The Collectibles (23 page)

J
oe called Alice and told her he was ready to head home. “Of course I will bring Buck to meet you,” Alice reassured him. “How did all of your tests go?”

“They're pretty thorough at Bethesda. They looked me over head to toe. But I'm still here. I had no idea how big Bethesda Naval Hospital is. Huge. Anyway, Alice, I'm ready to go fishing, but I need you to make some calls for me.”

“Go.”

“Please call Taylor Grant at Grant Marine in Charleston. Tell him you're calling for me and that I need some work done on my boat as soon as possible. Ask him to pick it up at my slip. Tell him the keys are where I usually hide them. The boat needs to be hauled and a fair amount of fiberglass work done. His glass guys will see the damage. Ask him to repair the glass, the bow rail on the port, and the anchor mount on the bow. While that's being repaired, tell him I'd like to have his electronics people install a new ITT night vision system with a screen on the bridge and on top of the bridge, an HDTV satellite antenna for the TV system. Oh, and on the bridge, have him replace the two seats behind the wheel with two new Stidd admiral-style seats, electric, white.” Joe waited a minute to give Alice time to catch up.

“I would also like cameras placed in each room in the boat, the cockpit, and the engine room, all showing on the screen on the bridge. He'll know what I mean. Also, have him install three titanium underwater lights in the hull under the swim platform, and underwater cameras. Give him my American Express credit card number, the one I use for my boat, and tell him I'd appreciate his getting it all done one week from today, that I'm planning to go down the coast and over to the Bahamas. Oh, and ask him to be sure to have the bottom pressure washed when he hauls the boat. Did I go too fast?”

“You haven't gotten ahead of me yet,” Alice replied.

“You're right about that,” Joe said with a laugh.

“That's a lot of material,” Alice said. “It's probably going to cost a bundle.”

“Probably will. What the hell, we only live once. Also, Alice, would you please figure out a way to provision my boat for Red and me with as much food, water, plates, utensils, sheets, pillowcases, all that . . . as much as you can put on the boat? Call Red; he can tell you exactly what kind of beer he'd like. There's a large cooler in the cockpit. There are people at the marina that can help you do that. Just ask the dock master. I don't want you carrying any of this, but I would appreciate your arranging it.”

“I'll do it,” Alice said. “I assume you're going to handle the fishing gear, or whatever you call it. Are you taking Buck?”

“Absolutely. That reminds me, please arrange with Buck's vet for a certificate from him showing that Buck has had all his shots and is in good health. The certificate needs to be dated the day I leave so it will be current when I take Buck into the Bahamas. I don't want to have Buck get caught up in any quarantines.”

“I get it,” Alice said. “I'll make sure that there's plenty of dog food, and plenty of his chewies, too. I'll talk with the vets, and I'll check with Bahamian immigration people through the internet to see the fastest and most efficient way of clearing Buck.”

“Thanks, Alice. Let me know the flight arrangements. I'll see you and Buck soon.”

“W
here we headed, Skipper?” Red asked, stowing his gear in the starboard cabin.

“I thought we would head down the coast to St. Augustine, spend the night there. The next day, we should be able to make it to West Palm, and we can spend the night at Sailfish Marina. Then we'll head out to the Bahamas, Nassau first. How's that sound?”

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Red said, looking in the cooler. “Ready when you are. I can't believe you got bottled Bass Ale!”

“Thank Alice.”

Joe fired up the engines and they headed out the harbor on their way south. The seas were two to three feet with a northeasterly wind. Skies clear. As they were pushed along by the following sea, Red and Joe relaxed on the bridge, enjoying the day and each other's company. There was little need for words between these two old friends.

They arrived at the St. Augustine Inlet in early afternoon and proceeded to Camachee Cove Yacht Harbor, where they enjoyed a good steak dinner, a few after-dinner drinks in the cockpit, and spent the night. Buck devoured the bones.

They awoke to a clear sky with the same soft, northeasterly wind at their back, heading out the inlet and south along the coast. They arrived at Lake Worth Inlet about an hour before sunset, idled into Sailfish Marina, and savored dinner. Joe loved that time of day, and relished the moments at sea and in port, as, apparently, did Red and Buck.

The next morning, they set out for Nassau. Again, the weather was perfect, the seas only a light chop. The wind had shifted, coming from the southwest, and on the way over, Buck looked excited as a large school of dolphins evidently decided to keep company with the
Mountain Stream
on the port side. Red and Joe took turns at the helm, and at one point Joe took a nap in one of the comfortable teak chairs in the cockpit with the warm afternoon sun on his face. They arrived in Nassau Harbor shortly before six, put in at Hurricane Hole, and cleared customs and immigration with Buck, thanks to Alice. That night after dinner, with Buck guarding the boat, Joe and Red sampled the action at the crap tables at Atlantis Casino on Paradise Island. Cigars and Sambuca had become the after-dinner nightly ritual in the cockpit.

