Nick stood with his hands on the wooden railing. He looked down at the docks below him. About half the slips were full. The summer was over and many of the boats had been moved further south for the winter.
The tour was over, as well. At least, the North American part. The Boys were heading to Europe in a week to continue spreading the Backstreet message.
Nick shifted his weight to his left leg. His right leg was completely healed, and he could dance and jump around the stage like he used to. But sometimes, when he stood still for a long period, his calf tightened up and got stiff.
Nick was waiting for his boat broker, Carl Henry, to bring him the papers for his new boat. All of the red tape was finally out of the way. The insurance company had paid off on the Lenore. The police investigation was over. Mickey’s death had been ruled a homicide and Peter Crofton named as the killer. The Sunset Voyager had made it to Florida to its rightful owners.
Nick heard voices behind him. Nick turned to see an elderly couple making their way down the dock. Nick looked past them, and his face lit up. Walking toward him was Jordana Miles.
“Hey, Baby!” he said, holding out his arms.
The elderly woman looked startled, and she also looked tempted to take the young man up on his offer. Her husband harrumphed and grabbed his wife’s elbow, marching her past.
Jo burst out laughing. She stepped into Nick’s arms and hugged him. “Still picking up chicks, I see,” she said.
Nick laughed. “Hey, what can I say? When you got it, you got it!”
They stood together, each waiting for the other to let go first. They stood there for a long time.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~After the Coast Guard rescued them, they were flown by helicopter to the naval base. Nick’s wound was looked after, and they were interviewed by various and sundry law enforcement officers.
It took a while to make everyone understand the story, especially since Nick and Jo had ended up on the Sunset Voyager and Pete on the Lenore. Nick’s phone call to the police had told it the other way around, and when the Coast Guard had first arrived on the scene, they had held guns on Nick and Jo until they could explain who they were.
A forensics team gathered up what remained of the Lenore. There wasn’t much, and there was no sign of Pete’s body. The officer in charge told Nick and Jo that the gas tanks were in the rear of the boat, right under the dinghy and Pete's body had probably been obliterated in the blast.
They journeyed to Fayetteville and turned Mickey’s cell phone over to the police. Nick stayed for the funeral and then flew to Florida, where four very anxious men were waiting to hear his story. Rehearsals started for the tour. Nick talked to Jo on the phone every day or so, checking to make sure that she was all right. Nick figured post-traumatic stress would set in at some point with Jo.
It had with him. It was in the middle of rehearsal. Nick stepped the wrong way, sending a shooting pain up his right leg. He stopped and gasped and swore. He grabbed at his leg and looked over at the others. The care and concern on their faces overwhelmed him, and he sat down on the floor and cried like a baby. The next thing he knew, he felt arms around him, and there were five men sitting in a huddle crying.
When they were done, Nick said that he had to take a couple of days off but that he’d be back on Friday. He was and he brought Jo with him. She stayed with him during the period of rehearsals and traveled with him for the first part of the tour. Then she went home to start her job.
The Boys, especially Kevin, thought it was a good thing that she had gone home. Whether or not their relationship was real or just a by-product of the traumatic events they had shared would be determined by time and distance. So Nick sang and danced his way around the country, and Jo followed him on the Internet and talked to him on the phone.
When Nick’s new boat was ready, he called Jo and asked her if she wanted to come to Calabash and see it off. Nick wasn’t driving it to Florida this time. He had hired someone to do it, someone who he had checked out thoroughly. Or at least, Bernie had.
When Nick watched Jo walk along the dock, he knew that his future was walking toward him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~“Ahem!” Carl Henry cleared his throat. It was obvious that neither of the two young people had heard him approach.
“Oh, hey, Carl! How’s it going?” Nick removed his lips from Jordana but not his arms.
“Fine, just fine, Mr. Carter. I’ve got everything here. It’s all squared away.”
Nick’s new boat was just that…brand new. The insurance money was enough that he could replace the Lenore with a slightly smaller model built new. The only changes Nick had made were to the artwork…there was no sailboat picture…and the name.
“So you finally figured out the perfect name, did you?” asked Jo. She and Nick had discussed this in several phone calls.
“Yep,” said Nick. “I surely did.”
“What is it?” she asked, with a laugh. “Weird World? Safest Place to Hide? Poster Girl?”
“See for yourself,” said Nick, stepping aside and turning Jo toward the boat.
Jo looked down at the name. “It’s perfect,” she said. “Just perfect.”
The name painted on the back of the boat was Lenore 2.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~In Marseilles, France, the clerk walked up to the counter.
“Et voila, Monsieur Cartwright. The money has arrived.” he said. “If you would just sign here and here, the boat, she is all yours.”
The clerk watched the dark-haired man pick up the pen. On the back of his right hand, the man had a triangular scar that wasn’t quite healed.
“That looks like it was painful, monsieur,” said the clerk, nodding at the scar.
“Yes,” said the man. “It was.” He paused and then added, “I had an accident.”
He picked up the pen and signed the papers…James Preston Cartwright. Then he reached across the counter and picked up the keys. He nodded goodbye to the clerk.
“Enjoy your boat, Monsieur Cartwright,” said the clerk.
“Oh, I will. I will,” said Mr. Cartwright. “I earned it.”
The End
