Page 57 of The Sea-Mist Cottage Inn
Since we’d moved into the physical phase of our relationship, we’d started something like a paradigm, where we did ‘family’ stuff—that is, with Wyatt—at our place, and Roman and I did grownup stuff at his place. But Roman had surprised me last night by suggesting we do our little first-day-of-school ‘celebration’ at his place.
It seemed important to him; I hoped the reason wasn’t that he was tired of spending so much time at the Sea-Mist. We’d gotten it into livable shape fairly quickly, but it was a work in progress and would be for some time. It was the place we were trying to make our home, but even in its best possible condition it wouldn’t compete with Roman’s lovely, comfortable home.
Though they both were haunted in their own ways.
“Yep, your house,” I confirmed. “I’m going to Sprinkles before I head out to pick Wyatt and Bailey up. Do you have any cupcake requests?”
“Mexican hot chocolate for me, please.”
“Those sound amazing!” Sprinkles was Bluster’s answer to the cupcake-shop craze of about ten years ago. This would be my first time getting any of their product, but everybody talked about how great they were.
“They are,” Roman replied with a wise nod.
“I like the Boston cream, myself,” injected the customer at the case. He had the look (and smell) of a commercial fisherman, with a sun-roasted, leathery complexion. He wore weathered jeans, salt-kissed deck boots, and a faded t-shirt over a long, lanky frame. Ancient, washed-out tattoos covered his arms. A regular rubber band held his long, iron-grey hair in a ponytail.
He was old enough—he looked in about his sixties, though the ocean aged a body quickly—that I should have known him from the before times. In Bluster as, I think, in most coastaltowns, commercial fishing tends to be generational work. As a rule, people don’t suddenly quit their white-collar jobs and up and move to the coast to embark on the laborious and primarily thankless work of hauling in fish. Commercial fishermen are born to it.
I should have known this guy, but he did not look familiar to me—and he didn’t seem to recognize me, either.
“Boston cream sounds good, too,” I offered, still trying to figure him out.
“Percy, do you know Leo?” Roman asked.
That name was not familiar to me.
The fisherman named Percy smiled—he needed a dental bridge where he was missing two teeth on the left side of his mouth—and held out a work-rough hand. “By reputation only. I’m Percy Cantorini.”
I put my hand in his. “Hi, Percy. I’m Leo. I hope my reputation isn’t too tarnished.”
“Not at all,” he said. Then, with a sideways nod toward Roman, he added, “Mostly people are talking about how this guy’s walkin’ around town with a big ol’ goofy grin these days. That’s a good thing.”
Roman might actually have blushed. “Percy worked a crabber up in Alaska for a long time. He bought Jimmy Buck’s vessel after Jimmy passed on. About what? Eight years now?”
Percy nodded. “Yep, about that long.”
I remembered Jimmy Buck. He was a generally decent guy who turned into a fiercely mean drunk. And, of course, he was an alcoholic. My recollections of the man seesawed from the nice guy who’d buy all the kids in the market a sweet when he saw them and would stop traffic on 101 to help a turtle cross, to the psycho who tore up O’Grady’s three times a month.
“Is it still The Buck Stops Here?” I asked, remembering the name of Jimmy’s boat.
“Bad luck to change a vessel’s name,” Percy reminded me.
“Of course. What drew you to Bluster from Alaska?” The thing about living in a small town: everybody you don’t know is either passing through or somebody to get to know. Though for years I’d lived in a city big enough for anonymity, it didn’t take long to fall back into the small-talk patterns of small-town life.
Percy knew those patterns as well. “The cold and rough up there had me feelin’ older than my years. Had some savings, so I started looking for a vessel of my own, somewhere a little bit warmer, where the world itself isn’t always tryin’ to kill ya. This part of the world is perfect.”
“Yeah, it’s beautiful here,” I agreed.
“That what drew you back?”
I hadn’t yet formulated a way to answer that question from a Bluster resident who hadn’t known me before, and I only right in that moment realized I didn’t have a ready answer.
Into my pause as I tried to create one, Roman said, “What’ll you have today, Perce?” and pulled Percy’s attention away.
That was a rescue I was unambiguously grateful for.
As Percy placed his order for four hefty rib-eyes, I said, “Well, I need to get scooting. It was great to meet you, Percy!”
“And you, too, Leo. See you ‘round.”
