The Dropoff: A Timeless Novel

By Sloane McQuiston

Five-year-old Nigel feels like a tattered library book—dropped off and picked up too many times to count! When Nigel ends up with his 99-year-old step grandfather, Steve, he’s sure this drop off is going to be like every other time. Instead, he’s regaled with tales of pirates, stolen money, and off-shore bank accounts. And what about the cat his grandfather refers to? Nigel isn’t sure whether any of his grandfather’s stories are true, but with him he finds a place he can be himself and belong. Nigel learns how a man can be respected and Steve remembers the joy of childhood innocence. Together they discover age doesn’t really matter when you find common ground.

The Dropoff – A Timeless Novel, is a thought-provoking work from author Sloane McQuiston. It chronicles everyday events of the young and old including family, friends, pets and celebrating “a win.” McQuiston’s use of humor, sadness, triumph and tragedy weaves a fascinating generational story with characters on the opposite ends of life’s spectrum.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sloane McQuiston
• Release date: Jan 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005815783

Sloane McQuiston

Sloane McQuiston is the "nom de plume" for Scott Sloan. It is a tribute to his mother and father who he credits for his sense of humor and his writing skills.Scott lives with his wife of 32 years in Oklahoma City Oklahoma. Scott is a native Okie who grew up in Mustang Oklahoma. So did his wife, Brenda. They moved to Texas when their oldest son was just two years old. They lived in Texas for many years and took the opportunity to move back to Oklahoma when Brenda retired from teaching and Scott got a job offer in Oklahoma City. Together they live by the lake and enjoy walking their Welsh Pembroke Corgi, Ranger, near the lake where she enjoys chasing the ducks.Scott is a Safety Professional and Risk Manager and has enjoyed a 27 year career in commercial insurance where he helps his clients on issues related to risk management and safety. He holds a B.S. degree in Industrial Safety from the University of Central Oklahoma, an M.S. degree in Business and Human Relations from Amberton University in Garland TX and an M.P.H. in Environmental Health and Safety from Texas A&M School of Public Health. Additionally, he holds four professional certifications; ARM (Associate in Risk Management), CRM (Certified Risk Manager), CSHM (Certified Safety and Health Manager), and CSP (Certified Safety Professional).Scott also enjoys public speaking and has been a featured speaker at local, regional and national events. If you would like to book Scott for a speaking engagement please contact him through email.Along with a love of writing, Scott enjoys motorcycles and has ridden his bike to every state in the Union except Hawaii and Alaska. Both Scott and Brenda enjoy travel and Scott has visited every state in the U.S. along with nine other countries. They also love riding around in their convertible, with the top down of course.Brenda and Scott have two grown children and are very proud of both of them.Scott wants to thank you for visiting the website and reading the book, The Dropoff - A Timeless Novel. He is hopeful you enjoyed his first book and he is busy working on the follow-up. Stay tuned for details and availability.

Book preview

The Drop Off

Sloane McQuiston

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Book 2 preview

Meet the Author

Chapter 1

Grandpa, grandpa, wake up, you’re talking in your sleep again.

Nigel was unsure of his step grandfather. He was old, slept a lot, and Nigel didn’t really know him very well. Nigel’s mom was not a trusting person, so Nigel wasn’t allowed to meet very many people and his grandfather was someone mom didn’t seem to trust. It’s hard for a 5-year-old to understand what grown-ups mean and it was especially hard with Nigel’s mom, Marina. Marina had a tough life. She seemed much older than her 45 years showed and was often mistaken for Nigel’s grandmother. Nigel didn’t care though, she was just ‘mom’. Sure, she could be mean and grouchy, but everyone he ever knew displayed those characteristics, so mom wasn’t really any different.

Talking in my sleep? Did I say anything interesting? Grandpa muttered.

