Southport, A Story of Second Chances

By Edward Norvell

Set in the historic Southport waterfront area of North Carolina, Southport is a journey through loss, betrayal and pain into redemption and second changes. It is the road to the kind of love that saves a life and to the joy that's still there even when all seems lost.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Edward Norvell
• Release date: Sep 5, 2009
• ISBN: 9781458075987

Edward Norvell

Ed Norvell lives with his wife in Salisbury, North Carolina. He has two grown children and is an attorney working for non-profit land trusts across the state of North Carolina. He and his wife own a house on Ocracoke Island which is their second home. He has published Ocracoke Between the Storms, Portsmouth, Spies, U-boats and Romance on the Outer Banks, Southport, a Story of Second Chances, Shadows, No Salt To Season, and two collections of short stories. He received his undergraduate degree from UNC-Chapel Hill, a masters degree in English and creative writing from the City University of New York, and his JD Degree from the Wake Forest University School of Law. He has also attended the Breadloaf Writer's Conference at Middlebury College, VT.

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Southport, a Story of Second Chances

A Novel

by Edward P.Norvell

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 1997 by Edward P. Norvell

All rights reserved.

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This novel is a fiction. Any reference to historical events; real people, living or dead or to real locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously , and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.

Chapter 1

When I jumped out of the back of the rusted black pickup truck onto the white, oyster-shell pavement in front of Bloom's Grocery Store on the waterfront in Southport, I took a deep breath of the fresh salt air. I am finally free, I thought. I didn't know then that running away was the easy part - the hard part was learning to live afterwards. The old man who had picked me up at Daddy's farm in Duplin County waved goodbye, then drove off. I had nothing but the clothes I wore, the things I carried in Uncle Warren's duffel bag, and $300.00: Mama gave me $100.00 when I left - I had saved the rest.

It was a clear, sunny, beautiful day - the first Saturday in June 1975. I was excited about my new home, as I looked past the waterfront out to the mouth of the Cape Fear River which ran between Bald Head Island, with its cover of dark green trees, and Oak Island, with its black, white, and gray banded lighthouse. The sky was pale blue and the air felt fresh, coming from the ocean. Sea gulls hovered over the docks at the marina. Southport was a different world from Duplin County, where I grew up, though it wasn't that far away, in miles. I knew I loved it that first day. I had followed my heart and it proved me right. My father always told me, don't let your heart rule your head. He was wrong. I knew deep inside that my home was near the sea, even though I had only seen it a few times before. It was instinctive, like a deep, ancient memory that haunted me until I finally followed it.

Over the entrance to the two-story white frame building facing the waterfront was a long, metal sign announcing Bloom's Grocery Store flanked by two round Pepsi Cola emblems.

There were two big, plate-glass windows on either side of the double screened door and a one-story front porch. A Help Wanted sign hung in one of the windows so I walked in.

I’m looking for work. I said to the man working behind the front counter.

Can you push a broom? he asked. It was Mr. Bloom, a gruff old man with bushy gray eyebrows and mustache, wearing a dirty white apron over his clothes.

Yes, sir, I replied.

Then you're hired, he said.

When I told Mr. Bloom I had no place to stay, he offered me a room over the store. The room was used for storage, but had a small bed in it and a bathroom down the hall.

I worked at Bloom's for three weeks, spending my free time on the docks at the marina. I was dying to work an a boat, ride the swells and waves to the place where you can't see land anymore - where all you can see is water and sky. I had never seen that before. One Friday afternoon, Bill Jackson, a charter boat captain, walked into Bloom's store and started a conversation with me.

How would you like to go deep-sea fishing, young man? Captain Jackson asked me in the back of the store where Mr. Bloom couldn't hear.

I'd love to.

Have you ever been deep-sea fishing?

No, but I can learn.

You're new around here, aren't you? What's your name?

Todd Field, sir. I moved to Southport from Duplin County three weeks ago.

What brought you here?

I wanted to live on the coast. After high school graduation, I hitched a ride on a farmer's truck and ended up here.

So you're from tobacco country. Do you like Southport?

Yes, sir. Back home everything's flat - too much of the same. On the coast, there are no two days alike. I like that.

