Chapter 2
Things were coming together, but it was taking longer than Trask had expected. He’d already been in town for three months, throughout the Christmas holidays—which he’d managed to survive despite his mother’s decorating lunacy—and now the first week in January was quickly coming to an end.
Too slow.
As swamped in bureaucracy as the armed services could be, civilian life was proving to be worse; nothing more than a complicated tangle of webs to unravel. The minutia sucked up ridiculous amounts of time.
In the Marines, there was always a readily available—and easily accessible—avenue to learn different skills and earn certifications.
In the outside world, it was the wild west. Different rules for different states and municipalities; different permitting and certifications that needed procuring.
And the biggest bugaboo? You had to navigate it all on your own.
If you missed a step, or a pertinent piece of paperwork, it was one step forward, two steps back.
Spencer, Tabitha, and Buck, for instance, had easily met the initial requirements to run a dive shop/school.
They’d paid the town for all kinds of permitting.
And on the diving front, they’d long-since earned their PADI Divemaster certifications, having the Professional Association of Diving Instructors sign off on their plethora of logged dives—which had reached far past the required sixty.
They’d updated their CPR/First Aid training, and they’d passed their medical fitness exams. But the next step, which they’d only recently found out about and was now finally underway, required them to go to Bangor for two weeks to take an instructor development course, after which they’d need to pass an exam.
His brothers had taken it all in stride, but Trask was feeling frustrated.
At least they were paving the way so that when it came time for him to navigate through the messy system, he’d know what he needed to do.
Once Spence, Buck, and Tabitha were all certified, they’d guide him through what to expect.
But right now, Trask had other things on the agenda. Not enough things, if he were honest with himself, but he was drawing those tasks out.
He was currently sitting in the not-yet-open Diver Downeast office, working on business strategies while everyone was away.
Yeah. After the conversation he’d had back before Christmas with his two brothers and Tabbi, it was determined that his skills would be best utilized, at least for now, with day-to-day logistics. After all, it had been his strong suit in his role with the Marines.
It might have been busy work they’d concocted for him, but Trask was making the most of it while waiting his turn to get his ducks in order and get up to speed in the water.
The company, however, was already making headway.
Thanks to Sheila’s crazy-good marketing skills, and Tabitha’s connections as a submarine operator, they already had jobs waiting for them.
It was Trask’s duty to time those contracts for when Spence and company returned, while seeing to it that the equipment they needed was in stock and up to par so that every project was successful.
Trask yawned. It wasn’t rocket-science. The team of three had been gone only two days, and Trask had already done several flow charts mapping out efficient strategies.
He’d interfaced with their future clients and promised to keep them in the loop, all while he hoped something else would land in his lap.
If it didn’t, he was going to be climbing the newly painted walls.
Mason, thankfully, after a few practice sessions, had given final approval for Trask to train potential new inductees into SWAT, coaching them in hand-to-hand and other combat skills. The following Saturday would be his first day, and Trask was excited to begin.
But Diver Downeast…
He looked around the space that was now nearly ready for business, and felt a sense of pride. He liked what he saw from where he sat behind his computer at the main counter.
The space was clean and bright. The front door opened up onto a busy street; or at least as busy as the small town ever got. Big, plate glass windows on either side had ample display space, not yet utilized, but ready for something eye-catching.
The four of them had brainstormed what to put on display, but nobody had come up with a really great idea yet. For now, there were large signs blanketing the glass, indicating that Diver Downeast would be opening soon.
While his brothers and Tabbi were gone, Trask had also busied himself setting up the room in the back that would be their “school”.
He’d purchased desks, chairs, and a computer AV system that would meet all their needs.
The rear of the large area was also now stocked with all the diving equipment they’d need to outfit the participants of those classes.
Spence, Trask knew, had gotten a lot of it, used, from some older guy in New Hampshire who had closed up shop for health reasons.