No, just something about a cat. I really couldn’t understand much of it, Nigel said as he walked back to the loveseat in front of the television. Nigel didn’t care too much for TV but he didn’t have any of his books to read and grandpa seemed to enjoy watching it—or rather, sleeping in front of it. None of Grandpa Steve’s books were interesting to Nigel. Most of them were about travel and boats and motorcycles. He liked books about animals and adventures and pirates. His aunt Star said the fact he could read so well at five and preferred reading to watching TV or playing video games made him special. His mom said it made him weird. But she smiled, usually, when she said it, so he was pretty sure it was OK. Right now, he was stuck at grandpa’s place. No dog or cat to play with and no books to read. He wondered how long it would be until his mom got back. She was sometimes gone for a long time, days even.

Nigel? Steve inquired slowly lowering the footrest of his old recliner, what do you want to do?

Nigel wondered which moved slower, the old electric recliner or grandpa. I don’t know. I wish you had a dog or cat to play with.

Love dogs, do ya? I haven’t had a dog since your grandmother passed. She loved dogs. Not much of a cat person, but she loved dogs. Come to think of it, I haven’t had a cat since Angel, and I’m not really sure I ever really had Angel. She seemed to come and go as she pleased and wasn’t much on being domesticated. Anyway, sorry I don’t have either for you to play with.

Nigel watched his grandfather as he got up from his chair. He moved slowly but there seemed to be a quickness to his mind as well as something else. Was it kindness? Nigel hoped it was, he could use some more of that. That’s okay.

***

Steve looked sympathetically at his 5-year-old step grandson. He knew the kid didn’t want to be here and was uncomfortable with an old man he barely knew. It was a shame such a bright, inquisitive and gentle little boy was treated more like laundry than a child. It seemed like he was always being dropped off somewhere. Deep down Steve knew he hadn’t made much of an effort to get to know the boy and he blamed it on his contentious relationship with the kid’s mom, Marina. How could such a great kid be born to such a troubled soul like Marina?

Marina’s sister, Star, was about as opposite as she could be. Star was driven, motivated, caring—she genuinely cared about others. Marina was just looking for the next handout or get rich quick scheme. It wasn’t Nigel’s fault though. We can’t pick our families. 99 years of living had taught Steve that lesson over and over. The things he had seen and stories he had heard about how family treated each other, it was enough to make anyone lose their faith in God, or whatever they perceived God to be.

Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat? Steve asked before he slipped off again into a long internal rant with himself about the state of humanity.

I guess, Nigel replied.

How does some peanut butter and jelly sound?

Peanut butter and jelly!? Nigel excitedly replied. Sure, that sounds great.

Steve stood up and walked to the small kitchen and started to make a couple of sandwiches. What kind of jelly do you like? Then Steve remembered he probably didn’t have much of a choice in jelly, so he amended his question with I hope you like grape jelly, because that’s likely all I have. When V, Nigel’s grandmother, was alive, she kept a variety of every kind of food. It still seemed like she lived here even four years later. She passed when Nigel was only a year old, so he didn’t remember her at all. But Steve had known her for 25 years. They met when he was 70 and married when he was 80. Sometimes he regretted not marrying her earlier, but if age had taught him anything, it was you can’t change the past. Worrying about that was a fool’s game. Once something was done, it was done. And once an opportunity passed, that opportunity was gone forever. The secret to not losing your mind was looking for the next opportunity, not regretting the passing of the last. Still, losing her hurt as much as losing his first wife. At least this time, there were no kids to raise. Well, he hoped there were no kids to raise. Marina had dropped off Nigel here the night before with little explanation other than she had no choice. She was prone to taking off and not coming back and he hoped that wasn’t the case this time. Not so much for his sake, but for the boy’s.

Grape jelly is fine. It’s what mom and I generally have. Nigel stated.

Steve thought he detected a little enthusiasm. That was probably a good sign.

