Ocean Range

Wrists twisted in unfamiliarity, that slowly changed as childhood boating skills came rushing back. He was halfway to the outer moorings, sliding between the lines of slowly bouncing boats. His neck hurt from constant turns to see where he was going to bump next, or to avoid it , as he was fast learning to do. The light pram skipped across the water slipping and sliding like a drunken water walker. He slid the oars between his feet and grabbed hold of the mooring line. In moments the painter was tied, with the same knot he'd used as a child in this same harbor and onto the same mooring line. Oddly enough it was this same knot that he'd used for years to tie reins to hitch rails.

He sat back and relaxed. There was no rush to the days here. No staff to be responsible for or to. All that was behind him, again. He tipped his old greek fisherman's cap to keep most of the late sun out of his eyes, and reached for a beer. The dog moved his head a fraction, almost an unnoticeable twitch. He poured half the bottle into the bailing bucket, tilted the rest in a salute, and poured it down his throat. The dog's square head disappeared into the bucket to re appear covered in suds and licking them off. He looked from the now empty bucket to the cooler several times, hardly moving his head, then sank back onto the after thwart seat deck. Occasionally his eye would open to watch his master ready his fishing gear. An observer would reckon these two were past masters of the boating life. This was the first boat the dog had ever been on. He'd ridden his first plane to get here, stuck in a cold cargo hold with water to drink.

Bob was getting used to old habits. soon the bait was sinking to the harbor bottom. He let it rest there for several seconds then slowly drew it up about six inches. a count of two then down again a count of three then up again. The first bite was so soft he almost missed it. The second set the hook and up came a fat flounder, to flop around in the covered bucket as he dropped the same baited hook over the side.

He fileted the flounders, still sitting in the boat. The top of the bucket had a plywood inlay screwed to the cover from below. The cheekless and eyeless bone racks he tossed over the side, breaking them in half so the gulls could swallow them. The cheeks were saved for breakfast.
The filets were rinsed over the side then slipped into snap shut plastic envelopes. four at a time. Long ago he'd seen this harbor at it's deadest low tide. The day before that storm that wrecked the Coast Guard Station. He'd drawn a chart of the three main mud streams with the mooring blocks and buoys, to find them later. Flounder like the softer moving mud to winter and feed in. The buoys on these streams were the mooring lines he fished from. When the bucket was full of plastic bags, he put away his gear and opened the last two bottles of beer. He and the dog took their time drinking them down. He dumped the extra ice water saving the last of the plastic bottles filled with frozen water, and filled the cooler with fish. The now empty bucket was soon filled with his fishing gear. He rowed over to the ramp. tied up the pram and walked up to get his truck. The dog stayed with the boat. The usual crowd of watchers kept their respectful distance as the dog looked at them. In moments he had the boat on the truck and was driving away. The dog sat there with his head out of the passenger window, jowls and ears flapping in the breeze.

At the convenience store they stopped for gas, picked up another six pack, and two scratch tickets. He paid for the gas, beer, and tickets. pocketed his change and walked out the door.
"Damn dog talks more'n he does " grumbled the owner.
"Hell George the damn dog talks more'n the pair of you two arseholes put together"
George looked over at his father sweeping the floor and grunted.

The truck pulled into a driveway about 80 yards down the street and he and the dog got out. The dog ran up to the front door and pulled on the bell chain. A wrinkled old lady looking not a day over eighty opened the door with a pie in one hand and a bone under her arm.
"It's peach apple" ,she said, looking up into his grey eyes. "And those ham bones got lots of meat in em yet" He handed over a packet of four fish and nodded at the dog.
They left with the pie in his hand and the bone in the dog's mouth. He'd started out selling fish to her while in high school. They'd started again with a barter system. The neighbor lady liked pie. He liked goat's milk.
He drove down the long drive way to the cottage on the edge of the back river. He could have rowed from the dock at his back door and had actually done so once in his teens. The midges had convinced him never to attempt it again. He glanced at the lobster buoy sticking up through the railing and smiled. It was upside down. Mac had stopped by, more than likely on his way to pick up bait. He walked over to the end of the dock and pulled up the old keeper cage, expecting to find it full of crabs. It was, but the other end had a three pound lobster in it. Mac must have had a great day yesterday. He loaded the wheeler box with the crabs, then lowered the keeper cage back into the hole. The dog stood watching as he wheeled his treasure up to the back door. Inside he brought down the brass and copper boiling pot added cold water up to the dent mark and set it on the low burner stove top.
It reached a boil as he showered and shaved. Dressed in black silk boxer shorts and a plastic apron, he put in the lobster, adding a cup of white vinegar and a cup of salt.

By the time his tea had finished steeping, the lobster was done. He brought it out onto the plate, and added the remaining white vinegar from the bottle to the pot.
The crabs were lowered in in a basket and the cover was added with a tilt to allow some steam to escape. He hung the apron on its hook and sat down to eat the lobster. The dog sat patiently through this whole operation watching every move intently. Half a claw was held at his nose. His eyes went from the claw to the melted butter, then back to the claw. One eyebrow went up as a smile began to form. He dipped the lobster and held it toward the dog. It disappeared in one lightning snap and the dog sat there licking his nose. The rest of the meal was a game of one for me two for me until the shell was cleaned thoroughly.
The crabs took two hours of Law and Order and three beers before they too were empty shells. He took the plastic bowl, covered it, and put it in the refrigerator.
Ten minutes later they were both sound asleep on the king size bed. His last thought was of horses as the mattress formed around them.

