Flintkote
Copyright© 2020 by Old Man with a Pen
Chapter 43
The burger was exactly as expected ... perfection. The meat was juicy, not quite cooked clear through, the pickle spears were crunchy, the lettuce was torn not cut, the caraway bun was thick, the condiments tasty. The vinegar was tart, salty and hinted at sweet. Followed by the root-beer, the meal was worth the 23 miles.
Max was polite ... poor soul. He had no idea ... but we never do.
A second root-beer in hand, they repaired to the back deck and watched the Lightning class sailboats drop spinnakers, round the Mill buoy and beat for the line and gun. The Optimist class had finished their single lap while the Lightnings were on their third.
The Club was a flurry of young sailors dismantling their craft and racking or trailering them out of the way of ‘the big boys.’ Parents were allowed to help until the young sailor turned 10 ... after 10 it was do it yourself ... learn responsibilities.
Thinking out loud, “I want my boys to learn to sail,” she said.
“I want my girls to learn to sail,” he said, thinking out loud.
They both smiled.
Neither of them noticed they had said it like twins.
Over Père Marquette Lake, the Ultimate was upside down and in the middle of a ‘square cornered’ loop, when Tyche said, “Yet.” Her smile was simultaneous with and mirrored the smiles at Pentwater.
She centered the stick.
The plane obeyed the four year old girl in the pipe seat. The pipe had been moved from the dock to the deck of the Flint. She wasn’t in the way of the charter boats.
“Come home little bird,” she said. “It’s quarter to seven. the Badger is entering the mole. It wouldn’t do to crash it. Might hurt someone. Daddy?”
“Yes Tyche?”
“Is the drive clear?”
“I’ll check the radar.”
“No ... you should land on the lot to the west.”
“Are those awful boys over there?”
The little plane had escaped some eight year old kids bent on catching the craft just this morning...”Dawn Patrol” she called her early morning practice. Up and down before the 9am sailing of the SS Badger.
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