Russell Moran: The Gray Ship

Ashley awoke before Jack. She took a quick shower, threw on a robe and went downstairs. As she walked into the kitchen she had a great idea. She would cook a country breakfast for herself and Jack. She rummaged through the well stocked refrigerator, piling ingredients on the counter.

A thought intruded. She had no idea how to cook. Anything. Can’t be that hard, she figured. Just common sense, right?

Jack came down a half hour later. Ashley placed a folded napkin over her left forearm, bowed and gestured toward the table with her right hand. She didn’t identify the offerings, which was just as well. They were unidentifiable. She and Jack leaned over and kissed, and then began eating.

The food was inedible.

At first they chuckled. Then they laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks.

“I’ll just toss this stuff in the lake,” Ashley said, still laughing. “Biodegradable, right?”

Jack envisioned hundreds of dead fish floating along the shoreline.

“That’s okay, Hon. I’ll just put it out in the trash.”

“I’ve got a place in mind that you’ll love,” said Jack. “There’s a great little restaurant down the lake. The food’s great and the view is almost as good as it is here. We’ll take the boat.”

As they boarded Wordsmith , Ashley ran her hand over the mahogany decking and the leather upholstery. Jack stood behind the wheel and turned the key, the boat’s inboard diesel engine growling to life. Ashley tossed off the lines and they motored down the lake. Rather than sit, Ashley chose to stand next to Jack as he steered the boat. For months on the California, they stole glances, blew kisses, and occasionally touched hands. Now, neither of them wanted to be apart from each other. She put her arm around his waist.

Jack maneuvered Wordsmith next to the dock at the restaurant, aptly named Lakeside. Ashley jumped onto the dock and secured the lines. I can’t cook, she thought, but I sure as hell know the ropes.

They were seated on the open deck, shaded by a stand of tall deciduous trees. The waiter brought two cups of steaming coffee while they perused the menu. Jack was right. The place was beautiful, and the view even better. They could almost see Jack’s house at the far end of the lake. Two snowy egrets patrolled the flats as if it were a buffet line, plucking fish and pointing their beaks skyward to swallow. Along the shoreline to the left, a great hawk circled, looking down for inattentive prey. A sailboat rocked in the distance, her sails luffing in the light morning wind.

The waiter came to take their orders.

They finished their breakfast, sat back and sipped coffee, while taking in the view and holding hands. Jack glanced down at an advertisement on the placemat.

“Hey Hon, it says here that there’s going to be a nineteenth-century antique fair at the old farm just down the road from my house. Sounds like fun. It’ll be like a trip to the past.”

“Shut up, Jack,” Ashley said, as she leaned over and kissed him.

“Let’s talk about the future.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

Russ Moran is the former CEO of Moran Publishing Company, a publisher of legal periodicals. He is a Navy Veteran, having served aboard the aircraft carrier USS Wasp. He has written two books of non-fiction, Justice in America: How it Works, How it Fails , and The APT Principle — The Business Plan that You Carry in Your Head. He is the former Chairman of the Board of Trustees of the Long Island Maritime Museum.

Russ lives on Long Island, New York with his wife Lynda.

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Copyright © 2013 by Russell F. Moran