He'd been making a pretty good living whisper breaking horses, and teaching his skills to others who horses saw and bonded too. There really wasn't much to it except patience and knowing what the horse was thinking. Almost all of them were green broke, and easily convinced that doing as bidden was a rewarding experience. Of course there were the broncs. The absolutely uncontrollable that had to be put down, or sent to rodeos. But for the most part it was a job that paid well and was good for his ego. At least it had been until that Harley had purred into the yard.

She'd dismounted and left the tall black haired rider to park next to the gate. She had walked over to the corral fence, ducked under, and walked up to the ,snorting ,head nodding black stallion as if he was tame. He'd spent all of three weeks trying to get into that horse's head and was totally convinced the horse was a killer. She'd stood there stroking his neck, pulling his ear, wiping his nostrils clean with a rag from her back pocket, and talking to him softly in a language he'd never heard before. Then she led him to the fence. She walked to the fence. He followed.
She climbed on the fence. He walked under, and she slid onto his back. Then she took that damned horse through paces as if he'd been trained in dressage for years. No saddle, no reins, nothing but her and the horse.

" Nice horse you've got there " the Harley rider said softly.
"How long have you been training him?"
" He's been here a month. No one can get near him. When he's out we put in feed and water. Who in Hell is that girl?"
"Linda? She's with me, we're taking a ride through the hills, and she saw the horse. She knows more about horses than they do"
"Where are you from?'
"Halifax Massachusetts"
"No S**t! I'm from Scituate"
She got down from the horse slipped under the fence and walked up to him smiling.
"He's a beauty, You shouldn't have any trouble with him now. Just don't go behind him. His peripheral vision's off somehow."
They'd ridden away without a backward glance. He'd left for California the following day.

The dog found him in San Francisco, sleeping behind a dumpster. He'd woken to a warm comfortable feeling in the small of his back, and sat up to see those eyes looking into his expectantly. From there they'd gone to Sally Anne's by way of a day sweeping floors and washing windows where he'd bought respectable clothes that fit him as if tailored. Broke again, he'd studied the want ads from a discarded paper and applied for a position in an advertising firm. Cleaned up and dressed he was worthy of an interview and had lied with ease about his formal education and years of working a desk for a pittance while others had stolen all his ideas. He'd turned down the job saying he didn't need to be disappointed again, and been stopped before leaving to be sent to the owner for another interview. The dog had been with him through both interviews, sitting at his feet and studying his surroundings as if it was normal for him to be there.
He'd been hired on a contingency basis, ostensibly to study the day to day operations and to make suggestions for improvement to the various managers. It never failed to amaze him that no one objected to the dog. Within six months he had doubled the net worth of the company. He was well liked by everybody, and bored out of his mind. But it beat hell out of picking dumpsters, and since the dog only liked an occasional beer, they were both living high off the hog. It ended abruptly the day he'd told the owner why he didn't want the city paper to feature him as the most successful advertising executive of the year. He'd left with a small severance and had kept his stock in the company until it started to lose money.
The flight back to Boston had not been comfortable knowing the dog was caged below. The next time they flew Bud would be harnessed as a seeing eye dog and he would be wearing dark glasses with a folding cane.

George sat behind the register wishing he was back on Oahu. The only place he'd been besides boot camp at Bainbridge Maryland and a few weeks in NAS Norman Oklahoma. Just long enough to have been in a tornado and to reach the rate of airman. Oahu had been heaven Dress for the beach had been baggy shorts, go-aheads and a colorful Aloha shirt.
Dress to get into any nightclub, ditto.
He'd been clean cut and dashing, and stiff competition for the regular beach boys.
Back then his abs and pecks attracted vacationing schoolteachers like scrap to a gull.
He sat back on the stool and looked down at the beer belly overhanging his too tight trousers.
Mrs Marble walked up to the counter,carrying a box of Mountain Chablis, which she set down on the counter. She reached into her voluminous hand bag and drew out a roll of ones. She put seven of them down on the counter.
"eight" said George.
"That is eight".
George counted out the seven bills and waited. Exasperated she stuffed her arm back into the bag and withdrew another bill from the roll. Throwing it down on the counter she picked up her bag and wine and turned to leave.
"your change" said George holding nine ones and two cents in his hand.
"Keep it" she snapped. not even turning her head George put the nine ones back into the till and dropped the pennies into the tray beside it.
He hadn't counted the bills as she put them down. She'd done it so many times before he didn't have to. The tenspot was gravy as far as George was concerned. She might miss it later. He hoped she did.
He sat back and watched the surf pound on the sandy beach, listening to a very old ukelele. It was Wednesday and close enough to noon to turn the sign around. His dad had run the store on Liverpool rules since he'd opened it. Wednesday afternoon, Sunday. Boxing Day, and especially Guy Fawkes Day were for resting.
He looked down towards the boat ramp, saw the pick-up pulling in, grabbed a six pack and gear, and walked hurriedly toward the pier. The dog saw him, and moved to the middle of the boat. It was going to be crowded but who the hell cared. George knew what brand the dog drank.
He sat in the bow, his bucket in front of him. The dog sat facing him head resting on the thwart seat, front paws sticking under the center of it. Damned dog looked like the boat was built for him. They'd finished the first six pack, two apiece, with the dog looking none the less for wear. George looked at his childhood friend and wondered how he'd managed to stay so young. It sure as hell wasn't from talking too much. He pulled in his tenth flounder and stuffed it into the bucket. "That's ten"
drew a nod.
" Don't s' pose you're countin' though" raised one eyebrow. Ah What the hell go for it all.
"caught any bugs lately? " Big smile, as he started to filet his fish.
Years ago they'd always counted. George had always lost. Not by many but he'd never caught more fish. He had won once though and the story had been told to anyone within earshot after enough beer had loosened his tongue. Key word being enough. He'd been six fish behind when he felt the very odd nibble on his line. "
How much does a lobster count?" he'd asked. Then set the hook and pulled in a two and a half pounder.
"Ten" had been the answer. He'd quickly dropped the bait down again.
"It's easy to do. Just put it on the bottom like this and bouncy bouncy bouncy" On the third bouncy he'd felt the same weird bite and had hauled in the twin to the first.
"You win George, I give up" Six whole words in a row. Damned right he'd won. That had been a long time ago. He'd never had a lobster bite since.
They'd fished together for years since then. George had never owned a boat. Never needed one.
The wind started picking up and they both looked out toward the open sea, counting whitecaps to read the windspeed. George reeled in and grabbed an oar
They paddled down the channel to the pier and George got out.
"I'll see you at Annie's"
He left all the gear in the boat and walked up the ramp onto the pier. As he reached the top he looked back to see the boat scooting over to the ramp with the dog's ears flopping in the breeze.
He'd been in Annie's long enough for a coffee and, when the dog came through the door followed by his master. Annie refilled his coffee and poured another with cream already added. "Danish Bob?" Bob nodded and sat down slowly.
He removed his cap and shook it at the floor. The dog backed up to avoid the splash then moved back in for his share of the cheese danish pastry.
" What took you so long"asked George
"I put the fish under the shedroof with the beer, and gave Annie's mom a couple of your fish to save you from cleaning them.
"well now, when you get generous like that you get right talkative doncha?"
The dog smiled at George and he almost fell off the stool.

