Fire Trap

8 - The Roarks on their boat

When Sally answered the phone, her voice was slurred with sleep, "Dad who? He's not here."

"Sally, it's ten o'clock. Wake up."

"I'm awake," she protested, "Oh... it's you. You ruined my only morning to sleep in."

"How are things going?" It had only been two days, but I liked to check in a few times a week when away. Those calls and Arnie's input usually gave me a pretty clear picture.

"Is Billy there?"

"No. Billy wanted to sleep over at David's, but I said 'not while you're away', so he went over there this morning at eight. No 'over- nights' is a stupid rule."

"Most rules seem stupid most of the time," I agreed, "but, every once in a while, after you break one, you'll look back and say, 'Oh, that's why it was a rule.' Of course, if that should happen, you'd never admit it to the person who made the rule."

"Of course not."

"Did you look at costumes with Jasper?"

"We went to three places, Western Costume, Nan's Glad Rags, and Sylvia's. None of them had what we needed, but Nan wanted to bid on creating them. I suggested we do the play in modern dress and avoid the whole problem."

"What? Fiddler on the Roof in modern day dress? Would you change the locale to New York too?"

"You could!"

"Why not change the title to West Side Story."

"It was just an idea. Jasper didn't like it either."

"Let's stick to finding Russian peasant costumes. You might go to the library for some ideas. I'm going sailing on San Francisco Bay this afternoon."

"Tough job. Mom called."

"Oh," I said. This was hardly ever good news.

"She wants us to visit her in August, in New York. At first, Mom wanted July, but I suggested August because of the play."

"New York in August? You won't be going outside much." Rachel had given me custody years ago, but she had visitation rights and every once in a while she sprang them on me. Every time was like reopening an old wound. It meant conversations with her about the trip. She was usually agreeable enough, as long as I paid, but talking to her had a bad effect on me. The problem was her voice. She had a beautiful voice. Some people say that smell is the most powerful stimulator of memory, but, for me, Rachel's voice was like opening a time capsule to a part of my life that I've tried hard to seal off. "I'll talk to her when I get back," I said. "Well, I just wanted to touch base. You have my number if you need me. Sweet dreams."

"Love you, too."

#

I wasn't able to park anywhere near the marina. The drizzly mist blowing by me as I walked to the docks made me doubly thankful I had taken Mr. Roark 's advice and purchased a windbreaker. Being from rainy Portland, it didn't even cross my mind to put the hood up.

I was wearing Nikes, jeans and a blue pullover. With the yellow windbreaker, I was quite comfortable in the nasty mist. Great day for sailing, I thought. The Sea Genie was right where Mr. Roark had said, but I stopped for a minute before going aboard.

The ship was forty-six feet of modern sailboat with very little wood. The single mast towered above me, rising from a sweeping deck of knurled white fiberglass. Chrome and white predominated, with a single blue line trimming the sides a foot below the rails. The craft looked as if it could take on any ocean and slice right through.