mostly because of Justin.
“Is it okay if I ask you a few more questions?” Reed asked as he wheeled Marty around.
“Questions? What about?”
“Justin Vance,” Reed prompted.
“Justin’s a good man.” Marty grinned up at Reed, then frowned. “Who are you?”
“Reed Barfield. I’m doing a story on Justin and the pilots.” Sometimes it was easy to forget that Marty’s short-term memory was completely shot.
“He’s really good,” Marty said. “A natural.”
“I’m sure he is,” Reed agreed.
“Those good-for-nothin’ relatives of his wrote him off,” Marty continued without missing a beat. “I seen ’em in church when I lived in Beaufort years ago. That boy had a perpetual black eye. I asked him about it once, but he said he’d gotten into a fight at school.”
“You don’t believe that?”
“Not for a minute,” Marty said emphatically. “He got into trouble at school, sure enough. But I knew the principal there, and he said Justin never got into fights. Mostly he played hooky—skipped classes—that sort of thing.”
Reed’s gut tightened as the pieces began to fall into place. “You think it happened at home?”
“Billy Vance was a mean drunk. The local social services folks visited on a regular basis, but they never found enough to take those kids away. The mother either didn’t care or didn’t think she could do anything. Must’ve gotten bad enough, though, ’cause Justin got himself arrested a few times shopliftin’. Finally ended up in juvenile detention. Probably figured it was safer there.” Marty shook his head. “If I’d only figured it out sooner.”
Reed drew a long breath. It was easier to listen to stories like this when you didn’t know the person who’d been treated like shit as a kid. He felt sick imagining a teenage Justin beaten up by his father. Sure, growing up, he himself had been beaten up a few times for being Jewish, but his mom had always been there for him.
“That’s just how it goes sometimes, I suppose. That boy’s got a heart o’ gold, even after all he’s been through.”
“He’s a good man.” Reed repeated the words Marty had used to describe Justin, and meant them.
“That he is.” Marty nodded.
They reached the end of the gardens, and Reed began to wheel Marty back toward the building. By now the sun was high overhead and the warmth on his shoulders felt really good, easing the discomfort he’d felt to learn about Justin’s past.
“What do you know about the accident involving Scott Carson?” Reed hoped Marty’s memory of the incident was still intact.
Marty rubbed his chin and shook his head again. “Who?”
“Scott Carson.”
“Carson’s an experienced pilot. Don’t matter, though. Sometimes the waves just hit at the wrong time. He okay?”
“I hear he’s going to be fine.” So Marty clearly was not going to be able to fill in all the blanks. He’d have to talk to Zach and see if the River Watch had done a follow-up story. Or maybe Kerry might open up a bit about the accident.
“Who’d you say you were again?” Marty frowned and eyed Reed with suspicion.
“Reed Barfield. I’ve been working with Justin Vance on a story about the Cape Fear River pilots.” Reed offered Marty a reassuring smile.
“I see. Justin’s a good man. Best kind of man you can find.” Marty nodded emphatically.
“Yes, sir. That he is.” And then some.
Chapter Eighteen
REED CALLED Justin’s cell a few times after he left Marty, hoping to ask if they could meet so he could tell Justin in person that he wasn’t going to be leaving tomorrow, but there was no answer.
“Hey Justin, it’s Reed. Give me a buzz when you have a minute. There’s something I need to tell you.”
Reed drove by Justin’s place on Carolina Beach, figuring Justin might be working outside and not hear his phone, but the house was dark and Leila didn’t bark when he knocked on the door. From there, he drove over to the marina to find Justin’s boat was still in the slip. He eyed it longingly, then got back in his car and headed for Southport.
When he finally made it to the pilot building an hour later, the wind had gotten stronger and the sky had grown dark. Ed was on dispatch, talking to someone over the radio.
“You lookin’ for Justin?”
“I was hoping to catch up with him,” Reed said.
“He’s on a job. We had someone call in sick and Greg didn’t want to wait, not with the storm coming in.” Ed pointed at the whiteboard. “Tanker’s almost here—should be visible out the windows in just a few minutes.”
“The storm’s here already?”
Ed chuckled. “Not the hurricane, just leftovers of a tropical depression off the coast. The ship’s master wanted to be on their way before it got too rough on the river. Just as well too. Wind’s blowin’ pretty hard already. You’re welcome to hang out and wait for him, though.”
“Thanks.”
Reed was just about to head outside when Ed asked, “Weren’t you leavin’ tomorrow?”
“I was, but my boss asked me to stay.”
“On account of the hurricane they’re predictin’?” Ed chuckled. “Suit yourself. Fifty-fifty it passes us by.”
“I hope you’re right.” Reed had seen the most recent models, and things weren’t looking so good for the Carolinas. He grabbed his camera and windbreaker from the car and walked the few steps to the riverfront. A gust of wind blew his hood off his head, forcing him to tie it closed. Whitecaps were visible on the water as the Bald Head Island Ferry zipped by. As promised, a large boat made its way downriver, headed toward the inlet and the ocean beyond. Reed imagined Justin guiding the boat out to sea as he took some photos.
Satisfied he had some nice shots, he headed back inside a few minutes later. “Can I ride along to pick Justin up?” Reed asked Greg, who was watching the radar over Ed’s shoulder and frowning.
“No can do. It’s too choppy out there for passengers. You’re welcome to wait for him here, though. He should be back in a few hours.”
“Thanks.” Reed wouldn’t argue the point. He’d work on another hurricane update in the break room and catch up on the storm tracking.
Reed awoke to the sound of raised voices coming from the office. He realized he must have dozed off, because the sky outside was dark and rain splattered the window. He dry-scrubbed his face and walked down the hallway.
“Cape Fear River Pilots, this is Cape Fear Pilot III, over.” Kerry’s voice came over the radio.
“Cape Fear Pilot III, what’s your status?” Greg had taken the microphone from Ed and was hunched over the desk. His face was set in a frown, and he furrowed his brow.
“We’ve got him, but he’s out cold. I’ve radioed the Coast Guard, but it’ll be faster if I bring him in myself.” The edge in Kerry’s voice took Reed by surprise. She sounded worried.
He?
“Bring him in.” Greg’s cheeks were pale, and a muscle in his cheek twitched. “We’ll have EMS meet you at the dock.”
“Roger that. Cape Fear Pilot III back to channel 16.”
