wheelhouse, where he stood at
the starboard window, ignoring Will.
Will checked
his compass heading and turned the wheel several times. Hearing a thud against
the bow, he cut the engine, and a log bumped and scraped alongside the boat.
Reaching for the binoculars, he handed them to Mike, and said, "I need you
to watch for drift logs."
Mike glared at
him. "You can't tell me what to do. You're not my father."
"Oh, that
excuse again." Will refused to let a pint-sized adversary intimidate him.
"I'm not your father," he said, "but I am captain of this vessel
and you're crew." He continued to hold out the binoculars.
Mike made no
move to take them, and instead, raised his chin in defiance. "I don't want
to look for logs, especially not for you," he clipped.
Will recognized
a standoff when he saw one. He’d been a master at it when he was Mike’s age.
Holding Mike’s gaze, he said, "I don’t much give a rat’s behind whether
you want to do it or not. If we hit a deadhead we'll have a hole in the hull
the size of a tree trunk and what you feel about me won't matter because this
boat will go down and we'll all go down with her. Now take these glasses and
start watching."
Mike
reluctantly took the glasses.
"A
deadhead's a saturated log that's floating straight up in the water," Will
explained, figuring Mike had no idea what he was looking for. "All you'll
see is the log end, which looks like a barrel or an
oil drum that's barely sticking out of the water. So you have to watch
carefully. If you see one, point it out fast so we can steer clear of it."
Mike didn't
respond as he continued to study the water through the glasses. For a while he
was quiet, but then there was a flurry of excitement when he spotted his first
dead head. "Over there," he said in an excited voice, while pointing.
"Man,
you've got eagle eyes," Will commended then took a little time to explain
about the radar. Although Mike said nothing, Will knew, from the intent look in
Mike's eyes, that he was taking it all in. After a while, Mike handed Will the
binoculars and said, "Can I go now?"
"Sure,"
Will replied, "but you'd better send your mother up." As Mike turned
to go, Will said, "By the way, you're a good spotter. I never would have
seen those logs. Later I'll give you a chance at the wheel. You have the makings
of a top first mate." Although Mike didn't respond, Will caught the slight
curve to the boy’s lips and felt they'd made a connection, tenuous and
short-lived though it would be.
Mike left the
wheelhouse, and a few minutes later, Nellie took his place. Raising the
binoculars to her eyes, she said, while looking for deadheads, "I think
you made some headway with Mike. He seemed pretty excited about the prospect of
taking a turn at the wheel. He also mentioned that you said he had the makings
of a top first mate."
"He does.
He's pretty quick to learn," Will said. "He needs to get his sea legs
though. I think he was a little seasick when he first came up."
"He
was," Nellie replied. "He'll probably be back up here tomorrow. He's
too proud to wear a patch behind his ear, so the next best thing is to stay in
the wheelhouse where he won't get sick .. Maybe it's a
blessing in disguise. It'll give you two a chance to get to know each other,
which is a good thing. Mike needs someone to look up to. A father figure."
Eyes straight
ahead, Will replied, "As long as Mike doesn't view me as that." He'd
lost count of how many father figures he'd had by the time he was Mike's age.
Looking back, he remembered how pointless it was to form relationships with any
of them. They were nothing more than transitory links between home... and
home...
He could feel
Nellie's eyes boring into him as she said, "Can we talk about it?"
"No,"
Will replied. "There's no place in my life for Mike or any other kid. I'll
do my best to teach him how to read radar and follow charts, and even how to
navigate a boat, but that's where it ends. I just want to be clear on
that." When
the starboard window, ignoring Will.
Will checked
his compass heading and turned the wheel several times. Hearing a thud against
the bow, he cut the engine, and a log bumped and scraped alongside the boat.
Reaching for the binoculars, he handed them to Mike, and said, "I need you
to watch for drift logs."
Mike glared at
him. "You can't tell me what to do. You're not my father."
"Oh, that
excuse again." Will refused to let a pint-sized adversary intimidate him.
"I'm not your father," he said, "but I am captain of this vessel
and you're crew." He continued to hold out the binoculars.
Mike made no
move to take them, and instead, raised his chin in defiance. "I don't want
to look for logs, especially not for you," he clipped.
Will recognized
a standoff when he saw one. He’d been a master at it when he was Mike’s age.
Holding Mike’s gaze, he said, "I don’t much give a rat’s behind whether
you want to do it or not. If we hit a deadhead we'll have a hole in the hull
the size of a tree trunk and what you feel about me won't matter because this
boat will go down and we'll all go down with her. Now take these glasses and
start watching."
Mike
reluctantly took the glasses.
"A
deadhead's a saturated log that's floating straight up in the water," Will
explained, figuring Mike had no idea what he was looking for. "All you'll
see is the log end, which looks like a barrel or an
oil drum that's barely sticking out of the water. So you have to watch
carefully. If you see one, point it out fast so we can steer clear of it."
Mike didn't
respond as he continued to study the water through the glasses. For a while he
was quiet, but then there was a flurry of excitement when he spotted his first
dead head. "Over there," he said in an excited voice, while pointing.
"Man,
you've got eagle eyes," Will commended then took a little time to explain
about the radar. Although Mike said nothing, Will knew, from the intent look in
Mike's eyes, that he was taking it all in. After a while, Mike handed Will the
binoculars and said, "Can I go now?"
"Sure,"
Will replied, "but you'd better send your mother up." As Mike turned
to go, Will said, "By the way, you're a good spotter. I never would have
seen those logs. Later I'll give you a chance at the wheel. You have the makings
of a top first mate." Although Mike didn't respond, Will caught the slight
curve to the boy’s lips and felt they'd made a connection, tenuous and
short-lived though it would be.
Mike left the
wheelhouse, and a few minutes later, Nellie took his place. Raising the
binoculars to her eyes, she said, while looking for deadheads, "I think
you made some headway with Mike. He seemed pretty excited about the prospect of
taking a turn at the wheel. He also mentioned that you said he had the makings
of a top first mate."
"He does.
He's pretty quick to learn," Will said. "He needs to get his sea legs
though. I think he was a little seasick when he first came up."
"He
was," Nellie replied. "He'll probably be back up here tomorrow. He's
too proud to wear a patch behind his ear, so the next best thing is to stay in
the wheelhouse where he won't get sick .. Maybe it's a
blessing in disguise. It'll give you two a chance to get to know each other,
which is a good thing. Mike needs someone to look up to. A father figure."
Eyes straight
ahead, Will replied, "As long as Mike doesn't view me as that." He'd
lost count of how many father figures he'd had by the time he was Mike's age.
Looking back, he remembered how pointless it was to form relationships with any
of them. They were nothing more than transitory links between home... and
home...
He could feel
Nellie's eyes boring into him as she said, "Can we talk about it?"
"No,"
Will replied. "There's no place in my life for Mike or any other kid. I'll
do my best to teach him how to read radar and follow charts, and even how to
navigate a boat, but that's where it ends. I just want to be clear on
that." When
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