Trask had spent the previous few days arranging and rearranging the displays of new goods they’d be selling on their main floor out front, and was finally happy with the way the equipment all looked.
Spence had set it up once, willy-nilly, with no rhyme nor reason to where everything got put.
Regulators had been piled with dive computers, and harnesses had somehow been stuffed into a large drawer.
Wet and drysuits had been hung, mid-floor, almost hiding everything else from view.
But with a little overnight delivery shopping, Trask had procured wall racks to make sure every suit was highly visible, while getting them out of the way of other inventory.
The place was really looking professional, now.
Trask was just contemplating whether or not the number of display cases they had were adequate, when the phone at the counter, rang.
“Diver Downeast, Trask speaking. How can I help you?”
“Hah! You sound like a pro already,” his brother Spence’s irreverent voice came back.
“Bite me,” Trask returned with a dry laugh. “Aren’t you supposed to be studying shit?”
Spence chuckled. “We’re on break right now, which is a good thing, because I just got a call, and I need you to do me a big favor.”
Trask almost blessed his brother for giving him something more to do, but he bit his tongue. There was no need for Spence to think he was bored.
“Shoot,” he said, instead, feigning indifference.
“You remember that guy, Randal, I told you about who sold us all the used gear? And do you remember I brought Buck and Mason back down with me when he wanted to show off some of his diving collection?”
“How could I forget?” Trask snorted. “The onion breath story is already folklore around here, and I still haven’t been able to soak the smell out of that one regulator.” He’d tried everything. Baking soda, vinegar, lemon, sunlight: all the stuff the internet suggested, but without success.
“Yeah, well, get this. Randal is selling his spread in New Hampshire. I don’t have details on why, but in the massive clean-out he’s doing, he’s decided to get rid of all his antique diving stuff.
Pre-WWII Diver’s helmets, Mark V diving suits, bronze toed boots, and who knows what else.
He wants it to go someplace it can be seen again, instead of just hiding away in his barn. ”
Trask immediately pictured all that equipment set up in the store’s front windows, and knew it would more than attract eyes. But was that even enough space for it all? It could also be…his heart pounded a little harder…the beginnings of a diving museum.
Diver Downeast had already purchased the small building adjacent to their main office, and were currently contemplating using it as storage. But if they made it a museum…
Trask had always been interested in history, and his imagination sparked. With the boon of this gear—if it were in any kind of decent shape—there might be the beginnings of an attraction that would bring diving aficionados to Hampden from far and wide.
It could really get them on the map.
“You want me to head to New Hampshire and pick it up?” Trask asked, his mind already on the drive south.
“Actually, no,” Spence apprised. “Randal’s sending it up to us. He says he’s got a pilot who’ll be flying it into Hancock County-Bar Harbor Airport, if you can make the trip there.”
“Why not Bangor International?” Trask asked. That airport was a lot closer.
“I don’t know. Something about air-traffic and commercial regulations, but do you care? BHB is only forty-five minutes from where you are.”
“No. No. Not at all,” Trask returned. As a matter of fact, he was happy the task would take him longer. It would finish up the day for him, and then he could get back to house hunting.
House hunting. Right.
So far, nothing on the housing market had agreed with Trask. The places he’d seen were either too big, too family oriented—which he was not—or too far away from the water. Some were even completely run down.
Trask had a picture in his head of just what he wanted, of course, but so far nothing had satisfied him.
His agent, a friend of his parents, had given him a short list of things to drive by at the end of business today, and he had high hopes for one of them.
From the pictures, it looked really good.
But he’d been fooled before. Some brokers really knew what they were doing when they took pictures of properties, making even the smallest hovel seem like a polished gem.
That was okay, though. Trask wasn’t in too much of a hurry now. He could basically hide-out in the as-yet-to-open office and not be up his parents’ asses twenty-four/seven, so Trask felt he could be a little choosy.
“Of course I’ll meet them,” Trask continued. “What’s their ETA?”