“I'm really getting to like these damn cigars,” Red said. “What kind are they? There are no labels.”

“Well, it's a long story. The short version is these cigars are made with Cuban tobacco that actually came to the United States between 1956 and 1958 and therefore was pre-embargo. I call 'em ‘pre-revs.' Eventually they got the tobacco certified, worked out a deal with customs, had the cigars made in Ecuador and brought back in. But customs put a quota on the amount of tobacco they could bring back in so enjoy these while you can. I don't think there will be any more like these, and time is running out.”

“Is there a metaphor in this story, Joe?”

“Yes, unfortunately, there is, Red. When I was alone with Dr. Gordon, I pressed him on how long I've got. The bottom line was about six months. Let's enjoy these while we can.” If he was shaken by the news, Red didn't show it.

“You got it, Skipper.”

 

The next morning, they left Nassau harbor and turned east, heading for Eleuthera. It was a head sea with five to seven footers, so the going was slow. After four hours, they arrived at the entrance to the Lower Bogue, which was southwest of Harbour Island, and which gave protection from the wind and waves. At that point, Joe called a man named Woody, a local icon who arranged to meet Joe's boat at a waypoint not far ahead and guide the boat through the shallow waters of the Bogue. Joe put
Mountain Stream's
controls in neutral as Woody swung his little outboard motorboat around the stern and pulled up to Joe's swim platform, tossing Red his bow line. Then he climbed in Joe's boat, his arms full of packages. Neither Joe nor Red needed any guidance through the Bogue, but Joe liked Woody and the way he talked, and he loved all the fresh stone crabs he brought with him.

They gabbed as they proceeded along the shallow waters at barely two knots, and then they broke out into the ocean side briefly, around the bluff, and into the sound. They arrived at Valentine's Resort and Marina, where they paid Woody and prepared the stone crabs for a pre-dinner treat.

After they had gotten to know Harbour Island as well as they wanted to, which included a wildly charismatic singin' and stompin' Sunday service Joe dragged Red to, they left Eleuthera for Great Abaco Island. The weather was clear and the wind steady at about fifteen knots from the west as they made their way along the thirty-two-nautical mile crossing, past Hole in the Wall at the southern tip of the island, and up to Little Harbour. The sound was calm and flat as they cruised to Marsh Harbour, their destination.

Joe could have stayed at the Conch Inn Hotel and Marina, a five-star facility with lots of amenities and new floating docks. Instead, he chose the older Marsh Harbour Marina, preferring the down-home atmosphere and remembering the barbecues at the Jib Room. He also thought Buck would be a lot happier there.

That night, after another good dinner, sitting in the cockpit, Joe asked Red if he needed to get back.

“I'm okay, Joe,” Red replied. “I'll stay here as long as you'd like me to.”

“I appreciate that, Red, but I know you've got a life of your own and things to do. I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed these last few days with you. It's been wonderful. I know you're staying with me in part because you want to make sure I'm all right. I'm doing fine. I've got Buck here with me and I plan to stay put in Marsh Harbour for a while. My cell phone works here, it's comfortable, and there's an airport with commercial and private planes that go back and forth to West Palm Beach, Fort Lauderdale, and Miami every day. If I need something, I can get it here, and you'll only be a phone call away . . . and Red, there will come a time when I'll be calling you to come.”

“Okay, Joe. Thanks for telling me that. I'll fly out in the morning.”

“Good. I know you need to get back, and I think you should. I'm going to ask a guy to fly over here and spend a little time with me, so you don't have to worry about me being alone – although that's not a problem, either.”

“Who are you going to have come over?” Red asked.

“Well, I want to call Harry, a buddy of mine I used to hunt and fish with. I want to see if he's able to come over because I don't think he's ever been in the Bahamas, and I know he'd love the bone fishing and fishing in the ocean. He's also a professional photographer, and I think he would appreciate all of this,” Joe said, pointing to the entire area and the harbor.

“But before I call him, I need to call a . . . client of mine. I just finished a business deal for him and I want to sit in a relaxed atmosphere and have a chat. None of this, of course, has anything to do with my physical situation, which remains strictly between you and me.”

“Aye aye, Skipper. How about some more Sambuca?”

 

As it turned out, Preston flew in on Continental, the same airline Red was taking out, and the two unknowingly passed each other in the airport. Preston hired a taxi and within a few minutes was at Marsh Harbour Marina, where Joe and Buck were waiting for him in the Jib Room. Preston remembered Buck from the mountains. He was still uneasy around the dog, but, realizing that he was going to be sharing space with him on a small boat, decided he had better make friends in a hurry. Buck was mildly receptive.