Steve wondered to himself, what kind of 5-year-old says, generally have? That seemed like advanced vocabulary for a kid his age. He knew the kid was vastly different than his mother and most likely his father, whoever that was. But there seemed to be something more to this kid. Was that just him feeling like a grandfather? Or was it an accurate assessment? He didn’t really feel like a grandpa to this kid, but he was. And likely, the only grandfather the kid would ever know. V had never talked about Marina and Star’s father. She most often referred to him as the sperm donor and never as a father figure. One of the nice things about dating when you are older is you don’t let things like a women’s ‘baby daddy’ get in the way. He wondered if he used that term correctly. He thought he had, but then realized it didn’t matter. When he was younger, he would have had to know all the details. As he aged, he decided not to sweat the small stuff. And at 99 years old, everything was small stuff. As long as he was breathing, had someone to love and something to look forward to, life was great.

Nigel, do you know what people need to be happy? Steve asked as he was making the sandwiches. Before Nigel could answer, Steve said, people need five things kiddo. One, they need an opportunity to be successful. Two, they need to be respected—for what they have done and what they can do. Three, they need someone to love them and someone to love. Four, they need something to control—like their own lives. And five, they need to be left alone to live their lives. If a person can manage to keep those five things going in their life, they will be happy and successful. Does that make sense to you?

Nigel nodded his head slowly and just looked at his grandpa.

Steve looked at Nigel and got the feeling Nigel did understand. He couldn’t be sure because the kid didn’t say anything. He had done this many times in business when he didn’t want to ‘give away his hand’. He found silence was best when you weren’t sure what to say. He always felt it denoted intelligence. Without realizing it, a smile began to form on Steve’s face. Maybe he could make this relationship work and maybe finally someone would listen and believe his story about the cat.

They sat quietly eating their sandwiches and drinking the milk Steve had gotten for them both. They were strangely comfortable with the silence. Steve had spent years traveling, mostly by himself, so solitude was not only familiar, it was welcome. Nigel, too, was comfortable with silence. Perhaps it was because his mother brought plenty of drama into their lives, or maybe it was because he loved to read. The reasons didn’t really matter. Finding two people, especially of such vast age differences, who were truly comfortable just sitting, eating and existing was rare. Most people had to be on their phones looking at social media, reading the news, or just playing games. The fine art of just sitting and enjoying was disappearing from American culture at an alarming rate. Uh-oh, rant alert Steve thought. He shook his head slightly as though scolding himself and terminated the internal dialogue.

Finally, Steve severed the silence with a question that would change Nigel’s life forever. Nigel, you said I was talking in my sleep about a cat. Do you remember anything about what I said?

Not really, it was mostly mumbling and difficult to understand, but I think you called the cat Angel, Nigel replied while looking slightly up and to the right indicating he was trying to recall exactly what was said.

Ah, Angel, Steve replied reflectively. I wonder why I was dreaming about the cat? You said you liked dogs and cats, right? Which do you like more?

Dogs for sure. Cats are OK, but they tend to be less friendly. I like dogs because they are almost always friendly and when they aren’t you can tell. Cats can pretend to be friendly but then they scratch or bite you. I don’t like that. Nigel stated this with conviction as though in his five years of life this was categorically true of the canine and feline world.

Steve chuckled a little bit. I agree. Dogs are easier to read than cats. And leaning into Nigel, he smiled a little bigger and said I like dogs more too. But cats can be nice. I had a cat once. I called her Angel. Has your mother or anyone ever told you about my experiences with Angel?

Nigel shook his little head and said, no.

Would you like to hear about Angel?

Nigel paused a second before answering, and then said sure.

Steve couldn’t decide if the kid was just pacifying him, was bored with nothing else to do, or really wanted to hear about the cat. He decided it didn’t matter, the kid was going to hear the story. If he was too bored, he would fall asleep, and if he was interested, he might actually listen and believe the story. Either way, it looked like a win.