Bob sat there in the morning sun, with the dog at his feet, sipping gingerly at his first cup of coffee. The night's chill was still in the shadows, occasionally breezing out to raise goose bumps where the sun wasn't shining. The coffee was too hot to drink, and he was too lazy to get up and get an ice cube. So he wet his lips as much as he could, and sipped as much coffee as possible before wetting his lips again. By the time the coffee was gone it was cool enough to drink. He got up and poured a second with a little more cold cream.
The life of the village poacher was beginning to get too comfortable. His money was not running out by any means. In fact it was making money in dividend reinvestment, enough for him to survive through old age at the rate it was increasing. He looked out at the harbor and wondered what was wrong. The dog rolled over, got up and stretched, then shook all over. They looked at each other in silence for a few long seconds, then the dog looked away toward the lighthouse.
He got up and went inside to cook. Soon he had a counter full of finely diced potatoes, onions, ham, and green peppers. The bacon was done enough, so he took it out onto paper towels, and added all the chopped ingredients into the pan.
He then cracked and mixed six eggs, with warm water, HP sauce, chopped cheeses. and chives. By the time he'd put on the Boston baked beans and toasted the bread the fried hash was ready for a minute in the microwave. He had the eggs scrambled and fluffy, the beans hot enough to eat, and the hash out and onto two plates. The dog was as ready as he was.
Ten minutes later Bud was off into the bushes. leaving him to clean up everything except two very clean plates. Another five minutes and the dog was back to empty his bowl of water. The pans were all scrubbed and put away, as were the dishes and cutlery. Bob sat outside sipping his third coffee. It was at perfect drinking temperature.
Now if he could figure out where next to go in his life. He looked down to the store as a Mercedes sportster pulled up to the pumps. Out stepped a long legged longhaired red head. The dog got up and started walking toward the store. Bob cleaned up and shaved then dressed in dungarees and a tie dye dress shirt, he slid into the worn old go aheads, and stepped out on the deck
He stretched everything three times and then followed the now waiting dog into the high grass of the marsh. It was more open than it looked from the road with trails that were well used by the local wildlife. Budweiser was sitting on a big round boulder. Sunning himself and looking down at a half nude redhead who was doing the same thing in the open glade below him. Her silk black blouse hung over an old sign post beside her.
She caught sight of Bob standing there and swore softly, reaching up to grab her blouse. He ran around the rock reaching for it. She kicked him in the balls and slid into it. She immediately started to scream. He tore it off her and ran his hands all over her, brushing off ants. Then he drew his fish knife, lopped off a large piece of aloe, slit it open and rubbed it all over her. She shivered at the coldness of it as her n*****s doubled in size. His hands were calloused and rough but the stinging was going away as she stood there wondering what to say or do. His hands stopped. His grey blue eyes looked into her soul, and the dog barked.
He took off his shirt and wrapped her in it. It felt warm and loose as she slid her arms into the sleeves.
" Come, you need care fast"
He ran her back to the house, poured a glass of water, and handed her two pills.
"It's Ibuprofin" get them down and get in this shower."
She stood naked under the hot water. It suddenly turned cold. She turned and there he was wiping her down with a blue ice bag, that hurt as it moved over her. After what seemed forever, he stopped and turned on the hot water. Five minutes later she was sitting on the patio, with a large red towel wrapped around her hips. His hands were all over her and all she could smell were coconuts. She looked at the jar he was using. It had a wide open top and she could see where his fingers had spooned out what looked like Crisco.
"What is that stuff "she asked.
"Pure coconut oil just like the rum you're drinking. Coconuts cure any thing"
She looked at the half empty water glass and realized why she was calming down
He watched the deep green eyes slowly close as she sank down into the deck chair. She woke to the spackle sound of the big black fry pan. He was sauteeing flounder filets and placing them on hot buttered fresh baked bread.
Her mouth watered as he folded one over and handed it to her. She couldn't tell when her teeth went through the bread. The whole sandwich almost disappeared in one swallow. He handed her a second as if it was normal and it was half gone before she realized she was eating his. He handed her two more pills and a glass of milk, as she put down the remainder of his sandwich.
"This all tastes so good " she said. "I normally don't drink milk, but this is good." He smiled.
"It's goat's milk. I swap it for pie. Finish the floundwich I just had breakfast."
The dog watched mournfully as the last bite went down her throat.
The rising sun burst into the room. The dog shot to his feet and then sat down again between them. He looked into his master's eyes and his ears fell. A giggle broke from her lips, and she woke up laughing. Something else she hadn't done in a long time.
"I am oh so glad I kicked you in the balls".
He laughed with her, realizing if he'd got to the blouse first she'd have never been bitten. He'd seen that ant colony a week before when he'd leaned against the post to scratch his foot. It was hollow inside made up of two by sixes with two by three spacers. The cross piece with the hang hooks was full of them, as was the post itself.