“He figures you're with me, you must be all right,” Joe said, clearly picking up on Preston's sensitivity and Buck's attitude. “He'll put up with you.”

Joe showed Preston to his starboard quarters and explained the systems in the boat. Preston was starved, so Joe grilled him some hamburgers on an electric grill set on the cooler in the cockpit. He made an extra three for Buck. Preston relaxed that afternoon, as they sat in the cockpit talking and took some walks. He thought the area was charming, the harbor and especially the beach across the road on the sound side. He told Joe how energized Casey was, and, in detail, what a great job Alex was doing.

“I had no idea what a huge difference a really good operations man makes. And you were so right about giving Casey and Alex a piece of the ownership. Casey's a different man. He's not just following anymore. He talks about the company in terms of ‘our company' now. I've never seen him so with the program.” And so it went, for hours, as Joe listened patiently, with an occasional nod, and when necessary, bolstered by another cigar.

Preston was relaxed and excited at the same time. There were some real changes in him since he last saw Joe in Charlotte. More confident, more positive. Definitely more comfortable with himself. Joe didn't ask about Marcia, apparently not wanting to spoil the good mood. Preston would have said something if there was good news to tell.

 

After dinner, when the stars and full moon lit up the sky, Joe fed Buck again, not that he needed it. He played with Buck awhile, and then took him for a little walk by himself. When he came back, Preston was sitting in the cockpit with his feet up on the little teak table in front of the chairs.

“Are you tired?” Joe asked.

“Not at all, Joe,” Preston said. “This is wonderful here. The weather is perfect. What a night.”

“You're not sleepy? You're sure you don't want to turn in?”

“I really don't, Joe, if you don't mind. I'm happy just sitting here. But if you're tired, please go ahead and go to bed.”

“No,” Joe said, sitting down in the chair next to Preston with Buck settling in at his side, close enough so that Joe could pet his head. “Do you feel like talking? Or actually, listening to me talk?”

“Of course,” Preston said. “I've been yakking all day. I'd love to listen to you. I should have asked you earlier how you were doing. One of the things I'm working on is trying not to be so full of myself. It's a struggle, particularly when I get excited.”

Joe got a fresh cigar and slowly lit it. “This doesn't bother you, does it?”

“No, not at all. Actually it smells good.”

“Preston, thank you for flying down here. Apart from thinking you would enjoy this, and I'm glad to see that you are, I have something else I want to talk to you about. I'm sure you remember our conversation in the mountains, when you asked me for help.”

“I remember every bit of that, Joe. I've thought about it many times.”

“Well, then, you will remember there were three conditions to which you agreed. You have already performed the first two. You've told me everything I've wanted to know, shown me everything I wanted to see, and you've done everything I wanted you to do the way I've asked you to do it. And I believe you have told me the truth. I now am asking you to do something for me, to fulfill commitment number three.”

“Absolutely, Joe. Whatever you ask. What do you want me to do?”

“I would like you to look after . . . six . . . friends of mine.”

“Sure, I'd be glad to, Joe. What do you want me to do for them?”

“I'd like you to get to know them, have them get to know you, earn their trust, and take care of them.” Joe was silent for a moment, and then he looked into Preston's eyes. “For the rest of your life.”

“I don't understand, Joe. Who are these people? Do they need jobs? How do you want me to help them? Do you want me to hire them?”

“These are . . . friends of mine . . . I like them.” Joe said, thinking but not wanting to hear himself say,
I have become involved in their problems.
“I talk to them once in a while, see them now and then look after them in a way. They're a small group. My wife, Ashley, referred to them as my ‘collectibles.' I don't know why she said that, but I want you to get to know them; use your judgment and your feelings to determine how you can best help them. Let me tell you a little bit about them, to give you a feel for them. Let me start with Johnny. Johnny is a mildly mentally challenged dishwasher who works at the Home Dairy in Braydon.”

Preston burst out laughing. “You've got to be yanking my cord, Joe. Come on, what are you talking about?” Joe was not laughing with him; his face had a stern grey look. “You're not serious, are you?”

“I'm as serious as a . . .”
brain tumor . .
.
“heart attack,” Joe said. “Johnny's a good guy, hardworking, straightforward, and he loves Buck. He can probably teach you how to get along with Buck. He doesn't need much attention, in a fundamental way, because the state takes care of him in terms of room and board, and he has a good job at the Home Dairy. What he's in short supply of is friends. That's what he needs. Somebody to talk to him from time to time in a sincere manner. Somebody to listen to him, teach him.”

Joe could see Preston tighten his lips in a thin line.