Miracle Man (13 page)

“This has been a fantastic day for me. I’m so happy we met,” he said.

As Kate nuzzled against him, she whispered in his ear, “You’re sweet, Bobby. Very sweet.”

Kate and Kim shared a stateroom. Joe and Bobby each had their own. At three, when the alcohol wore off, Bobby woke up. He lay in bed thinking about everything that had transpired. He couldn’t fall back asleep and after thirty minutes of trying, he went above deck to get some fresh air. Lying on his back on the cushioned recessed lounging deck, he stared up at the stars and remembered how he had loved to do the same thing in Peter and Edith’s tiny backyard. But that seemed like five lifetimes ago. Feeling elated and sad at the same time, he drifted off to sleep in the cool sea air. A short time later, Kate stood looking down at him. She knew there was something special about Bobby, she could sense it, but couldn’t define it. She slipped out of her sleep camisole, grabbed a deck blanket from the bench locker and slid next to him as she covered them both with the blanket. She pressed her lips to his as she stroked his left temple. His eyes half-opened and he smiled.

“You’re overdressed,” she said. Without lifting the blanket, he stripped off his tee shirt and underpants. Kate maneuvered herself over him.

17

T
he dawn awakened Bobby. Kate’s silky hair was pressed up against his face and he felt the warmth of her naked body against his. He peeked under the blanket and then smiled.
I am the luckiest guy in the world,
he thought
.
As he stood up, the early morning sea air chilled him. He grabbed another blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders and headed to the galley to make a pot of coffee. After it brewed, he filled two large mugs half way, and then substituted Bailey’s Irish Cream for milk and sugar. Returning to the still sleeping Kate, he put her coffee down on the deck and then stood by the side railing of
Dreamweaver
looking out to sea.
Maybe it will all really turn out okay after all,
he thought.
Maybe the nightmares will stop, and maybe I’ll stop worrying about losing my mind or disappearing into the ether.
Right now it all seemed good to Bobby. “Thank you God for Joe Manzini,” Bobby whispered to the sea.

Bobby sat next to Kate and kissed the side of her head as his right hand slipped under the blanket and caressed her shoulder. “I have some coffee for you. I made it a special way. They call it a ‘sticky’ in England.”

Kate opened her eyes, squinting in the bright sun. “A sticky?” She laughed as she sat up and took the mug. Her face shone in the morning light. “I wish Mom and I didn’t have to rush back today to St. John, but it’s our last day and we have three islands worth of shopping to do.”

“I wish we could stay out here forever,” Bobby said.

The sail back to St. John went too quickly for Bobby, but everyone else was in a jubilant mood after Joe’s “secret formula” Bloody Mary’s and western omelets. Anchoring offshore in St. John by noon, the sadness in Bobby’s eyes was obvious as he said goodbye to Kate after exchanging email addresses and phone numbers.

“Stop sulking,” Joe said to Bobby.

“Joe, she was so incredible. I can’t even put it into words. Isn’t she the most beautiful girl you ever saw?”

“Kate is lovely. But the good news is that you’re seventeen and trust me, you will rise again. Now there’s a soca beach party today on Grand Cruz Bay beach —-I say we need to be there.”

“What’s soca?”

“It’s a kind of dance music that originated in Trinidad and Tobago. The dancing is called “wining” —as in wind the body up. It’s the sexiest dancing in the world.”

As Bobby discovered, Joe knew what he was talking about. The local dancers were scantily clad and “wined” sensually. Bobby had never seen women move like that. He and Joe, along with a few hundred tourists and locals, found themselves swept along in a people train of happiness between the gyrating beauties. The sheer vivacity of the scene encompassed them as they laughed and hugged, bumping butts and hips with the uninhibited dancers.

“Joe, this trip is the best thing that ever happened to me,” said Bobby.

“It’s amazing, right?” replied Joe.

“Actually, I said it wrong. Joe—you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Bobby, we’re a winning team. I love you, kid.”

Finally, it was time for Joe to point
Dreamweaver
in “the wrong direction” as Bobby put it, back to Boston. “Don’t worry—there’s more big adventures ahead for both of us, Bobby.” Despite a few harrowing thunderstorms on the sail home and Joe’s bouts with severe indigestion which he chalked up to too much rich food and alcohol, the sail back north was wonderful and
Dreamweaver
re-entered Boston Harbor on schedule.

Uhlman was at the Institute to welcome Bobby home. “How do you feel, Robert?”

“Like I was re-born,” replied Bobby.

“It was that good?”

“It was beyond good. It was my recrudescence. Did I ever thank you Doctor?”

“For what?”

“For finding Joe Manzini for me and knowing that I needed him.” Uhlman blushed as he nodded.

