venture, but you'll oversee most of it. And of course there are the other men living on the Cape who work here full-time. They help mainly with the labor. You can learn a lot from 'em, but they answer to you ," Walter said with gravity, pointing at Jim's chest.
"Now get a load of this, sonny boy," Walter motioned to another keypad on the wall.
"Walter, you've got this place rigged tighter than Fort Knox."
"With good reason. Years ago some local cretins burglarized it. They made out with a load of tools, and vandalized the hell out the place. I ratcheted up security after that one, when I built this addition here. Your new digs." The Commodore's hand hovered over the keypad.
"Whatcha got, Commodore?"
"Ten twenty one eight zero five," Walter eyes flashed. "I know you'll get this."
"The Battle of Trafalgar, and the death of England's greatest naval hero, Lord Nelson. His victory reaffirmed Britain as the ruler of the high seas for over a century afterwards."
" Great show, my boy!" the Commodore thundered in a much more convincing British accent. "Now, tell me, for a hundred points, and the hand of my daughter in marriage, and for full ownership of the John Paul Jones down there… just kidding… in what two liquids was the great Admiral Nelson's body preserved for the trip home to England?"
"Brandy… and wine. Not such a bad way to be honored."
"Excellent! Your most challenging question yet," Walter said as he punched in the code and yanked open the door. "After you, Lieutenant."
Walter flipped the light. The apartment, swept and mopped, was devoid of furniture. Jim smiled at the black marble countertop, refrigerator and well-furnished kitchen. The walls had been painted a neutral white, and were without blemishes. A bay window stretched nearly the entire height of the wall. Two French doors, revealing an exemplary view, opened out onto a balcony. The parking lot and boatyard lay below, and the entire Nantucket sound lay beyond.
"I really like the place! Excellent view," Jim said.
"You'll get used to this just fine," Walter said. "Welcome home. Ya dawn good, sonny bo-ah. Ya dawn good. Now let's get back to the house to see what my sweet girls have in store."
For a second, Jim stood musing on the empty apartment around him. He wondered what the flooded, ruined house of his grandfather looked like. Jim had refused for months to see any photos of the mold, mildew, and gutted ceilings, floors, and walls, the obliterated heirlooms and thus the annihilated family past. His father had sent a team to strip the house, but Jim had several times made it clear he didn't want to hear any details. Freddy had passed on its roof, and the entire edifice might as well be cursed.
Jim followed the old man toward the door and felt the guilt return once more. Jim had survived and flourished. His friend had vanished from the earth, murdered by the storm days after it had passed, and the old Jim had died there on the roof with Freddy.
The new Jim was born—and in turn borne up through the air from the city that raised him into the helicopter—and that new Jim had died to the past with its restless travels and struggles for money and been born into a bright new life of many triumphs. But had he betrayed his roots by leaving the city of his birth and heritage at its darkest hour, and abandoned his old life and passions, and forged their replacements in a new land?
As Jim walked out into the sunlight he recalled his father's words from the phone call days before. "One day, sugar, you will wake up and years will have flown by. I'll be gone. Mother will be gone. And it'll be too late to enjoy the rest of your youth and all you could have enjoyed down here."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The mahogany table was laid out with the old pewter flatware of a semi-formal Henretty lunch. Jim sat to the right of the Commodore, who filled his chair at the head of the table. Across from the old man sat Kathleen Henretty. At Kathleen's right hand, and
"Now get a load of this, sonny boy," Walter motioned to another keypad on the wall.
"Walter, you've got this place rigged tighter than Fort Knox."
"With good reason. Years ago some local cretins burglarized it. They made out with a load of tools, and vandalized the hell out the place. I ratcheted up security after that one, when I built this addition here. Your new digs." The Commodore's hand hovered over the keypad.
"Whatcha got, Commodore?"
"Ten twenty one eight zero five," Walter eyes flashed. "I know you'll get this."
"The Battle of Trafalgar, and the death of England's greatest naval hero, Lord Nelson. His victory reaffirmed Britain as the ruler of the high seas for over a century afterwards."
" Great show, my boy!" the Commodore thundered in a much more convincing British accent. "Now, tell me, for a hundred points, and the hand of my daughter in marriage, and for full ownership of the John Paul Jones down there… just kidding… in what two liquids was the great Admiral Nelson's body preserved for the trip home to England?"
"Brandy… and wine. Not such a bad way to be honored."
"Excellent! Your most challenging question yet," Walter said as he punched in the code and yanked open the door. "After you, Lieutenant."
Walter flipped the light. The apartment, swept and mopped, was devoid of furniture. Jim smiled at the black marble countertop, refrigerator and well-furnished kitchen. The walls had been painted a neutral white, and were without blemishes. A bay window stretched nearly the entire height of the wall. Two French doors, revealing an exemplary view, opened out onto a balcony. The parking lot and boatyard lay below, and the entire Nantucket sound lay beyond.
"I really like the place! Excellent view," Jim said.
"You'll get used to this just fine," Walter said. "Welcome home. Ya dawn good, sonny bo-ah. Ya dawn good. Now let's get back to the house to see what my sweet girls have in store."
For a second, Jim stood musing on the empty apartment around him. He wondered what the flooded, ruined house of his grandfather looked like. Jim had refused for months to see any photos of the mold, mildew, and gutted ceilings, floors, and walls, the obliterated heirlooms and thus the annihilated family past. His father had sent a team to strip the house, but Jim had several times made it clear he didn't want to hear any details. Freddy had passed on its roof, and the entire edifice might as well be cursed.
Jim followed the old man toward the door and felt the guilt return once more. Jim had survived and flourished. His friend had vanished from the earth, murdered by the storm days after it had passed, and the old Jim had died there on the roof with Freddy.
The new Jim was born—and in turn borne up through the air from the city that raised him into the helicopter—and that new Jim had died to the past with its restless travels and struggles for money and been born into a bright new life of many triumphs. But had he betrayed his roots by leaving the city of his birth and heritage at its darkest hour, and abandoned his old life and passions, and forged their replacements in a new land?
As Jim walked out into the sunlight he recalled his father's words from the phone call days before. "One day, sugar, you will wake up and years will have flown by. I'll be gone. Mother will be gone. And it'll be too late to enjoy the rest of your youth and all you could have enjoyed down here."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The mahogany table was laid out with the old pewter flatware of a semi-formal Henretty lunch. Jim sat to the right of the Commodore, who filled his chair at the head of the table. Across from the old man sat Kathleen Henretty. At Kathleen's right hand, and
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