You'd like being on the ocean then. I could use a strong boy like you on my boat. Why don't you see how you like it? He said, looking me over. I was six feet tall, weighed 165 pounds, and was in good shape, if I must say so myself.

Mr. Bloom walked up to us with a frown on his face.

Trying to steal my boy, Jackson?

Just talking. First time I met Todd, haven't seen him here before today.

He's a farm boy - strong, hard working. Most farm boys are good workers - they don't know any better, Bloom laughed. Not like those who work the sea, he said, glaring at Captain Jackson. Ain't that right, Todd?

I continued to sweep the linoleum floor in the aisle between the grocery shelves. I didn't answer him.

My offer stands, Captain Jackson said to me with a wink. You need to get salt air in your lungs - it's better for you than this musty old place. He looked around, wiping dust off a shelf.

Keep your hands off the merchandise and stay away from my employees. You've already stolen some of my best boys. For the life of me I don't understand what's so damn thrilling about getting up at five o'clock in the morning to take a bunch of drunks out to get sea sick in the Gulf Stream.

You're jealous, Bloom. Just because you get sea sick on a boat doesn't mean everybody does. If your boy works for me, he'll have plenty of time to work for you, too.

Yeah, I've heard that before.

Captain Jackson left the grocery store. I watched him cross the street, which gleamed white with the sun, to the marina. The water sparkled in the creek beyond.

After work I walked to the marina where Captain Jackson kept his boat, the Martha Jane.

Captain Jackson, I'd like to take you up on your offer.

I thought you would. A big strong boy like you won't be satisfied working in a grocery store for long, not when you can go to sea. He was rigging lines, preparing for a charter fishing trip the next morning.

I’m going out tomorrow morning. You think you can take it? My best boy left me last week, he said, still working with the lines. I can't afford to have someone work for me who gets sick. If you can't take it, that'll be the last trip out with Captain Jackson, you understand?

Yes sir. I'll be here tomorrow morning. At what time?

Five a.m.

"Yes, sir.11 A little early, I thought, but I would have gotten up at three if I thought it would get me out on a boat.

Help me with these lines. The captain said, handing me some wire, hooks, deep runners, spoons, and a pair of needle-nose pliers. He showed me how to attach the shiny, silver lures called spoons to swivels and rigs. We would use them to catch Spanish and king mackerel which were running that time of year. Then we strung mullet to the deep runners, which looked like colorful plastic streamers, and put the rigs in an ice chest. Captain Jackson prepared some trolling lures shaped like little fish for some of the more exotic fish, like tuna, wahoo, and snub nosed dolphin. I stayed late helping him clean up the boat after we finished with the lines. I also washed out the large, plastic coolers that would hold the fish we caught.

Where are you staying? Captain Jackson asked.

Over Bloom's store. He's letting me stay there while I work for him.

You think he'll let you stay there after you go out with me?

I hadn't thought about that, I said.

If you do good tomorrow, you can work for me full-time and I'll find you a place to live. If it doesn't work out, you can go back to Bloom's. Does that sound fair?

Sounds fair to me, I said.

I couldn't sleep that night, I was so excited. I dreamed about going deep-sea fishing, then taking long sea voyages on a big, white sailing ship. I didn't have an alarm clock, but I was up at four-thirty and on the dock by five the next morning.

The sun hadn't risen as Captain Jackson and I made last minute preparations. I picked up several bags of ice from the marina ice machine for the coolers and loaded one with two cases of Budweiser and a couple six packs of Pepsi and Sprite for Captain Jackson's customers.

Four men in their forties and fifties drove up at five-thirty in a silver gray Buick Electra 225, Mr. Deal, Mr. Murphy, Mr. Overcash, and Mr. Sides. The sun began to lighten the sky and the sounds of the crickets and cicadas were slowly replaced with the sound of egrets, pelicans, and sea gulls.

Our customers looked sleepy. Captain Jackson told me they were on a business trip from Cannon Mills near Charlotte. They were very quiet at first. Everyone but Mr. Overcash stretched out in the cabin, two in the v-berth and one on the sofa, for the long ride out to the Gulf Stream.