He looked at the naked form beside him. "You've added a few freckles darlin' but I think you'll be OK"
She reached across to pull on the back of his neck and kiss him soundly. The dog left. When she woke again all she could smell was freshly ground coffee and bacon. She rolled over and looked up at the cupola in the domed ceiling. The entire edge of it looked like polished granite. She stood up on the bed for a closer look. It was. In fact it was three different colored pieces of granite glued together and tooled to form a decorative edge. He buried his face in her belly and Bronx cheer tickled her till she fell onto the mattress.
"Gerrup witch"
She followed him down the spiral stair and slipped into the bathroom. One look into the full length mirror and all thoughts of coffee disappeared. He heard the shower start and walked out to the patio where the dog was waiting.
They jogged together through the long grasses scaring up the occasional bird and generally waking up wildlife. A stray cat furred up and spit at them. Neither one of them slowed a step. They'd seen this tabby before.
She stood there in the streaming hot water reliving the day before. Tonight they were going to the annual poachers' feast. It was going to be at Annie's. They'd stopped there on the way home from fishing. She hadn't been fishing since she was eleven. Her father had died and a lot had ended with him. She'd opened up, and her whole life since then had spilled out of her like vomit. He'd listened as he'd baited up her hooks and she'd caught so many fish while jabbering away like a pissed off blue jay, he'd finally stopped baiting the hook and just listened, while he cleaned and filleted the whole bucketful. She'd stopped when he'd started stuffing all those little cloth tie bags, and helped him tie them up again. He'd put a spoon of mustard and a crushed garlic clove in each one of them, and a drop of red hot went on each tied bag.
From there they'd driven down to the Cape Cod Canal with his pots and put them out to sink in the deep running water. She'd never seen lobster pots that floated before. He'd laughed and shown her his twist on sink caps that deflated the inner tubes. The bags on the side blew up from the CO2 cartridges that went off when the line was pulled quickly. She'd never seen anyone work that fast before. it was like watching a machine. The striper fishing had been fun and the game warden had been so glad to see her.
She looked for hair conditioner then gave up and used the clear bottle next to the shampoo. She shook it first because it looked like salad dressing. It took a while to rinse out. She found his hairbrush and comb and went to work on her hair. She watched in the mirror as it flowed down so nice and shiny from brushing. Her hair had never looked so good or smelled so spicy.
She emerged from the bathroom to find him setting the table and pouring the coffee He looked at her hair and reached over to feel and smell it.
" I see you found the dog shampoo. That'll keep the ants and fleas off all day".
"Is it really dog shampoo?" she asked in dismay.
" Well it's what I mixed it for, but obviously it's for red heads too. It looks and feels and smells fantastic"
She brushed it back with her hands and reached for her coffee.

Annie was having a ball. She was the only one besides the dog not working. He looked at her in puzzlement and she laughed aloud. Vickie looked up from the lobster pot a question in her eyes. Annie shook her head and nodded toward the dog. Vickie looked, shrugged, and went back to tonging the lobsters tail first into the oblong copper kettle. Mac picked up the bag of corn husks and headed for the back door. Barb stood by the next pot waiting for the water to boil. The bubbles started furiously. She put in all the stolen corn, shut off the burner, and covered the pot. Out on the patio George was turning a large roast of venison (road kill) on a spit over a roaring fire. The ash can lid in his other hand serving as a shield from the fire's heat. The stone shelf on the opposite wall held three aluminum wrapped stuffed stripers. Further down toward the marsh the rest of the troop were busily watching steaming seaweed. Linda and Dianne were setting the table with trenchers, wooden spoons of various sizes, and a collection of fillet and boning knives that looked and were razor sharp. Annie poured half her beer into the dog's bowl and sat down beside it on her heels. The dog looked from her to the beer then went back to watching the show. She looked down at the bottle and swore.
"Who the hell put St Pauli girl in the beer bucket" she yelled. She grabbed the dog's dish and dumped it into the sink along with the quickly emptied beer. She then rinsed out the bowl,and pulled a Budweiser out of the icy water barrel. She twisted off the cap poured half into the dog's bowl, took a swallow from the long necked bottle and set the bowl down in front of the dog. He looked at her for a long moment and then proceeded to empty the bowl.
Coke and Sheila were walking in again from the beach. She looked at the expressions on their faces and inwardly sighed with relief. He'd walked in with her and started to introduce her as his new and last girlfriend. Then the silly b*****d had asked her what her name was. The blush had started from her belly and shot up her face so fast it had bounced. She'd left. He'd followed her. Annie glanced around everybody was very busily trying to look busy. Sheila looked around then looked at Annie and laughed. They hugged, Vickie led the rest of them into a group hug. Linda held back and looked at Coke. He looked at her, then reddened.
"The horse whisperer" she said in a shocked voice. "Why are you here instead of Dakota?"
He looked at her for a long minute, then looked down at the floor. "All those damned horses I gave up on. I was such an a*****e. I quit and went to California"
"Don't you know that studs don't like men unless they're queer? Only the mares will give a man like you a second glance." He looked up in astonishment.
"How the hell do you know that?"
"They told me" she laughed " I'm special, even the mares like me"
Sheila looked at the two of them chatting away like old friends and turned to see the dog blocking her way. A large familiar hand settled on her shoulder. "Give me a hand the clams look ready" Coke led her down toward the steaming seaweed.
The dog followed them.

