Page 10 of Weston’s Treasure

“Why a professional mariner?” he asked, pulling my attention from inspecting the interior of the Jeep. Which, just to add, was sparse. No radio, no bells and whistles of a new car, nothing. It was bare bones and weirdly it fit Weston.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about his personal question but I answered anyway.

“My dad—”

“You’re gonna have to speak up, babe.”

I started again, this time loud enough he could hear me over the street noise. “My dad is a boat captain. Has been most of his life. When I was growing up he wanted me to take over his dive business but the thought of taking inexperienced divers out day in and day out had no appeal. He’s also a part-time treasure hunter—always chasing the next big find. So even though I knew I didn’t want to follow in my dad’s footsteps I loved the water. And up until that point I’d lived on boats my whole life—”

“Lived on boats?” Weston cut me off.

“Yep. From the day I was brought home from the hospital to the day I left for maritime college. The first week I lived on dry land was a little strange.”

I left out the part about how I couldn’t sleep because the bed was too soft and too still. And the sounds freaked me out. I was used to being lulled to sleep by the rocking of the sea and the constant thrum of the engine noise that drown out all other sounds.

“And your mom?”

After all these years my reaction was involuntary and immediate. It happened every time someone asked about her and I was grateful Weston’s eyes were on the road and he couldn’t see how my body stiffened at the mention of her. “Is she a waterman, too?”

“I’m not sure what she is,” I told him, trying to keep my voice neutral.

“Come again?”

“She left when I was ten to go live in Florida. She’d come back and visit every few months and stay on the boat until she couldn’t take it anymore and leave again. When I was about fifteen she stopped coming around altogether. Two years later my dad was served with divorce papers and that was the last he heard from her.”

“Last he heard from her? What about you?”

“She ceased to exist for me when I was fifteen.”

“Damn, Silver, I’m sorry.”

I wasn’t, I was happy she left when she did and wanted nothing to do with me. Her last visit had been horrific. She and my dad had argued the whole time, and before she left, she told me I was nothing more than a water rat and would end up exactly like my dad—a loser with nothing to show for my life.

“Nothing to be sorry about. It was a long time ago, and trust me, my dad and I were better off with her gone.”

If it was so long ago, why do you still dwell on it?

I mentally chastised myself for going there and struggled to find something to steer the conversation away from my bitch of a mother.

“What about you?” I asked. “The Navy, huh? Did you always want to go into the military?”

“Yep. Though I thought I was gonna join the Air Force. I grew up in Montgomery, Alabama, next to Maxwell Air Force base. My mom’s a teacher and used to volunteer on the base as a STEM advisor, and my dad coached a youth baseball team on the base as well. Since my dad was the coach I got to play on the team. It was love at first sight. I knew then being on that base, seeing the comradery, feeling the sense of purpose and community, that the military was for me. I started learning everything I could about the military entrance exam, I studied day and night so I’d be ready to take the ASVAB. Mom wanted me to go to college first and enlist as an officer. Dad recognized I had no interest in going to college first and made me a deal. He’d support me, even sign the papers to allow me to enlist at seventeen if I promised to get a degree as soon as my GI bill came available.”

I was so enthralled with Weston’s story I barely noticed we were already in Chesapeake City going over the high-rise bridge.

“You can’t leave me hanging,” I complained. “What happened next?”

Weston chuckled and much to my surprise I found I really liked the sound. It was deep and rich and wholly manly.

Damn him.

Maybe I didn’t want to hear the rest of his story. Maybe I was better off thinking he was an animatronic robot who didn’t have what sounded like a good family, a past, a real life. It was easier to think of him as an unfeeling jerk who thought I was incompetent and unworthy of being a part of his operation.

“I took the ASVAB my senior year, scored exceptionally well, thanks in part to all my studying. The other part is credited to my school teacher mom who thought anything less than a four-point-oh GPA was unacceptable. My recruiter took one look at my ASVAB and PT scores and told me I’d be perfect for Special Reconnaissance. Once he’d mentioned special forces, I began to research more and found the Navy was where I wanted to be. The Air Force recruiter was not happy when I showed up with my parents a week later and signed a Navy contract.”

“I bet the recruiter was unhappy, but it sounds like you made the right choice.”

“Yeah, I did. Couldn’t imagine my life any other way.”