I untied the boat and made sure everything was in order with the lines and fishing rods before I joined Captain Jackson on the bridge. The boat was a forty-two-foot fiberglass Chris Craft, outfitted with the finest equipment, Loran, radar, a depth finder, ship-to-shore radio, and compass. It was white, shiny, and clean. Captain Jackson was very proud of his boat and kept it in excellent shape. He named it the Martha Jane after his wife.

Captain Jackson showed me the channel of the Cape Fear River, told me which channel markers meant keep left and which ones meant keep right, and the markers at the mouth of the river warning of sandbars and shoals. He told me how the channel changes and that you can't always trust the markers, especially after a storm. He pointed out Bald Head Island to the left and Oak Island and Fort Caswell to the right as we left the river and headed out to the open sea. I was all so fascinated that I forgot to even think about getting sea sick.

The sea was not rough - it was a good day for a first time out. Captain Jackson taught me how to steer the boat by the compass; keeping to certain coordinates.

Todd, you take the wheel while I check below, Captain Jackson said, after we cleared the channel and were out in the open sea.

Are you sure? I said, hesitating.

Sure, it's easy. Just do like I said. Keep her steady, head into the waves at a forty-five degree angle, and you'll be fine.

I was lucky that the sea was as calm as it was that day. I got off course a little when a series of waves pushed the boat to one side, and I wasn't confident enough to turn into them or master them.

You're off course. Captain Jackson said, climbing up the ladder to the bridge.

I can't keep the boat from being pushed by those waves.

Here, let me have it, Captain Jackson said, expertly turning the boat into the waves, riding them and putting the boat back on the correct compass reading.

See how I did that.

Yes, sir.

You try it, he said handing the wheel back to me.

I tried and was soon able to master the waves. Captain Jackson smiled. You'll do great, kid. I know talent when I see it. You sure there isn't a sea captain back somewhere in your family?

My mom was from Beaufort and her dad had a boat.

I knew you had salt in your blood. No more tobacco farms for you, young man. He said, smiling with a sparkle in his eye.

I began to feel a little sick as the sea got rougher, but I soon forgot it as we approached the Gulf Stream, fifty miles out, and Captain Jackson and I prepared the lines for the customers.

I piloted the boat as Captain Jackson put out four lines - two on the outriggers and two on fishing rods placed in chrome cylinders on the gunwale in back. I had never seen anything like the Gulf Stream. It was like a clear blue river within the ocean - you could actually see the line where it met the rest of the ocean. The ocean was deep blue with a greenish cast to it, but the water of the Gulf Stream was a much deeper blue and much clearer. When we crossed into the wide band of crystal-clear water, the air got warmer and more humid. You could almost feel the fish and sea life teeming in the water below us. As soon as we were in the Gulf Stream, we started getting strikes on the lines.

Here, someone take this line. Captain Jackson yelled, as the reel spun on one of the rods in back. His customers, two of whom had just gotten up from the v-berth, stood back watching, exchanging glances as if they couldn't decide who was going to take which line first.

Somebody take it, by God, or the fish will get away, the captain said, staring at the men.

You take it, Henry, Mr. Deal, a balding man wearing a Redskins ball cap, said to Mr. Overcash.

You all are my customers - you take it. I don't want to be the first to catch a fish, Mr. Overcash, the organizer of the trip, said.

I'll take it, Mr. Murphy said. He was younger than the others.

Then the other reel in back began to spin, and first one, then the other, outrigger popped out. Soon each man was seated and holding a rod, reeling in as fast as he could. Captain Jackson went from seat to seat making sure the men were holding the rods correctly in the holders in their seats and helping where he could.

Mr. Overcash reeled in the first fish, a big yellow fin tuna. Captain Jackson raised the gaff at the end of a long pole and hooked the fish as it came alongside the boat, lifting it in one motion from the water into an open ice chest. He then closed the lid and removed the hook from the forty-pound fish. The tuna thrashed around violently in the ice chest as Captain Jackson turned his attention to the next fish, a twenty-five pound wahoo that was on Frank Deal’s line. Mr. Deal was covered in perspiration as he struggled to get his fish closer to the boat. Captain Jackson yanked the line up with both gloved hands, landing the fish, flopping on the deck. He put his foot on the fish's head and pulled out the hook, then lifted it and threw it into the ice chest on top of the now subdued tuna.