Well, I first met the cat when I was boarding my boat in Clear Lake, Texas out of the Seabrook Marina and Shipyard. It was 1981 and it was my 60th birthday. Did you know I used to own a boat? Without waiting for an answer, Steve proceeded Well I did. She was a beauty too, a 1978 Chris Craft Commander 42. She had twin GM Detroit diesel engines that put out 320 horsepower each. She had the 10-kilowatt Kohler generator and both A/C and heat. 42 feet long with a 14-foot beam. Man, what a boat! The more Steve talked about the boat, the more excited he got. It had been a long time since anyone had listened to this story. Her name was ‘Res Ipsa Loquitor’. That means ‘the thing speaks for itself’ in Latin. I bought her from a guy whose wife had recently passed, and he just didn’t have the heart to take her out any more. I got a great deal on her. Steve paused to see if Nigel was still with him. He appeared to be paying attention, but Steve wasn’t sure. He hadn’t tried to read a five-year-old in a long time.

He continued, Anyway, I spend about a month prepping for the trip. You know, taking her out into the Bay and learning how to read charts and navigate the channels using the buoy markers. My goal was to just sail away. Sam and Sierra, my kids, were grown and moved out. Sierra was living in Houston working in public relations and marketing and Sam, a graduate of the Naval Academy, was stationed in the Pacific somewhere. I can’t remember where. It doesn’t matter anyway. My plan was to cruise around the islands in the Caribbean and just live life. I had noticed this skinny black cat running around the marina for a while and I had thrown her off the boat a couple of times. She looked pretty haggard and I kind of felt sorry for her. But I didn’t need a stupid cat on the boat. As I was shoving off—I had already cast off both the bow and stern lines, and I was in the upper helm—I saw that cat jump onto my swim platform. I couldn’t get down there and throw her back on shore without hitting some other boats, so off we went. I just thought I would drop her off at the first place I docked and that would be that. After I cleared the lake and headed into the Bay I went to see if she was still on the swim platform. I didn’t see her, so I thought she fell off and drowned. Sad, but she should have never boarded without permission. Nigel, never board someone’s boat without their permission. As the British would say its bad form. Do you know what that means?

No, Nigel said.

It means you are being rude or doing something you shouldn’t. Americans have kind of lost that sense of decorum. But the British live by it. A more civilized group of folks, the Brits." Uh-oh another rant approaching, Steve thought, and he decided to move on with the story.

I guess I should explain that the swim platform was only accessible by ladder. It’s not like most boats today where there is a walkthrough transom. No, in those days, you had to climb the ladder. Steve was getting wound up talking about the Loquitor, and he noticed Nigel showing signs of boredom. Apparently, his enthusiasm was not contagious. Nigel was moving from the table over to the loveseat to lie down. He was either bored or just tired after eating. Steve concluded it was naptime.

***

Nigel was trying to listen, but his grandfather was talking pretty fast now. It was obvious he liked to talk about the boat. Nigel didn’t really know much about boats, but it was nice to hear someone be so passionate. Nigel could get this way when he was telling his mother stories from a book he was reading. His mother would get bored easily and stop listening. He didn’t want to be like that. Listening to his grandfather now though, he had more sympathy for his mom. He decided to move to the loveseat. One thing he did like was the way Steve said, ‘good form.’ He used a British accent and it made it sound distinguished. He thought he might start using that saying himself.

***

Steve usually took a nap after lunch too. So, he stopped the story and just looked at Nigel then thought sarcastically I love to keep my audience riveted! With Nigel falling asleep Steve went back to his recliner and sat down. He hadn’t talked about The Loquitor in years. Old memories started flooding back like the tide during a tsunami. He had forgotten how much fun the boat had been and how many adventures he had. He somehow forgot all of the loneliness and near catastrophes that could have easily ended his life. Maybe that was one of the good things about living so long, you only remembered what you wanted to. He was too excited now to nap, so he looked around for an old photo album. Had the kids moved everything to digital, or did he still have the old albums? A few minutes of searching and he remembered when Sierra had all the old photos scanned. That was a major undertaking cataloging those photos and deciphering the notes on their backs.