The little Mercedes sportster rolled up the highway at a steady 70 thanks to the cruise control. He did not need police interference on this trip. George's friend Jake had got him the information he'd needed from the Canadian registration in the glove compartment. Mapquest had done the rest. The money from the auction had come in handy to keep Sheila busy for the weekend. Vickie and the girls had got together for a shopping safari on Martha's Vineyard. Ostensibly it was to outfit Sheila in all the clothes a woman would need to live with a famous artist such as himself. Actually it was to keep her busy till his mission was accomplished.
Vickie was a genius for dreaming up the auction. The stew had been such a raving success. He'd started with the rest of the venison, chopped into dice sized pieces sauteed in butter and olive oil, then dumped into the largest lobster boiler. After that had come the onions all diced and separated with tiny cubes of celery and chopped bacon. This too had been dumped into the boiler with three bottles of St Pauli Girl beer left over by Brett and a bottle of the worst red wine he'd ever tasted.
He'd dumped in three jars of chopped garlic and four jars of chopped ginger, and when that hadn't helped a cup of dark rum. The honey had finally got it back to a normal smell. From there he'd sauteed potatoes and corn until browned, dumping the juice from the three cans into the pot.
Then he'd peeled carrots down to strips and dumped all that in too, along with a couple of pans of water he'd boiled the greens in.
The rest of the roast rabbits and the chopped turkey bits had been what he 'd thought was the end, until George had shown up with six different cans of beans and two jars of roasted red peppers. At three dollars a cup and five dollars a bowl it had started to disappear too quickly. The corn was burnt from frying it too fast and the potatoes had to be nuked after a few minutes browning but they'd added a bottle of HP sauce and all kinds of chopped tomatoes green and red with a bag of peppers from Annie's garden. He'd fried up another five pounds of hamburger too. He laughed to himself as the little car rolled along.
All those years he'd wanted one of these sleek looking things and it was such a disappointment. The old TR6 had handled so much better. He could still taste that damned soup. It had developed a life of its own and every one had wanted more. The five dollar price to bid had been a rousing success. He'd thought of that. Then when the price had gotten ridiculous Vickie's idea of group ownership had driven them even higher. All for a painting he'd done for the hell of it. Oh it was good but actually it had been an accident. The shape of the trees from the sketch he'd made at the scene had magically turned into a scene all its own when he'd put it in oil on canvas. One thing was certain the girls had enough money to keep them busy.
He crossed the border with only one small lie. He'd denied carrying guns or alcohol. The roads in Nova Scotia were almost as bad as Scituate's and were being repaired almost as constantly. He pulled into the driveway at the bottom of the hill and drove slowly up to the house.
Black eyes saw the car pull into the driveway and smiled wickedly. He went into the bathroom and started to lather up to shave. She was about to get a lesson she'd never forget. The water was running hot on the razor as he heard the stairs creak at the top landing. "Get into bed and wait for me" he yelled through the door.
Bob's foot slammed into the door sending it swinging into the room. The razor fell from his hand as he staggered into the bath tub. Fists and elbows slammed into him as he sank to the floor. A boot crashed into his belly then swung to slam into the side of his head. He woke up in his bedroom in dead silence. Everything hurt.
He opened his eyes to see a stranger rubbing his knuckles with a hand towel and what looked like lotion. "Give me one reason, not even a good one, you wife beating a*****e lowlife, why I should let you live. Get up. take that paper on the dresser there with the pen and write down that you are agreeable to a divorce from your estranged wife. Go ahead try it. Anything, anything at all except doing what I tell you and I won't be able to stop myself."
He stood there hurting all over looking into the open drawer of the dresser at his gun. He kept writing and glanced up in the mirror at his tormenter. There under his arm he saw a bulge in the open shirt. He finished writing and handed the paper over. "Now comes the good part." He broke off and turned toward the doorway.
"Get back in your room" his father yelled "and don't even think about coming out again"
The little boy turned and fled. "And don't tell me you wet the bed again"
A fist slammed into his ear.
"and now for the good news, give her custody"
The paper was back on the dresser. He looked at his gun again, then spoke.
"She can have the useless little pisser"
He wrote down some words and handed over the paper.
"Now I have some more instructions for you. Listen closely. Stay here in this house until you get a phone call telling you you can go. Then and only then sell this house change your name and go as far away from here as you can. Or do anything except what I've just told you and I'll come back here and bury you.
The gun is still there it is still loaded and even with your son in the house I will still shove it up your a*s and pull the trigger. Go hide in the cellar."
Bob walked into the boy's room and shut the door.
The deep green eyes looked at him from the other side of the bed. There were so many freckles they overlapped when he blinked.
" Your mom sent me to get you"
The eyes lit up.
" If there's anything you can't leave behind grab it now and let's go"
He turned and opened the door and walked down the stairs. When he got to the car the boy was there at his side holding on to a rolled up blanket. He opened the door and he sat huddled in the passenger seat holding on to the blanket for dear life. They drove off without a backward glance.
All the way down to Boston without a peep, just looking at the sky and the trees.
He pulled into Faniell hall and parked the car. The boy sat there trembling. Bob picked up his phone and said
"Wilson"
"Thank you for calling the law offices of Robert Wilson the third, Mr Wilson is presently out of the office you may leave a message at the beep".
"Get your fat arse out of that soft leather chair and come down to your car. I need your services counsellor "
five minutes later the hon. RG Wilson III waddled painfully up beside the car and asked what was going on.

