1
Jason
This is the worst best decision I’ve ever made, Jason Winters thought for the hundredth time. His fingers slipped through the bowline knot with ease and he wrapped the thin rope around his wrist as he let it slack bit by bit, allowing his inflatable dinghy to fall back into the water from where he’d hitched it at the bow.
It was eight o’clock in the morning, and Jason was out of coffee. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d run out of coffee, only that stocking up again had never involved taking a small sea voyage before.
This was the biggest drawback to yacht living, from what Jason had experienced so far. Every time he needed something from the store, he had to take the dinghy out and fight through the hordes of tourists. He had his own golf cart he kept parked with all the others at the pier. He tried to use it only when necessary. It had taken some getting used to the golf cart, and he still felt ridiculous at forty-two years-old motoring around in a golf cart on the narrow streets of Catalina Island, even though lots of people did it. He’d picked up an electric model his second day on the island. There was a giant sunflower painted on the hood. That didn’t make him feel secure in his manhood either.
The boat was a 2001 Carver 396, and it was squat and a little tall. It looked as if someone had taken a bigger boat and smooshed it, giving it a snub-nosed appearance. It had a small stateroom on the upper deck behind and below the cockpit where Jason could slide the screens back and grill and get sun, and a much larger stateroom on the lower deck he’d half converted into an office. There was a kitchenette and a breakfast nook and a bedroom with cabinets and shelving built into the walls where Jason slept every night, gently rocked by the current.
Jason bought the boat with the proceeds of his house sale after divorcing Alyssa and deciding he needed a fresh start. His best friend, Cal, had called this the weirdest and worst financial decision he could have made. Jason just laughed.
The yacht’s name was Morty. It wasn’t what Jason would have named a boat, but he liked that his new home came with its own name, even if Morty seemed like an odd one.
It was a chilly morning and Jason blew into his hands as he steered the dinghy to the little dock where there was plenty of room to park for once, it being so early. He tied off and climbed out to the dock and then up the metal ramp to the big pier where the old-fashioned fish and chips place and all the little shops were just starting their day.
Jason slipped on his aviators and shoved his hands in the pockets of the baggy shorts he wore with an oversized hoodie. He felt little out of place seeing the other rich types from the yacht club on their way to breakfast as he headed out to the main drag on Crescent Avenue. It didn’t make much sense, since he owned a yacht himself. But that was different, a fluke. He wasn’t a real yacht person. He was a casual yacht person.
Jason decided to walk instead of taking the golf cart. It was a short walk to Jet’s, his favorite coffee shop on Crescent Avenue, and it would do his sore leg good.
He planned to wake up with a strong, dark roast. Then he’d go grocery shopping. Then he’d go back to his boat and start writing. For sure. It was still early. There was an entire day to devote to writing.
Jason turned on his sandaled heel and began making his way down the street.
He was an imposing figure, even with the subtle limp that interrupted his gait. He was a retired homicide detective on disability, and he looked like an aging superhero. Since the shooting, he’d stopped working out so often and his muscles were still there but less defined. There were softer parts on his body now, but he was solid in a way that still intimidated. His hair was dark blond and buzzed close to his scalp. He also had a week’s beard growth that he liked to keep on top of before it raged out of control. He had a square jaw, bright blue eyes, and had never wanted for attention.
He kept meaning to exercise more. It was difficult to work out on the boat, beyond arm days. But he swam a lot and there was a good gym behind Crescent Avenue. He’d vowed to make it there a few times a week if he could.
Jason had only been living on the island for two weeks, and he had already made several vows.
I vow to write three thousand words a day.
Well, that vow was already broken.
I vow to find a venue for making a few new friends in town.
Nope. He hadn’t even attempted that yet, and he didn’t know where to start.
I vow to call Alyssa and let her know how I am, so things don’t get weird between us.
Good job, buddy. Nope. He hadn’t done that either.
It was too bad he hadn’t vowed to make vows, he thought. He strode down the quaintly decorated sidewalk, smiling tightly and scooting around early rising tourists. Somehow it gave him a thrill to be doing something as regular as going to get coffee and tasting the ocean on his tongue. Maybe that was because he’d grown up in Wisconsin. He was twenty-seven the first time he saw the Pacific Ocean after moving to L.A. All for Alyssa. Oops.
Jason spotted a group of attractive young men who appeared to be three gay couples if their clasped hands and casual kisses meant anything. Jason swallowed.
“Hey, daddy,” one guy said to Jason, tossing him a wink. He had his arm around another guy. The other guy didn’t look jealous either. He was smiling slyly.
Jason only nodded and walked on. He quickened his pace to the coffee shop. His leg was feeling good about the walk and that made him smile. For a while, after getting shot, he’d thought he might never walk more than a block in a day. Swimming seemed to help. Everybody had told him sea air would do him good. He couldn’t think why. It sounded like an old-fashioned sentiment; “take him to the sea for his gout.”
He’d take a gunshot wound over gout. Depending on the wound.
“Need a ride?” A pedi-cab rode up to him, peddling slowly beside Jason as he walked. The guy on the bike looked young, not more than mid-twenties. He was giving Jason the once over. Jason glanced at him through his shades. The guy had a charming smile. His bright white teeth gleamed from beneath laughing eyes and a slightly crooked nose. He had warm brown skin and a mop of messy dark hair.
“I’m good, thank you,” Jason said. He tried to smile genuinely.
“You need directions or anything?” the guy said, tilting his head. Jason wondered if he was angling for a tip in exchange for advice. “You’re not a tourist,” the kid declared.
“No,” Jason said. He stopped, sticking his hands in his pockets, and the pedi-cab pulled up beside him. “How d'you know that?”
“I can always tell.” His eyes sparkled when he grinned, like he had a secret. “It’s like gaydar. What’re you looking for?”
Jason tittered and took off his shades to rub his eyes. “Coffee. And lots of it.”
“Wow, you have really pretty eyes,” the kid said. He was giving him that look. It was the same look that Jason got so often from guys. Jason cleared his throat and tried to look more heterosexual. “Coffee!” The cabby clapped his hands. “Okay, well don’t go to Jet’s at the end of Crescent—”
“No?” Jason frowned. “That’s where I was going.”
“Right, because it looks cool from the outside, and it has comfy chairs. But the coffee sucks. Don’t tell Jet I said so. The sandwiches there are good, and they have good lemonade and desserts. So, go there to eat, but not to drink coffee. Coffee, you want to go to Big Boba.”