She had been a great daughter. Too bad she had passed too. She would have loved Nigel. He could envision the two of them sitting around discussing books and having a grand time. A small tear began to run down his cheek at the thought of his daughter and her passing. He didn’t bother to wipe it away. It would have been disrespectful to her memory. She was the best. She was so strong when Beth had died. She was only 8 years old then. Just a child who had been left with a dad who had no idea how to raise children. That was women’s work back in 1959. Dad’s didn’t know how to raise kids. Thank God Beth had done such a good job with both of them. Sierra went from being 8 to 18 in one day. How had he been so blessed to have such great kids? The same God that saw fit to take his wife away had also seen fit to bless him with two great kids. Life is both cruel and kind at the same time. Sam was 12 when Beth passed, and he had been great with Sierra. He too had aged quickly. He sacrificed so much to help the family. His sense of duty no doubt was part of what got him into the Naval Academy.

Time to stop thinking about sad memories and start thinking about good ones. Where was that laptop computer with all the photos? Steve was not much of a technology junky. Ironic for a guy who made his wealth by investing in tech companies. That investment in Apple computers way back in 1980 was what made early retirement possible. He wasn’t bad with technology, for his age, but when you spent as much time alone as he had, technology just wasn’t all that important. Sure, it was nice to be able to connect with anybody on the planet at a moment’s notice, but was it really connecting? Email was OK. It wasn’t all that different than writing letters. But a phone call was better. Not a text, but a phone call. And the only thing better than a phone call was a meeting in-person. He used to call that a visit. People used to visit each other. Now they just text, email or post on Facebook. Rant alert! Rant alert! he could hear the internal sirens going off in his head warning him to stop.

He stopped himself and focused on finding the photos from the boat. When he located the laptop, he turned it on and waited for it boot up. We can send a man to the moon, but we can’t build a laptop that boots up in less than two minutes. he grumbled. It wasn’t two minutes, but it felt like forever. It was weird how after all these years he could be patient with most things, but slow technology drove him crazy. Finally, it booted up and he found the folder with all his photos. Basically, an entire lifetime of living reduced to one folder. Following Sierra’s guidance, he had placed the photos into individual folders denoting his life. He located the folder called the boat and numerous subfolders and files appeared in the window. There were countless pictures of The Loquitor in places all over the Southern US and the Caribbean. There were also photos of many women he had long since forgotten. He began opening each picture and the memories flooded his mind.

Those were the days, no kids to worry about, no home to return to, only the next destination to see. Steve had always believed he would die young. There was no reason to believe it. His health had always been good and there was little history of chronic illness in his family. Yet, the idea he would die young was something he had lived with for so long he simply believed it. That made taking off on the boat at 60 much easier. Dying at sea, or on some tropical island, seemed infinitely preferable to dying at home or in some nursing home. Forget that! Dying at sea was a cool way to go. His son, being a sailor, understood completely and was in favor of him taking the boat and cruising around the seas. His daughter was the opposite. She saw it as reckless and foolish and honestly, a little childish. But ultimately Steve knew it was something he needed to do. So, he sold everything he had, put the money in a trust so the kids could get it when he died and off he went. Just goes to show how wrong you can be. He not only didn’t die young, he outlived everyone he ever knew and loved. Most people don’t think about that when they wish for a long life. You get the privilege of burying everyone you know. Hu-freaking-rah.

