But as they continued down the wharf and the captain welcomed them on board, Ben wasn’t as certain about his own feelings.
It was very possible he might live to regret this.
Because the more he talked to Marci, the more intrigued he became . . . and he’d had enough intrigue to last a lifetime.
Hope Harbor was as beautiful from the sea as it was from the land.
As the Suzy Q left the protected harbor and picked up speed toward open water, Marci held on to the corner of the wheelhouse and surveyed the town nestled at the base of low hills.
Strange that in all these months here, she’d never ventured out to sea. Any number of her friends and acquaintances had connections to boats and would have been happy to arrange for her to take a spin.
But perhaps it was fitting that her first trip on the water was in honor of Ned.
“Beautiful view.” Ben spoke close to her ear, raising his volume to be heard above the rumble of the engine.
“Very.”
“The only thing that made Skip happier than standing behind the wheel of this boat and setting off in search of crabs was coming back with a huge catch on a beautiful day like this. But more often than not, the weather during peak crabbing season was dismal.”
“He told me once that crabbing was a family tradition.”
“It was—until my dad became an engineer and took a job in San Francisco.”
“That’s what he said. He must have been disappointed.”
“I’m sure he was. Dad was an only child, so that was the end of a three-generation crabbing business. But Skip understood that people need to follow their own dreams.”
“Are your parents still in California?”
“No. Dad died twelve years ago of a stroke.”
It was difficult to read Ben’s expression under the dark sunglasses he’d put on, but she had no difficulty picking up a trace of melancholy.
“I’m sorry.”
His forehead knotted. “Thanks. The two of us had drifted apart, but losing him was still a shock.”
He didn’t offer more—and for once she reined in her unruly tongue and moved on to a safer subject.
“Since you were alone at the service, I assume there are no brothers or sisters?”
“No.”
“Did your mother stay in California?”
The bunching muscle in his jaw told her she’d miscalculated.
Apparently family in general wasn’t a safe subject—other than Skip.
“No. She and Dad divorced when I was ten. A few years later, she remarried and moved to the East Coast.”
If his tone was any indication, he didn’t much care where she was.
Not the best family situation.
He offered nothing else, and save for the powerful throb of the engine and the caw of a gull following in their wake, silence fell between them.
Time to change the subject.
“Why don’t you share one of those stories you promised?” She dug out her recorder again. “Readers would enjoy hearing about an adventure the two of you had that can still brighten your day when you think about it.”
His mouth curved up, erasing some of the tension in his features. “There are dozens of those.”
“I’m ready whenever you are.” She held up the recorder.
He launched into a story about his first crabbing excursion with Ned, who’d taught him to distinguish between keepers and throwbacks, adding touches of humor as well as details that illustrated his grandfather’s patience and deep love for the sea.
From there, he went on to reminisce about their evening treks to the lighthouse and the tales Ned had told about the seafaring life, their walks on the beach that were filled with folksy wisdom, and the summer the two of them had surprised his grandmother by baking her a lopsided birthday cake and preparing her favorite meal while she was at a garden club meeting.
By the time the boat slowed, Marci had plenty of memorable quotes and stories to flesh out the article she’d already drafted.
The captain cut the engine and opened the door to the wheelhouse. “This about the spot you had in mind?”
Ben scanned the scene, and Marci followed his lead. To the right, part of the Hope Harbor wharf was visible in the gap between Gull Island and the jetty. On the left, the lighthouse on Pelican Point soared above the sea.
“Yes. This is perfect.” Ben retrieved a small New Testament from the inside pocket of his jacket and picked up the simple, sand-colored urn that held Ned’s ashes.
The captain removed his hat. “I rigged up a net so you can lower that over the side, if you like. It seemed more respectful than dropping it into the water.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
The captain dipped his head, ducked back into the wheelhouse, and returned with a small net attached to two ropes.
“Would you hold this?” Ben extended the Bible to her with a hand that wasn’t quite steady.
Marci took it in silence.
With the help of the captain, he nestled the container in the net. “For the record, Skip was an environmentalist to the end.” His voice rasped as he rested a hand on the urn. “Just like crab pots have biodegradable panels to let crabs escape from lost traps, this is ecofriendly. It will float for several minutes, then sink to the bottom and dissolve within twenty-four hours—and Skip will become part of the sea he loved.”
Marci’s lower lip began to quiver, and her vision misted.
Shoot.
Weepy Weber was back.
Struggling to stem her tears, she surreptitiously felt around in the pockets of her coat for a tissue.
Zilch.
So much for her claim to Ben that she was always prepared.
Stifling her sniffles as best she could, she watched as the captain eased back and Ben lowered the urn to the sea.
Less than a minute later, he retracted the ropes and the empty net, set the makeshift contraption on the deck, and turned to her, his gaze on the New Testament clutched against her chest.
Her cue.
She walked toward him, doing her best to maintain her balance on the undulating deck. Falling flat on her face at his feet in the midst of this solemn moment