Fifteen minutes later Bob Bob and Bobbie were sitting at a table eating icecream.
Robbie had just finished speaking to a very sore black eyed canadian who was now on his way out to become somebody else.
"It 'll take a week or two but I don't see anything in the way of her freedom or his either. Shall we get some more icecream or do you want to drive in rush hour traffic."
About then there was a mewing sound from the smallest Bob. A cat's head popped out of the blanket and licked Bobbie's cone.

She sat between Vickie and Annie on the raised hatch at the very prow of the ferry's top deck.
"Not exactly Titanic but who needs men on a shopping trip?".
"Right Vic. We can have the stuff delivered if it gets too heavy"
"What are we buying?" asked Sheila.
"Everything" they chorussed, and giggled like naughty schoolgirls.
"Don't we need a plan?" asked Linda, looking to her sister for support. Dianne opened her mouth to speak, but Vickie beat her to it.
"First we go to Tardiff's. They have the most expensive and the best of what we need".
"What do we need?" asked Sheila
"Everything" they all sang it this time and the regular passengers and tourists swung their heads to see what was going on.
"When was the last time they told us to go shopping?and gave us enough money to spend too?"
Annie was having a ball, and they hadn't even got to the island yet.
"Is all we're going to do is shop? asked Linda.
"Why?" asked Vickie.
"Well there's a beautiful riding stable and I know the owners. They own a couple of supermarkets here too."
"Now that sounds like fun" said Annie
"I love to ride, What kind of horses are they?"
They chattered on like teenagers away from their parents. Dianne drew back and watched them enjoying new found freedom. Sheila was quiet but seemed to be enjoying herself, or trying to look like she was. Vickie kept her rattling on about how she'd always loved horses but never really rode them. Her father had trained trotters and she'd had her share of stall cleaning. She had told a few tales of his training methods, and Linda had jumped right in to tell her how her grand father had trained trotters too.
They left the ferry and walked up the hill with the rest of the tourists, stopping occasionally to look in windows, but Vickie hurried them into Tardiff's and latched onto the head sales lady. Dianne looked around at the light jackets and saw one that was exactly what she was wearing. She looked at the price and gasped. The sales lady looked at her and the two jackets.
"Did you buy that here? she asked.
Linda laughed as her sister said
"No" demurely.
"I just saw the price and wished I had though" Linda lowered her head and turned away
."Where did you get it?" asked the sales lady.
"A little place in the East Conway Mall in New Hampshire"
They picked out a complete set of clothes for Sheila and a dress for Vickie that was too perfect to let go. Annie bought a handbag big enough to put her old one in, and they went on to another store.
"Where is the East Conway Mall?" asked Vickie
Linda roared with laughter as Dianne told her it was the North Conway dump.
"We get a lot of clothes there. I guess they wear something once and it's done with so whatever fits I bring down and we try them on. There's a leather jacket that should go with that dress you just bought."

"Linda!" They all turned at the sound of a strange voice. A lady who had an entourage of higher class friends, left them in mid conversation to run and hug Linda.
"Why didn't you tell me you were coming? You have to see my new horse. I haven't bought him yet and I won't until you approve the purchase. Come please he's absolutely gorgeous. Bring your friends. Do they ride? Oh Come I'll call for the carriage. I'm sorry ladies you'll have to lunch without me."
She pulled a phone from her jacket pocket and spoke into it rapidly. As she did her eyes were on Dianne's jacket. It was the same as her 's in just a darker shade of khaki.
"We'll wait here" she said pointing to the open seating outside a french style cafe.
"James will be here any minute and we should all fit in the carriage quite well. What did you do to get that perfect shade? and I'm Marion you look like Linda's sister"
"I'm Dianne"
"Oh you're Dee the girl who's taste is better than an interior decorator's I've been wanting to meet you. How did you change that jacket?"
"I soaked it in a bucket of hot coffee for 24 hours"
The minibus arrived and they all got on with room to spare. By the time they arrived at the stables Marion was fully aware of exactly what they were doing on her island and had joined the group. She also wanted desperately to see the auctioned painting. She hurried them into the stable. Showed them a dozen pair of riding chaps and suggested they leave their good clothes in the tack room to wear after riding. She watched Sheila walk up to the stall with the black stallion to throw her arms around his neck and nuzzle his ear.
"You can ride anything here girls . I have to take Linda up to the top pasture. They walked off up the hill to the house and Vickie looked at Annie with laughter in her eyes.
"Do you believe this place? The tackroom is bigger than my kitchen, and cleaner too"