The photos weren’t always the best quality, but each one seemed life-like. The photos of the boat taken from shore after it was all cleaned up almost made him cry. It was so pretty, so elegant. The teak wood accents around the fiberglass deck gave it a character that boats today just didn’t possess. Man, they don’t build boats like that anymore. The huge wooden steering wheel on the command deck was so integral to the character of the boat. Just seeing the photos, he was able to recall the feel of the wood. He remembered how the boat rocked while it was under way in the bay or in the intercoastal waterway. He also recalled how weird it felt to be on land after being at sea for a week or more. He walked like he was drunk when he first got off the boat. All the other sailors would smile as he walked by. They understood that feeling and their smile said they shared the same passion for the water. It was something that had to be experienced to be fully appreciated.

There were photos from the boat itself, looking out over the water or of a sunset or of other boats in a harbor. How could photos recall such vivid memories? Some of these photos were nearly 40 years old. Old men aren’t supposed to remember things this well. It shocked him how emotionally stirring those pictures were. Man, those were the days! Nothing to worry about except what was coming next. Then he saw photos of some women he met from the boat. There was something about a boat—the lure of freedom and well, and a bottle of rum—that attracted many women. Most of the women didn’t last long on the boat, which was actually pretty great. A couple of nights on the boat and their fantasy about sailing away was cut short with the reality of the mundaneness of being at sea. It certainly wasn’t for everyone, but for those it was for, it was inescapable.

Cindy. Wow! He hadn’t thought about her in decades. While the photo was far from high definition, it was still spectacular. She was 40 years old in the photo and she had a body any 20-year-old would be envious of. There she was, hair wet from swimming, sea water dripping off her and her tan skin glistening in the sun. Old feelings started to stir within him. Her entire body was toned, and that smile could light up the entire night sky all by itself. How in the world had he been lucky enough to hook up with her? The story was coming back to him. Had she just caught her husband cheating on their vacation? Yes, that seemed right. He began to recall the conversation they had at the bar.

Steve had taken the intercoastal from Texas to Florida and was about to motor away to the Bahamas when he stopped in Key West. He was resupplying the boat and decided to spend a couple of days there before the trip. This would be his first crossing in open water, and he wanted to make sure everything went well. So, he wanted one last nice meal in a restaurant because he would be cooking his own meals at sea. After dinner, he went to the bar and there she was. Gorgeous and pissed off. She was alone, drinking heavily and talking to herself. It was obvious someone had done her wrong and the first couple of men to approach her got an earful. She was very open about her current opinion of the male of the species and how we were all just deceitful conniving bastards who deserved to die. Yes, he remembered how the louder she got the more colorful her description of her hatred for men became. It wasn’t long before no man would approach her and a few other man-hating women joined her. Together they started making up songs about how to castrate men and how women were superior in every way. This inevitably resulted in swearing off men for life and then a raucous cheer or two would spew forth. Suddenly, the old Robert Palmer song Man Smart, Women Smarter began playing in his head. He could hear it as clearly as if it was playing through his iPhone. The bartender glanced nervously at the group but seemed too afraid to approach the growing crowd. He probably didn’t want to draw their ire, and besides, they were buying a lot of drinks. They were also driving away some customers. One of the bar maids noticed Steve watching the women and jokingly suggested he go talk to her. Steve just laughed and said he thought he might like to keep his balls, thank you very much. The bar maid laughed and moved on. For some reason, Steve just couldn’t leave the bar or take his eyes off Cindy. About an hour or so later, the ladies began to wind down. The alcohol and the emotions were starting to take their toll. Most of the men had left the bar by then. Cindy was about to leave and then spotted Steve and just stared at him.

What are you lookin’ at? she demanded.

Looking, was all Steve said.

Looking? What the fuck does that mean?

Looking, the word is pronounced looking, not lookin. You said lookin.

At first, she was speechless. She began to say something, paused and then just stared.

Not sure what to say? You’re not used to being corrected, are you, Steve stated matter of factly. But to answer your question, what I am looking at is perhaps the most beautiful human being I have ever seen at what is likely her most unbeautiful moment. Still, you are stunning.

