Chapter Twenty-Two
Lennon
S ebastian and I run to the butcher shop at the wharf to pick up four bone-in rib eye steaks and then pop into the market for potatoes, zucchini, and onions while the girls take a sleepy Leia in for a shower and a nap.
“I think Gramps is going to retire at the end of this season,” he says as we make our way back to the cabana.
“Sebby? Retire? Yeah, right,” I say.
“I’m serious. This morning, he asked me and Anson if we knew anyone who had boating experience and was looking for a job. He’s been scheduling himself for charters less and less. He doesn’t do any deep seas anymore, sticking to brackish waters only. I think he’s ready to hang up his captain’s hat.”
“I can’t see him sitting at home all day,” I say.
He and Nana are getting up there in age, sure, but they’re both still spry.
“I don’t think he intends to do that, but he wants to slow down. Show up when he wants, goof off with Donnie Dale, and just relax and fish for fun,” he explains.
I nod. That makes sense.
My first earliest memories of Gramps are of him having fun, standing tall and strong at the helm of his old fishing boat, The Minnow’s Heart . He was as much a part of it as the ropes and sails. I’d sit on a crate near the stern, legs dangling over the edge, watching the waves cut through the hull as we cruised out of the harbor before dawn. Gramps always called the sea “our true north,” and he said that old boat was our compass, always pointing the way forward, no matter the weather. Sebastian and I learned a lot back then. Gramps may be a quiet man, but he didn’t need words to teach us. We learned by watching him. His hands, thick and scarred from years of hauling nets, coiling rope and checking engines. “Watch the birds, boys,” he’d say, nodding toward the seagulls circling overhead. “They know where the fish are.” He’d stand at the bow, scanning the horizon with those sharp blue eyes of his, the one’s that both Sebastian and I inherited, like he could read the ocean better than any map or radar ever could. He trusted his instincts and we trusted him. That’s what makes him such a good captain, and a good grandfather. The best. He didn’t just lead, he let us find our own way, even if it meant messing up a few knots or dropping a line too soon. He’d just chuckle, and the sound made us feel like nothing could go wrong as long as Gramps was there. I miss that old boat, she was the one that he started the charter company with, and she’s been retired for many years now. She wasn’t big, but she was sturdy. You could hear every groan and creak in her bones. Gramps convinced us that the boat was alive, that you could feel her mood if you paid close enough attention. Sebastain and I would lie on our bellies with our ears to the deck and try so hard to listen. The thought makes me laugh now. If she did speak, she had her own language and only Sebby could understand it.
I wonder where The Minnow’s Heart is now?
“Maybe you could come to work a few charters,” Sebastian says, pulling me from my memories.
“Sure. But I’m only here for two more weeks.”
“No. I was just thinking, if you do move back and take that job on Oak Island, you could come on part-time. Work a couple of days a week. You said the Coast Guard would be four ten-hour days, right?”
“I haven’t worked on a fishing boat since I was in high school, Seb.”
He shrugs. “It’s like riding a bike. If you can captain one of those big ole Navy ships, you can captain one of our vessels.”
Those days on the boat with Gramps, observing the life he carved out on those waters, the respect he had for it, is what drove me to enlist. He taught me that the sea wasn’t something you conquered—it was something you worked with. Something you learned to understand.
“I don’t know, brother. The Coast Guard isn’t a sure thing yet, and Wade wants me to buy into his business. But one thing is for sure: I need to come home because I don’t want to get the call one day that Sebby’s gone and I missed his last years,” I say.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Gramps doesn’t have a foot in the grave,” he bellows.
“We all have a foot in the grave, Seb. It’s a matter of time, and no one is guaranteed more than the rest of us. I just don’t want any regrets.”
“I can think of one little girl who would be thrilled to have her uncle around—and a few big girls too,” he says. “Speaking of which, how’s it going, playing house?”
“Fine.”
“Just fine, huh?”
I cut my eyes to him. “What answer are you looking for?”
“Avie seems to think that something is happening between you and Amiya. Something more than fine.”
“Did that come from Amiya?” I ask.
“Don’t know. Just thought you should be aware in case you need to steer that ship in a different direction.”
I chuckle under my breath. “Noted.”
He smirks. “Good talk. We should do this more often.”
When we arrive home with the groceries, the girls are seated at the island, watching a video on Amiya’s laptop of a woman arranging items on a fancy decorated pub table.
