Chapter 8
EIGHT
Austin
CUPID WAS THE PERFECT LITTLE arrow-slinging son of a bitch to remind me of my loneliness. I knew the day would come—my grandparents’ wedding anniversary. They hadn’t celebrated it on earth for nearly a decade, but I always thought about them when Valentine’s Day came around.
“One day, Austin, I hope you find a woman like mine,” Grandpa gushed, whittling away at a fractured piece of driftwood he’d collected before the sun rose.
I couldn’t tell what he was carving, but there was no question who he was carving it for.
The faded ink scrolled across the underside of his wrist, reading My Justine, proved it.
After my grandparents, Justine and Joel Carterson, had officially adopted me at age two, we spent our summers in Blue Hill, Maine, winterizing their fishing cabin before the extreme temperatures froze every pipe for the season.
Grandpa taught me how to be a man, and I loved it because my birth parents had taught me nothing, aside from how to beg for the things I needed in life, like affection.
“What makes her different from all the others?” I asked, our small paddleboat drifting farther from the dock.
“Ha! Become a bit crass in your teenage years, Austin?”
I noticed the way his voice cracked as he got older. Years of antiseizure medications had a way of playing games with his vocal cords. His time was borrowed, but he still had no problem sharing it with those he loved.
“I’m only speaking from my own experience. And so far, it hasn’t been the best,” I said, referring to my only ex-girlfriend, Gwen.
She had broken up with me when she found out I was adopted. More specifically, who I was adopted from. Her family wouldn’t let her date me anymore. But why? Was my birth parents’ reputation really that bad around town?
“All I can tell you is this … one of your biggest goals in life should be to find a love that needs little explanation. It’s classic when you need tenderness, and it’s unbreakable when you need strength.
It will last forever because you treat it as such.
It’s everything. That’s what my Justine and I found, and all these years later, I’m still as in love with her as the first time I saw her. ”
“Sounds easier said than done.” I took a big gulp of my sweet iced tea. Grandma never let us leave the dock without it.
“You see how we’re slowly bobbing toward the open sea, and neither of us is even looking at an oar?” He pointed away from the coastline, drawing my attention to the vastness of the mirror-like ocean supporting our boat.
I nodded.
“The tides will move us from point A to point B if we don’t fight them,” Grandpa said, looking at me for a moment longer than necessary.
“The tides go in and out every single day. Water moves. What does that tell me?” I sighed, challenging him.
“If we both paddled as hard as we could to return to shore right now, it would exhaust us, take every ounce of our manpower. But if we’re patient and wait for them to pull us back to the dock, we can enjoy the ride and make it back in time for lobster bisque.”
I rolled my eyes. Gramps could draw connections between just about anything. All I heard was lobster bisque …
“Trust me, boy. I was your age once. The waves will find you, and you’ll know when they do …” he reiterated, ignoring the pronounced grumble that left my stomach at his mention of fresh bisque.
“Will the ropes find me, too, and tie me to the chair, like Dad used to?” I stiffened, recounting the moments still infecting my early memories. I repeated them aloud sometimes, only to ensure I remembered the kind of person I didn’t want to be.
“No. But those can be untied and repurposed for something more useful. Like this …” He repositioned the pocketknife’s handle and handed me his creation—a delicate driftwood anchor.
Grandpa reached for the manila rope hanging over the stern and cut a thin strand—the perfect size to thread through the hole at the top so Grandma Justine could hang her new sentiment.
Two hours later, I sat at the kitchen table, which was topped with a fresh pitcher of iced tea and a bowl of fresh lobster bisque, alongside my grandparents.
Their weathered hands never untangled as they shared more with each other than just a touch and more with me than just a meal.
I stirred the shrinking sugar cubes around my iced tea as the memories sat with me in my office. I wished they’d dissolve just as fast because they distracted me from deciding what to teach the newbies.
Knot-tying techniques, radar detection, and drill formations were all options. They needed to master an endless list of skills before graduating from the program. If they didn’t understand even one concept, the blame landed back in my lap.
Since they’d already been here for weeks, the basics were out of the way. The important shit could begin. I gathered my clipboard and lesson of choice for the day and stood, readying myself for my two p.m. instruction. Helping young men prepare to hold meaningful jobs in the Navy never got old.
“Chief Carterson …” Romano’s head peeked around my office door. His stiff nod told me our conversation would be all business.
“Sir.” I responded with words and eye contact, ensuring he had my full attention.
“I’ve been asked to request a security review on all surveillance cameras in the instructional buildings. Direct orders from the captain. He said it was urgent.”
“Of course. I’ll get on it immediately and report back to him. You’ll have to cover my instruction today; I was headed that way in five,” I suggested.
Canceling class was not an option. I had only six weeks to teach a large amount of material. Romano was a team player. No doubt he’d help me out.
“No problem. I love playing substitute teacher.” A short-lived smile crossed his face, lightening the thickened suspense that had blown in with his request.
An order from the captain meant that something crucial had happened and needed to be investigated immediately.
“He said to pay attention to building six—something about suspicious activity and wanting to be sure the janitorial staff is only accessing their assigned divisions during working hours,” he added.
Part of my job was ensuring the safety of the recruits in my division. Direct access to the dozens of security cameras sprinkled around every building on base was the best way to do that.
“Here, take this.” I handed him my clipboard. “Classroom C. I planned to focus on formations today, but feel free to switch things up. Give ’em the Romano special.” I winked.
“Roger that. Take your time. After their instruction, I’ll release the guys to the chow hall and report back.” Romano turned and exited my office, pulling the door closed behind him.
I sank deeper into my desk chair and circled to face the computer monitor, holding the answers the captain asked me to find.
“Let’s see who’s trying to pull a fast one on Chief Carterson.”