She just stood there saying nothing. Steve could see the confusion on her face. Was the combination of alcohol, railing on men and fatigue affecting her ability to respond? She struck Steve as the kind of women who was rarely at a loss for words. He felt like he could actually see the gears turning in her head trying to mount a great comeback. When nothing came, her expression changed from confused to angry. He got the feeling she thought he was an asshole for even speaking to her. It was comical to witness. But he knew if he laughed, any chance he had with her would disappear faster than the Tequila she had been shooting.

He began to feel sorry for her, so he said, Do you need a safe escort home? It seems quite possible that you made a few guys angry tonight. I would be happy to see to it that you got home safely.

Again, she stood there saying nothing. She appeared to be stunned. She undoubtedly understood the words she was hearing, but she was struggling to develop a response. Steve didn’t really think any guys would be waiting outside to get her. He had just used that as an excuse to get closer to her. He wasn’t sure if it would work.

While she stood there contemplating the situation, Steve moved toward the door and held it open. Her head followed him as he moved but she didn’t. He stood there holding the door open and then asked, are you coming?

She never said a word, just closed her mouth which had been hanging open waiting to speak and moved toward the door. She walked right past him and he followed, never touching her. Where to? Steve inquired.

I, I don’t really know. I don’t think I have a place to stay. She sadly stated.

My boat is in the marina if you want to sober up there and think about your options. I can make us some coffee.

Uh, OK, I guess was all she said.

Steve held out his elbow toward her hoping she would take it. He didn’t speak and began walking. She instinctively took his arm and fell into step with him. Neither said a word as they made the journey to the marina. Steve knew how fragile this situation was and that words would fracture the moment. So, he said nothing and the two of them walked in silence.

The walk to the boat was only a few blocks and it was a beautiful Florida night, technically early morning, so they walked slowly, arm in arm, simply enjoying the quiet. If anyone had seen them, they would have thought this was a couple who had been married for years. They would have been correct, but wrong at the same time. Neither was married to the other. Even though Key West is typically very active at night, things had slowed. They passed no one and as they approached the marina, the sounds of bars faded away. Steve wondered if she realized no one had been waiting outside the bar to harass her. Steve opened the gate for her and let her pass through. The gate closed with a clang and Cindy startled.

Everything OK? Steve asked slowly drawing his words out as though her actions surprised him.

Cindy didn’t reply immediately and just looked into Steve’s eyes. He thought she was sizing him up. He smiled slightly and said you don’t have to come to the boat if you don’t want to. You are welcome to go wherever you want.

She seemed to relax a little. She replied, yeah, everything’s great, you know considering my whole world just went into the shitter!

What is happening, Why am I here at this boat with a stranger. A MAN! Have I lost my mind? Cindy had discovered earlier in the day that her husband had been cheating on her. That was why she was in the bar in the first place. She knew she had gotten loud in the bar and when some of the other girls joined in her ‘man-bashing’, she felt her emotions were being justified. Misery loves company. Then this jerk corrects my pronunciation like he’s the ‘Diction King’. Who does he think he is! My diction is great. And who cares anyway?! We’re in a bar. No one cares how you pronounce the word ‘looking’, when you’re in a bar! Her emotions were running wild, which she hated. She never liked those women who were hysterical, especially when everything didn’t go their way. But now she was being one of them. This thought calmed her down. This guy had been nice though. He had been a gentleman and offered to escort her wherever she wanted. She certainly didn’t want to go back to the hotel room with her cheating husband. It was late and she didn’t have anywhere else to go. Besides, this guy was probably 20 years older than her. He looked harmless enough. She could turn around at any time. Maybe she could sit on the boat and sober up a little. Yeah, that seems OK. Where else am I going to go? She felt calmer and more in control now.

***

Steve could see she was struggling with what to do next. The reality of what was happening must be sinking in. He simply said, The head. On a boat we call it the head, not the shitter. Then his smile grew a little wider, his face took on an expression of whimsey and he pointed her towards his boat. It’s the one over there, the Res Ipsa