I moved over to the gunwale and leaned against the dock where, just a few hours earlier, Savannah and I had made love. Then I put my feet up on the little center console.
“That’s what you wanted to see, right?” I asked. “The sky’s already getting light over that way. It shouldn’t be long.”
Alberto stepped up onto the aft deck and put a hand on the aluminum framework around the engine. “What’s this for?”
“It’s called a poling platform.” I pointed toward a push pole mounted on the port gunwale. “See that long pole? In real shallow water, you stand up on the platform and use the pole for pushing the boat and looking for fish.”
“It’s a little boat,” he said, standing on the other side of the console. “Is it fast?”
I grinned at him. The kid had a one-track mind.
“Yes, she is,” I replied. “Clients like to get to where the fish are as quickly as possible.”
“What’s a client?”
“A lot of people like to fish, but not all of them have a boat or know where the fish are. Some of those people will hire people like me—a fishing guide—to take them out and find the fish. Those people are clients.”
As the sky to the east continued to brighten, Alberto looked around the boat some more. I turned on the aerator on the live well and grabbed the cast net from below the aft deck.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“We’ll need bait,” I said. “As soon as the sky starts to get light, pinfish come out from under the dock to forage.”
I made two casts, right alongside the dock, and put several dozen baitfish into the live well.
“Look,” I said, pointing toward the sun, as the first sliver began to appear.
I sat back down, and he came over beside me and sat cross-legged on the aft deck.
“You two look comfortable,” Savannah said, walking toward us with the dogs following behind her. “Is there room for one more?”
“Sure,” I replied, standing, and taking a small cooler from her.
I placed it on the aft deck and opened it. The aroma of fried sausage hit my nostrils, reminding me how hungry I was. Savannah sat next to Alberto and I handed them both a biscuit, half wrapped in a paper towel.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Mana from Heaven,” I replied, taking a big bite.
“Mana?” he asked, looking up at me puzzled. “That’s not Spanish or English.”
I laughed. “No, it’s not. It’s Polynesian.”
“You speak Polynesian?”
“No, but I’ve been to the South Pacific. Mana means the life force that permeates all things in the universe.”
“He means mana with one N,” Savannah said. “But he referenced the Biblical story of manna from Heaven with two Ns.”
Alberto looked at her with revelation in his eyes. “When Moses fed the people?”
She smiled at him. “Exactly. But Jesse’s version probably sounds more adventurous.”
We sat on the gunwale and ate the biscuits as the sun rose slowly.
“Mmm,” Alberto hummed, as he chewed and swallowed a bite. “Mana is good.”
We were silent for a few minutes, as the sun gradually revealed itself from beyond the horizon. As we ate, the sky changed from inky purple to a cobalt blue in just a matter of minutes. Twilight was shorter on the water.
“There are two more in the cooler,” Savannah said. “Plus, a half dozen sandwiches, some tortilla chips, salsa, sliced pineapple, and bottled water. That should hold the three of you over until you get back.”
“What’s for dinner?” Alberto asked.
“That depends on what you catch,” she replied, then wiped her mouth on a cloth napkin. “Don’t you boys let me down.”
She patted Alberto on the back, then rose and gave me a kiss before stepping up to the dock.
I started the engine and untied the stern line while Savannah got the bow line.
“Bye,” she said. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” I replied, putting the boat into gear. “Love you.”
“Love you, too,” she called out, as we idled away.
At the end of my channel, I turned left into Harbor Channel, bumping the speed up a little.
“What did she mean when she said, ‘don’t let her down’?” Alberto asked.
“Remember I said that work was fun here?”
He nodded.
“You and I are going to work,” I said.
“Fishing is work?”
“It is for us, little man,” I said as we neared Mac Travis’s island. “And work is fun out here on our own. We don’t buy much food from stores. We catch or grow just about everything we eat.”
Mac Travis was our only neighbor. At least the only one within about five miles. He tended to keep pretty much to himself, working his lobster traps throughout the season and looking for treasure during the off-season. His girlfriend, Mel Woodson, actually owned the island, having inherited it from her dad. I never knew his first name; everyone just called him Wood. She was a lawyer and stayed on the island with Mac off and on.
Seeing Mac wading toward his boat, I turned and angled toward him. I killed the engine ten feet away.
“Hi, Jesse,” he said, as he caught the gunwale. “Who’s that you have with you?”
Mac held us in place against the incoming tide. It didn’t take a lot of effort to hold the Maverick into the current.
“This is my friend, Alberto Marco,” I replied. “Alberto, meet our neighbor, Mac Travis.”
Mac extended a hand, and the boy shook it.
“Alberto’s staying with us for a while,” I said. “We’re heading out to catch some fish.”
Mac looked at the boy curiously. “Are you the kid Jesse found in a drifting boat?”
Alberto nodded. “Him and Savannah both. They jumped in the water and took me to shore.”
“How’d you know that?” I asked Mac.
“You know how it is,” he replied, nodding sagely. “Coconut telegraph.”
It was hard to keep anything a secret on a small island. Though we’d tried to keep everything under wraps, I knew word would get around. But islanders were tight and I doubted if many knew what had happened.
“Figured you’d be packing,” Mac said. “Aren’t you leaving tomorrow?”
“There’s been