“It’s a Bloody Mary bar. We can have bacon and shrimp skewers, lemon and lime wedges, a variety of stuffed olives, pickled okra, jalape?os, Worcestershire sauce and Tabasco, tomato and Clamato juices, and a few vodka options. Then a mimosa and Bellini bar for the lightweights,” Amiya says.
“Mom is going to veto this,” Avie states.
“She doesn’t have veto power. It’s your bridal shower. If you want this, I’ll make it happen. If you don’t, I’ll think of something else to make things interesting,” Amiya assures her.
“What do you think, babe?” Avie asks Sebastian.
“I get a vote?” he asks, as he rounds the island and leans in to look at the screen.
“Yeah, it’s a coed shower,” she says.
“Shouldn’t it be called a bridal and groomal shower, then?” he asks.
“Groomal? What the hell is groomal?” Amiya asks.
“What the hell is a coed shower?” I ask in return.
She thinks about it for a minute. “I see where you’re coming from. But let’s be honest; you boys are only invited so you can help set up, clean up, and load the gifts into the car afterwards.”
“In that case, I vote for a beer bar,” Sebastian says.
“Beer bar? You mean a cooler full of beer?” Amiya asks.
“No, I mean a bar with a variety of beers—cans and bottles, frozen mugs, openers, and koozies,” he replies.
“So, a cooler full of beer and things to open them with. You got it, handsome. Now, what’s your vote on the Bloody Mary bar?” she asks.
“Yes,” he affirms, then looks at me. “I get my beer, and she called me handsome.”
“He’s so easy,” Amiya mutters.
I roll my eyes at him. “Come on, handsome. Grab a beer, and let’s throw those steaks on the grill,” I command.
“Can I brush the stuff on?”
Leia, who woke up from her nap, is now standing on a chair next to me so she can watch me cook.
“I don’t know, munchkin. The grill is really hot,” I say.
“Gramps lets me do it,” she says.
“Well, Gramps is braver than I am.”
She wrinkles her nose. “You’re big and strong and fight bad guys. You’re big-time brave. Like Thor,” she declares.
“More like Popeye,” Sebastian quips as he comes out the door, carrying a cast-iron pan of melted butter.
“Who?” Leia asks.
“He’s a sailor man who eats his spinach to make his muscles grow.”
“Auntie Miya says if I eat my vegetables, my boobies will grow,” she reveals.
“What? You don’t need to—you … are fine. What?” Sebastian sputters.
Leia looks at him like he’s grown another head.
“Our next kid had better be a boy,” he mumbles under his breath.
Avie brings us a couple of glasses of iced tea and checks on our progress.
“Potatoes are almost done, and the steaks are about to go on,” I say.
“Where’s Amiya?” Sebastian asks.
“In her room, catching up on some work. Why?”
“Do you know what she told our daughter would happen if she ate her vegetables?” he whispers.
“What?”
“That she would get bigger in this area.” He gestures to Avie’s chest.
She bursts into laughter. “That’s brilliant. I was wondering why she had been cleaning her plate lately.”
I move the potatoes to the top rack to keep them warm, brush the steaks down with the melted butter, and season them with garlic, salt, and pepper before tossing them on the grill.
Avie takes Leia inside to get washed up.
Fifteen minutes later, dinner’s ready, as I carry a tray of meat inside, Amiya emerges from her room. Her face pale and her hands shaking as she reaches out and steadies herself on a barstool.
“Everything okay?” Avie asks, as she picks up on her friend’s distress.
“My grandmother fell and broke her hip,” she sputters.
“Oh no. Is she okay?”
“They have her sedated,” she says.
“Is that good?” Avie asks, her eyes flitting from Amiya to me.
I shrug.
“I guess. I’m not sure,” Amiya says.
“Do we need to go to Atlanta?”
Amiya’s glistening eyes go round and she shakes her head.
“No. It’s two weeks before your wedding. I booked a flight for tomorrow. I’m going to fly down and be there to meet with her doctors and discuss her treatment, and then I’ll fly right back,” she says.
Avie pulls her phone from her back pocket. “What flight are you on?”
“What are you doing?” Amiya asks.
“Texting my boss and booking a flight.”
“Avie, you can’t—”
Avie’s eyes snap to her. “I’m not letting you go alone. Now, what flight are you on?”
“American, leaving Wilmington at six in the morning, direct flight into Hartsfield-Jackson.”