They stood there in their blouses and riding chaps, looking at each other and giggling. 'If they could only see us now' thought Vickie. Sheila in her thong was positively the sexiest, although Dianne was a close second in Victoria's secret purple. They went out into the corral with the tacked up horses. Sheila was leading the big black saddle less stud. Marion had taken it with her to show Linda her new horse. Annie gave her a leg up and she sat astride comfortably, her red hair blowing and hiding her face. They all mounted and started down the trail toward the woods. Sheila held back and rode into the paddock, They stopped and watched as she walked in circles and then started to trot. Suddenly everything smoothed out and the stallion was pacing around with his feet almost floating above the dry clay.
Marion stopped talking up to Linda who rode beside her on a long maned black stallion, snorting and blowing at the girls sitting watching.
"My Lord" said Marion in open mouthed amazement.
"He's pacing, however did she get him to do that?"
"Like this" said Linda, leaving her to watch as she first trotted and then paced closely alongside Sheila. They were in perfect synchronization and practically touching.
"Put your left foot on his neck and jump behind me " she whispered.
Her arm extended to almost encircle Sheila's waist. Sheila obeyed at once and they all cheered as the stud fell back to walk over to Marion.
"Tell her it's a secret when she asks. Then whisper in her ear." Linda muttered.
How did you get him to pace Sheila?".
She looked over at Linda and brushed off her chaps.
" It's a secret" she walked over to Marion and whispered in her ear.
"He started to trot, I started to fall off, and he caught me"
Marion looked at her and smiled broadly.
"I'll have to try that "she said, loudly enough for the girls to hear.
"Take the woods trail it only crosses one road and it's private enough to ride naked. Come and see my new horse Sheila ,they'll be fine without you for a while." She glanced down at Sheila's thong and patted her right cheek
."If I had an a*s like that I'd flaunt it too."
They'd almost missed the last ferry and sat up on the top deck talking over the day and where they were stopping for supper. This late it would have to be Chinese maybe even take out to be scoffed down at Annie's. Sheila's eyes brimmed over and tears rolled down her cheeks. Suddenly she was sobbing and holding herself into a tight bundle with her hands over her face.
" I can't. I can't. Ooh I have to go back. I can't leave him."
She was sobbing uncontrollably now, and Annie was hugging her tightly.
They all listened intently as the whole story came tumbling out. Her boyfriend had died in a motorcycle accident. She'd then found out she was pregnant. The brother had married her. She'd had the child, a boy, and then he'd started beating her. Kept her prisoner in her own home, left to her by her parents. When he did let her out he'd held the child as hostage to guarantee her coming back. This was the longest she'd been away.
"Does Bob know any of this?" asked Annie.
"Yes I told him at the poacher feast"
Annie looked at Vickie and they nodded in agreement.
"We've been had" Sheila looked up through red eyes realizing something else was going on.
"What? " she asked. Annie spoke up.
"You may be in for a surprise when we get back. It might be good and it might be bad. We'll hope for good. Either way we'll skip supper till we get home."
Linda looked at Dee
"We should tell Dad."
Vickie's head snapped around.
"Give it some thought girls. It might be ok already and Those People have no limits."
Annie heard the capitalization and immediately thought of Mac's new neighbors.
When they arrived at the tower house in Scituate there was a small red haired boy tossing a ball that Bud kept bringing back. He was busily pulling the ball out of Bud's teeth when Sheila 's voice broke his attention. Bud opened his mouth and Bobbie fell down holding the ball and looking up at his mother. Annie held up her hands.
"My place girls last one in cooks"
Sheila stood there holding her son in her arms looking down into Bud's knowing eyes.
"Where is he?"
The dog's eyes looked at her then back at the top floor of the house. Silently she followed the dog up the stairs, hugging her son the whole time.
They went into the bedroom and there fast asleep on the bed with of all things a cat rolled up on his neck was the answer to her dreams.
Twenty minutes later all five of them were fast asleep. The cat was between the dog's legs
He sat in the sternsheets resting his arm on the tiller to relieve the pain in his shoulder, and to keep the boat on a reasonable heading across the harbor. The lighthouse was his reference on one side and the Coast Guard flag on his starboard quarter told him he was exactly over the old wreck. In about ten seconds his rig and the boy's would be teasingly presented to the fish hiding in the wreck's relative safety. Hopefully some large haddock would react to this provocation and the fun of fishing would begin in another mind.
The dog's ear twitched as he eased over to port. The white pork rind fluttered on the end of the lead weighted bugeyed hook. The striper stole it from the slower moving haddock and headed out to sea. The boy held onto the rod with both hands as the line screamed out under ten pounds of pressure.
"Keep the rod tip up into the sky Bobbie"
His own line was dragging from the haddock's late but successful grab at the further pork rind. The boy held on with the rod tip jammed against his knees. His eyes were bugging out of his head as the bass leaped out of the water. He let up on the line in awe at the size of the big silver striped fish. Unknowingly he'd done the right thing. The fish hit the water as he once more held the rod tip high as he could, with the butt end bouncing against his shins. The dog was caught up in as rapt awe as his mother, both sitting there with open mouthed attention. The haddock was landed and bucketted without either one of them noticing. He slid the empty rod into the side racks and held the boat in an even turn to keep the strain on the rod from pulling the hook out of the striper.
"Keep the rod tip up into the sky Bobbie"
He said it calmly as if it was an everyday occurrence for a four year old to land a 45lb striper. The boy obeyed, eyes bugging out of his head, his tongue sticking out of one side of his twisted jaw,
"Now reel in and keep that tip up."
He held the butt end of the rod between his heels and his left hand was at least six inches above the reel. His right hand reeled in every time there was slack enough to do it. The striper surfaced and rolled to rip the plug out of his torn lip. The net rose from the water and into the boat, as Bob's hand grabbed at gills. He held onto the struggling fish, pulling it back into the water to keep the others dry. There was no way he was about to let go.
His thumb was jammed into the corner of the jaw and his fingers were wrapped around it. A few minutes later he swung the fish into the boat again, tapping it just above the nose with a loaded billy club. The dog had lost interest and was curled up in the bow.
"Not a bad first try at fishing Bobbie shall we go in and I'll show you how to clean it? or do you want to keep fishing? "
He watched the green eyes thinking.

Marion drove the TR6 slowly away from the Scituate cottage. She did not like being refused. It had taken a lot of time and trouble to locate the old couple who had bought the picture. They had let her look at it, hanging over their mantel in half light with reflected sunlight from their open patio doors. They'd paid $2700 dollars as a final bid and the stubborn old fool had rejected her initial offer of five thousand. When she'd offered him ten he'd not even blinked, just told her it was not for sale.

