Chapter 30

I looked at the overhead. Nope ... not my boat. I stretched ... luxuriously ... I am, after all, my mother’s child. Gee, mom ... you could have told me. Then I tried to stand. OW! That’s why. Yes mom. Those parts haven’t gotten much exercise. Oh ... blood on the thighs. Yes mom ... I have did the dastardly deed ... finally! 22 ... yup about time.

The smell of good coffee assaulted my nose and I was suddenly starving. It was like I hadn’t eaten in days. I wanted ... breakfast ... Eggs, three ... over easy, cathead biscuit, maybe two and redeye gravy. No ... just one biscuit ... but a pile of hash browns ... yeah ... with Texas Pete ... no tobasco. Two rashers of soft bacon ... not crisp. Buttered toast to sop up the runaways. A big water glass of mango orange juice.

Sure, I could eat it all and wash it down with coffee.

But ... I’d settle for coffee and toast.

A step and movement at the hatch.

“Ah ... you’re awake,” he said.

Two mugs of steaming coffee, one in each hand. How he managed to keep them level with the rocking and rolling his boat was doing I’ll never know. I’d been at sea or living aboard for 12 years and I know I couldn’t do it. At the very best I could fetch and carry half a mug and not spill it.

“Naked or sweet?”

“Brand?”

“You never heard of it,” he said. “Black or cream and sugar?” he asked again.

“Ah,” I said, “You only get one shot...” I thought a second, “Or maybe not. Black.”

Black was the one in his right hand. He passed it over. I took a sip.

“Ooo ... french press...”

“What?”

“Best coffee in the world. Grounds barely covered with 170 degree water ... let set to allow the gas in the grounds to dissipate ... usually a minute, minute and a half. The gas in the grounds is what makes coffee acidic. Add water depending on the amount of grounds, install the plunger and plunge ... push. Decant and serve. Coffee tastes like someone added chocolate and the coffee is semi-sweet ... like this,” I took another sip. “It’s very good.” I smiled.

He wasn’t smiling. He was looking at the bloodspot on the sheets. I looked too.

“Oops.”

“You could have said.”

“Umh...”

“You’re 22 nearly 23. Why is a woman as beautiful as you still a virgin...”

“Was...”

“Don’t interrupt,” he said.

“Will if I want,” I said.

That got a glare. “As I was saying...”

“It’s not like I haven’t had my chances ... don’t look at me like that. This is my story to tell ... so ... shut it!

“My sister, Cyn ... lived up to her name. She found out ... she was probably 12 ... that she had something she could use to get what she wanted ... and she wanted a lot. We had money ... money can’t buy love. Well ... it didn’t take her too long to find out that sex didn’t either ... then it was just an itch to scratch.

“I was always the responsible one ... and I wasn’t my sister. A couple of her guys found out I wasn’t like her ... and paid dearly for trying to prove I was.

“I don’t know how you got me ... but you did.” I looked at him ... squinted even... “It doesn’t matter how I look at you ... you are nothing like the man of my dreams.

“You know ... I might be pregnant.”