Mr. Murphy's fish got away. It was a snub-nosed dolphin, a beautiful, rainbow colored fish about thirty inches long that turns a dull gray as soon as it leaves the water, it is not a porpoise. we could see it jumping as it swam away. Mr. Sides caught a thirty-pound king mackerel.

As soon as the hooks were re-baited and thrown into the water, the fish struck. Again and again the men pulled in mackerel, tuna, wahoo, and dolphin. The men were exhausted and began to drink beer in the cabin, leaving only Captain Jackson and Mr. Overcash in the back, fishing.

Captain Jackson climbed the ladder to the bridge.

You done good, Todd, Captain Jackson said to me, putting his arm around my shoulder. I pulled away instinctively and immediately asked him about the instruments on the control panel in front of me.

Captain Jackson explained the compass, the tachometer, and taught me how to use the radio and the Loran unit, which showed us where we were located by compass coordinates. He also explained the ship's depth finder, how it showed the contours of the ocean floor, where fishing holes, artificial reefs, and wrecks were located that attracted fish. He told me that if I learned to read it carefully, it could even show me schools of fish.

Go below and fix yourself a sandwich. I'll take over up here. While you're down there, clean up a little, too.

Yes, sir, I said and climbed down to the deck below. I mopped the deck with sea water, washing off the fish blood, and cleaned the coolers. I also gathered beer cans in a bag and cleaned up the cabin, then fixed a ham sandwich and drank a Pepsi. After I finished eating, I walked out to the deck.

Hell of a guy you work for, Mr. Overcash said, putting his arm around my shoulder. I pulled away from him and picked up a beer can. I didn't like it when older men touched me.

He sure is. Is this your first time out with Captain Jackson, sir? I asked.

No, I've been out with him many times. One thing you can be sure of - he doesn't go in until he has a good haul of fish.

This is my first time out with the Captain. I hope you gentlemen are enjoying yourselves.

We sure are. One of my best trips yet, Mr. Overcash said.

Captain Jackson watched me from the bridge, smiling. He looked very pleased.

When I finished cleaning up, I climbed to the bridge. Have a seat, Todd, Captain Jackson said. You're a good mate. I want you to work for me.

I'd like that, I said, trying to hide my excitement. You have a lot to learn, but I think you'll do well.

Thank you, sir. I hope I won't let you down.

Captain Jackson skillfully piloted the boat through the mouth of the Cape Fear River into the wide creek that led to the marina at Southport. It had been a beautiful day the sea was calm and we caught lots of fish. Captain Jackson seemed glad that my first day was a good one. I felt very much at home on the boat and loved deep sea fishing.

He pulled up to the dock and gave the fish to two black men who gutted and filleted them in big, galvanized sinks on the dock with spigots that drained directly into the creek.

Great trip, Captain, Mr. Overcash said, tipping Captain Jackson $100.00 on top of the regular charter fee. Give some to your boy. He did a great job, and I understand this was his first trip out?

Yeah. I think he'll work out fine.

The men drank beer the entire way in from the Gulf Stream, so they were a little drunk and sleepy. They thanked Captain Jackson and me for a fishing trip they would all remember. Captain Jackson told me he wished they all went as well as this one.

I cleaned up the boat, Captain Jackson locked up, then we gathered our gear and walked across the street to Bloom's store. It was six o'clock and the store was closed. I saw my duffel bag filled with clothes sitting at the bottom of the steps going to the second floor of the store building.

A note pinned to the duffel bag said: Todd, here are your things. If you want to work for Captain Jackson, he can find you a place to live. You're fired.

Captain Jackson read the note out loud.

Now I don't have a place to stay, I said, looking lost at Captain Jackson. I didn't realize Mr. Bloom would fire me, I said, looking down at the oyster-shell pavement.

My wife and I have a room in the back of our house with a separate entrance. If you don't mind biding by Martha’s rules and doing some chores around the house, you're welcome to stay with us. Besides, you're working for me now anyway.

But what if you fire me?

Then I guess you'll have to find another place to live. Right now, you don't have much choice, do you?

No, sir.

We walked down a street