18

J
ust as Uhlman had predicted, Bobby came back stronger than ever. He was newly energized. He completed his doctoral thesis in biochemistry within three months after his eighteenth birthday. Bobby expanded on an idea that he had first described when he was nine years old. In his doctoral thesis, he posited that all biochemical interactions could be expressed mathematically and that if this was done, it would reduce the need for laboratory experiments, as all combinations and permutations of chemicals and elements could be run mathematically at lightning speed, thereby isolating which situations were worthy of the time consuming process of laboratory work. He gave a few examples, but many academics criticized the premise as “intrinsically fanciful and unrealistic.” Bobby responded by saying, “What I’m proposing will take a lot of work and won’t be easy, but if we want to solve tomorrow’s problems, we can’t rely on yesterday’s tools.”

As Bobby approached his nineteenth birthday, he was engrossed in an inter-disciplinary molecular bio-physics program that he had cobbled together at MIT which approached problems at the human cellular level quantitatively, utilizing statistical mechanics. Director Varneys made it clear to Uhlman that he wasn’t pleased.

“The Austin kid is going way off track. He was where we wanted him to be—theoretical mathematics, physics and astronomy. Then he veered off with all this biology and chemistry crap. Probably Manzini’s fault. You need to straighten Austin out. He’s the long-term key to our military and aerospace supremacy. I don’t want him wasting his time like this.”

Uhlman’s face flushed as he responded, “He has time for everything. You have to admit he’s been cooperative with all of the questions that NASA and the NSA have thrown at him”.

“That’s not good enough. I want one hundred percent of his attention. It’s time you gave him a reality check.”

“I’ll talk to him,” said Uhlman.

“There’s no free lunch for him. We’ve made a huge investment and we expect to get our return. I don’t condone coddling anybody.”

Bobby had become increasingly aware that Joe’s energy level was waning, and his radiant glow had been dimming. He was looking pallid and thin.

“Joe, what’s up with you? Have you been on some weird diet? What happened to the guy who’s famous for saying, ‘I’ll eat anything anytime and wash it down with something that will kill the germs?”

Joe laughed. “I guess my cast iron stomach must be rusting. Ulcers, no doubt. I’ve been eating less to avoid cramps. I’ll tell my doctor when I go for my annual physical next month.”

Bobby thought back to Joe’s bouts with indigestion on the sail home from St. John. “Get it straightened out pronto Joe. I don’t like drinking Jack Daniels by myself,” Bobby said, as he playfully punched Joe’s shoulder.

19

J
oe had already been to the doctor many times. He had consulted with four leading specialists in Boston and New York. All of them gave him the same prognosis. Joe would die from pancreatic cancer within the next four months. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to talk to Bobby about it. He dreaded telling Bobby about his condition more than he dreaded his own fate. But Joe knew that he couldn’t put it off any longer. He was getting his affairs in order while his mental faculties were still free of the mind numbing pain killers that would overtake him in the final weeks of his struggle. Speaking to Bobby and helping him transition through this time period was of paramount importance to Joe. There was a lot of ground to cover and little time to do it in.

“Hey Bobby—want to be my date this weekend and go sailing on
Dreamweaver
— or do you have some hot co-ed lined up?” asked Joe over the phone.

Sitting back from his computer monitors, Bobby’s face relaxed and his eyes lit up. “Well—I was planning to direct a porno and teach the actresses some new moves, but I guess I could put that off to the following week.”

Joe laughed. “Good. Then we’re in business. I’ll look forward to it.”

As
Dreamweaver
headed out of Boston Harbor, Joe handed over skipper duties to Bobby. Joe found it difficult to haul the sails anymore and he wanted to see what Bobby still needed to learn to sail
Dreamweaver
by himself, as soon the boat would be his.

“Ok my boy—let’s see if you can pilot this vessel all by yourself. Take us up the coast past Marblehead, Manchester and Magnolia, and then swing around into Gloucester and let’s dock at Rocky Neck and eat lunch at The Studio.”

“Aye aye, Captain. Just sit back and leave the driving to me.”

Bobby was almost finished with his doctoral thesis in biophysics and was excited by the prospect of completing his university studies, as he didn’t intend to pursue any more educational degrees. “Joe, I’m almost done with being a school boy. I’ll get my biophysics Ph,D in the next month or two, and then I’m off to the races. Time to get a job and become a taxpayer.”

Joe grimaced. “A taxpayer. Anything but that. The government gets us all into a lot of trouble when it has too many tax dollars to spend. But I’m glad you brought that up, as I’ve been meaning to speak with you. Do you remember what I said to you a long time ago, when you told me that you wished you could do more to help the kids we were visiting in the hospital?”

“You said, ‘It doesn’t matter where my intelligence came from, what matters is what I do with it’.”

Joe’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Bobby. “Exactly. Well Bobby, you’re about to complete your fourth doctorate, you know more anatomy than a medical school professor, and your intellect and energy are unique. Don’t be like some of the others who could have made a big difference but blew it.”