I looked from Jimmy back to Savannah. “And what about when I finish the familiarization cruise and you come to join me? We were planning to live aboard, for the most part, coming back here once a month or so. Remember? You wanted big ocean adventures.”
“We can bring him with us,” she said defiantly. “You should call Jack and tell him now.”
“I can’t insist—”
“Yes, you can,” she said, cutting me off. “We already told him that if he wants you at the helm, it was a package deal.”
She had me there. Jack Armstrong had already agreed that Savannah would be joining us as part of the crew and that our kids could visit from time to time. But this wasn’t quite the same.
“We don’t know anything at all about him,” I argued. “For all we know, the boy might be a pickpocket or an arsonist.”
“He’s just a little boy,” she scolded. “And he needs help.”
“Okay,” I conceded. “I’ll call Jack.”
“Now.”
“Yes, right now.” I turned to Jimmy. “Start clearing my bench. We’ll move it tonight.”
Savannah smiled as I dug my cell phone from my pocket and turned to walk out onto the deck. Outside, I pulled up Jack’s number and tapped the Call button.
“Good evening, Captain,” Jack said, his voice almost jovial. “Nils and I were just talking about you. We’re both looking forward to your arrival next week. Ambrosia is nearly ready to sail.”
Nils Hansen had delayed his retirement long enough. He was in his seventies now and still as sharp-minded as ever, but he was tired of being at sea all the time. I’d already delayed taking command twice.
“Yeah, Jack. About that,” I began.
Then I went on to tell him about the events of the day and Savannah’s idea.
“How old is the boy, again?” he asked.
“We’re not really certain,” I replied. “The doctor thinks he’s about six or eight.”
There was a long pause before he spoke again. “You know I grew up on oil exploration ships and platforms,” he finally said. “It won’t be easy—not for him or you.”
I remembered him telling me that once. I also remembered him telling me about his own son, who had been killed along with his wife in the World Trade Center attack.
“This isn’t my idea,” I said. “Savannah insisted after the detective told us the boy would go into foster care.”
“I happen to agree with her,” Jack said. “A kid could do a lot worse than having you and her as parents or foster parents.”
“That’s just it, Jack. We’re not foster parents. Hell, I’m a grandfather and our youngest is in college. I’m sure this arrangement will only be temporary. The detective just needs a safe place for the kid until he can get to the bottom of things.”
“Bring him,” Jack said. “And bring Savannah on Friday. I’ll get the crew busy converting Nils’s quarters into a two-bedroom suite, joining it with the cabin next to it.”
“Whose cabin is next to it?” I asked, surprised that he’d agreed so quickly.
“That’s the first mate’s cabin,” he replied. “Sara is flying home tomorrow. You’ll have a new first mate, and he can take a cabin on the main deck.”
Sara Patrick had been Nils’s first mate for more than ten years. We’d had a long-term, long-distance relationship that ended some years ago, but the split had been amicable—neither of us had ever been emotionally committed—and I’d just assumed we’d move into an awkward working relationship.
“She’s leaving?” I asked.
“First flight out tomorrow. She’s getting married, Jesse.”
Married? I hadn’t even been aware that she was seeing anyone.
“Well… good for her,” I said. “Who’s the lucky man?”
“He’s an Englishman by the name of Brent Tumlinson. They met when we were doing that project in the Seychelle Islands.”
“I’m happy for her, Jack.”
“And she was happy for you,” Jack replied. “So, bring Savannah and the boy on Friday. We’ll have things ready. If the police need him to go back, you and he can fly back in less than a day.”
We ended the call, and I went back inside, a little bewildered.
“What did he say?” Savannah asked.
“He said to bring you and the boy on Friday. He’s having Nils’s cabin converted into a two-bedroom suite.”
“His cabin’s on the bridge deck,” she said. “I remember from the tour Jack took us on. The only other cabin on that deck is Sara’s.”
“Sara Patrick will soon be Sara Tumlinson,” I said. “She’s leaving Ambrosia.”
“She’s getting married?”
“Apparently so,” I replied. “A British guy she met in the Seychelles last year.”
I helped Jimmy finish boxing things up from my workbench. It was a heavy piece, so everything had to be removed.
“Let’s just get it over there,” I said, as we lifted the bench and started toward the door. “We can remove the other beds tomorrow, then set things up how we want later.”
With the bench out on the deck, Jimmy and I went back inside and moved the little bed under the window. Savannah slipped down to the Revenge and got some extra linens from the guest cabin, which had two single bunks. While she set about making the bed up, Jimmy and I went outside and started to lug the bench across the clearing.
“What if the boy doesn’t come?” Jimmy asked. “All this work would be for naught.”
“No, it won’t,” I replied. “It’s what Savannah wants.”
We got the bench inside and returned for the boxes of fly-tying equipment, tools, and the other odds and ends that had accumulated on it and in its cabinets and drawers.
By the time we finished around 2100, the first quarter moon was already past its zenith and heading toward the western sky. The air was a little on the chilly side, so I started a fire in the ring. We’d worked right through sundowners, so I figured a couple of beers might be in order.
The fire ring was one of the few things left after Hurricane Irma. It’d been on the island long before I bought it. The thick, heavy steel
