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Cara Lott’s philosophy was that it was never too late to teach someone to use their manners. Being a four-foot-eleven-inch-tall Vietnamese woman could have made her feel at a disadvantage around the burly, mostly male dockworkers, but based on her instructions, I was confident that she had the job well in hand. Thinking of her putting dozens of fishermen and dock workers in their place over the last three weeks since Dad’s surgery brought a smile to my face as well as a pang of guilt to my chest.
I should have come here sooner to help.
She had always been a force to be reckoned with and rarely showed weakness, but even my mother had her limits.
Everyone did.
I forced my arms above my head, stretching my tired muscles as I attempted to soak in the undeniable Zen of the Gulf. The sun had risen, and the tones of the sky had changed from a soft, almost melancholy blue to hazy, eye-squint-inducing yellows and golds. The quiet of the waves lulled my mind back to the other members of my family.
Everyone I love is safe, I assured myself, visualizing each of them. A voice in the back of my mind tried to add its own commentary, but I pushed it out into the open water.
I didn’t need to be reminded that safe and well weren’t the same.
No long-term decisions need to be made today. I can, and will, take it day by day.
A valuable reminder that I’d picked up from Dad’s AA book that was reinforced by hours of therapy.
My ass is asleep because this plastic crate is not meant to be a chair. A numbing, grounding truth.
My breathing slowed again as the world around me seemed to do the same. The exercise had done its job and left me feeling like I’d grabbed a piece of the water’s Zen and a piece of my quiet life in Gulf Shores, where my little waterfront condo quietly waited for my return.
A life that, compared to here on this stretch of the Coast, was… boring.
Expected.
Empty.
I turned the stun gun over in my hands and frowned, the exact descriptors my idle thoughts had provided giving me pause.
Did I really see my life that way? I was indifferent to the thought that I might be considered boring. Mostly because of all the comments from classmates, extended family members, and more recently co-workers about my “old soul.” Those comments had never really bothered me, but there had been a thought in the back of my mind for a while now that my pursuit of peace and predictability had produced a bigger issue.
Stagnation.
And that idea broadcasted louder in my mind with each day I spent on the Coast surrounded by, and interacting with, a whole new variety of people.
The ones who frequented the Coast were what you would probably expect from a casino town that isn’t Vegas. A hodgepodge of senior citizens, retirees, businessmen going through their scheduled midlife crises, and young twentysomethings chasing a high.
Even the staff at the casinos and resorts seemed happy despite working in an environment the entire foundation of which was built on uncertainty and risk.
Lately, the intricacies of the people and culture of the Coast were in constant rotation in my mind. Liem’s late-night wanderings had dragged me into Fortuna and several of its neon-lit neighbors multiple times over the last few weeks. He was completely enamored with the atmosphere and had given himself over to the energy here. I shuddered to think of how much that would escalate when he turned twenty-one, which was very soon.
The slight waves lapped at the docks, the sound repetitive and expected.
I knew in my heart of hearts that I might always prefer the calm, the expected.
But the more I saw of this place, the more I understood my brother.
And wondered if it might be time to get comfortable with a little chaos.
Figuring now was as good of a time as any, I heaved myself off the crate and pocketed the stun gun on my way to the boats that were slowly making their way to the docks.
Because nothing said “embrace the chaos” like haggling with a group of stranger-averse, superstitious fishermen.
I shuffled toward them until concrete became wooden dock, edging toward a group of guys I’d socialized with a handful of times.
If loitering in the same area on a semi-regular schedule could be considered socializing.
The oldest of the group spotted me first. “Would ya looky there, fellas? Batman has come out of his cave.”