She found the tower house. That's what Annie had called Sheila and Bob's place. A little red headed boy was headed out toward the marsh with a dog walking beside him. She got to the back door in time to see them disappear into what looked like high grass. Sheila answered her ring on the bell with a wide happy to see you smile. They hugged, and she followed her back into the enormous kitchen. There was a bounce in her step Marion had not seen before. She glanced over the room and her emotions bubbled out. "This is absolutely fantastic Sheila I can't see any way to improve on this layout and the workmanship is superb." "Oh let me show you the rest of the house Marion" She turned toward the front as the sound of a dog barking stopped her in her tracks. A man burst out of the stairwell
at a dead run for the back door. In his right hand was what looked like a cowboy gun. He disappeared into the marsh in the direction the boy and dog had gone.

Sheila followed him out to the back yard, still holding the half filled coffee pot she'd been putting on for Marion. They stood there together as there was a sudden burst of gunfire.

Bob came upon the dog, Bobbie crouched behind him at the base of a large rock. Five coyotes swung their heads around from their threatening ring. Two died looking. Three died running. Bud sprang over Bobbie to land and leap away over the rock. " Come on bub. we'll get the bath ready for Bud" He looked up into Bob's eyes and the fright died as fast as the coyotes. They headed for the house, looking back occasionally to see if the dog was following. Sheila relaxed as she saw her son hurrying to keep up with Bob. "Hi you must be Marion. Annie said you were coming. You'll have to excuse me I'm busy right now." "I know" said Marion "What can I do?" Hold that door open" Marion held the door open as a dog came through dripping blood and absolutely drenched in it. She followed with Bobbie and Sheila behind her as the dog went up one flight into the bathroom. The shower was running and Bob was running his hands all over the dog. Bud shook and bloody water went every where. Marion grabbed the nearest towel and started mopping it up from the woodwork. She grabbed another towel dipped it into the toilet and wiped down the woodwork again, then again. "Get my needle and thread Sheil" Sheila handed it to him and he started to stitch up the dog's ear.

Marion watched in amazement as the dog barely flinched. "How do you do that? Keep him still I mean! That has to hurt." "No it doesn't it's timed to the pinch all he feels is the thread." He stepped back and looked at Bud. Then reached over and squirted what was left of the dog shampoo all over him. In a few minutes Bud was being rinsed with the curtain held closed by Marion. He shook and water went everywhere except on the woodwork. She looked down at her wet clothes and then back up at the dog. His ears lowered and his nose drooped. She laughed as Bob lead him out into the yard. Bob walked back in to watch the two women cleaning up the mess in what looked like a race. "He must have ripped the throat out of that last coyote while it held on to his ear. There's a couple sore spots but I think he'll be fine. Glad I got those rabies shots though"

He picked up the 357 Blackhawk and set it down on a small table. He opened the drawer under it and took out a cleaning kit. George walked in the back door. " need any help in the garden Coke?" Bob looked at his old friend and smiled slowly "It was coyotes this time Geo we can bury them later."

Marion was standing on the stairwell staring openmouthed at the picture hung in perfect lighting. Bob looked at her and laughed. "We auctioned off the first print"
She thought about that stubborn old man and stood there shaking her head. "Coffee's on" said Sheila setting out mugs on the solid maple table.
The dog sat on the floor at the end of the table holding the brownies


Marion sat there wondering if she could get what she wanted from these oh so independent people. They were all so damned sure of themselves, oh not brusque, or too busy to talk, not full of themselves, just rock solid sure of who and what they were. Each independent, and yet there if needed. If something requiring particular expertise was needed, fine carpentry, boat repair, that new kitchen in Annie's, one of them would start it and before too long the job would be getting done with jokes and smartass remarks bouncing around with suggested improvements. A couple of them would not say a word all day, but work steadily together getting things done. Sometimes no one would help. They'd stand around watching, talking about the weather, or the fishing, anything except the work in progress. Some jobs are a joy to do alone. But you'd best be a master at it or you'd be getting help.
She was used to getting her way and maneuvering things enough for them to want to do the things she wanted done. These people were just so good at what they did and so bloody nice there was only one way she could think of to get what she wanted. She had to ask, but what if they said no?
He sat there stroking his fingers behind Bud's good ear, sipping too hot coffee with pre wet lips. This woman wanted something. She obviously didn't want to lose the growing feeling of friendship that was filling her. She's been surrounded by phonies for so long and is lost without her positional influence in their class stepped society. She's also a damned nice person and her heart's in the right place.

Bud walked over and set his head in her lap. She tickled her fingers across his nose like she'd known him forever, and Bud sat there loving it. The brownie disappeared as if it had never been in reach of the now slobbering maw. Bud slid to the floor with both paws on either side of his jaw.
'" I'm hoping to get you to come and build a guest house for me"
There it was said. Hurriedly she added.
" I just love your house and your workmanship and will pay top dollar" she stopped suddenly.
"I'm not trying to buy you. It's just that I want the best I can get and this is the best I've seen. Linda's sister Dianne has made me a couple of sketches, but you'll have free reign to create what you think will fit the site.

Bob thought about it to some length, then poured himself another coffee. He raised the pot and looked her in the eye. She nodded and he filled her mug with the last of the pot.
"I'll talk to Dianne "
Was all he said. She looked at Sheila caught the almost wink and slowly sipped the hot black coffee.

She drove the Triumph up onto the ferry and started to go topside for the ride. For no reason at all she opened the trunk. Resting on her suitcase was a wrapped up picture frame.

Author's Note

It musta got lost