S. Welles - To Ocean's End

Being called that made her feel beautiful inside and out. It made her feel desirable, even after all she’d been through. She pushed around a couple pieces of romaine and began talking about her life. It was less pleasant after her father’s death. Before that it was happy enough, even while watching her mother slowly deteriorate from MS.

“My parents were a happy couple. My mom stayed home to raise me and my dad ran his own fruit orchard. Mostly wine grapes. I’m from Paphos, which is in the southwest corner of Cyprus. Beautiful countryside with lots of green hills and ocean views. I really miss it. But what I don’t miss are the few gangs that ruined lots of lives. Their violence came in waves, like my mom’s MS. She died a few years before my dad at the age of forty four. Once the quasi-children killed my dad, I had to get away.” She shook her head. “I never should’ve left.”

Mido scooted closer, making his chair scrape along the cement. No one paid the racket any mind. He wrapped an arm around her. “I wish I knew what to say to make the bad memories go away.”

She leaned against him. “You don’t have to say anything. Your company more than suffices.” She rested her head on his shoulder and he rested his cheek on her head.

“Well that’s a relief. I’m lousy with words sometimes.”

She laughed softly. “Me, too.”

They finished their lunches, then split some mint ice cream with fudge, crumbled cookies, and whipped cream on top for dessert. They took turns taking spoonfuls all the way down to the last scoop. Mido happily covered the tab and they took some waters to go.

Stomachs full, they headed farther inland at Jessie’s request. The plan was, once she was on her own, to stick to land until Egypt, and then hop a boat for the final stretch. Mido and crew were tied to their ship.

Walking around Revivre became progressively easier to the point where Jessie no longer felt the need to hold hands anymore. However, she held on. She tried to convince herself it was so she wouldn’t generate any suspicion, but she knew deep down she didn’t want to let go. The closer she drew to the unspecified moment of their parting, the tighter she wanted to hold on.

A few miles into their meandering, she pulled them to a halt. She’d heard train horns. This was close enough. Any closer and Mido might figure out where she would run off to—not that it’d be that hard, since the entire crew knew she was dead set on seeing home again.

She let go of his hand and stood before him. “Mido.”

He gave her his full attention with his gentle blue eyes.

She looked at the ground. “I have to go now.”

“To…?” He pointed with a thumb in the direction of the ship.

“Home,” she said. “I can’t go through with helping lift the curse if it means that much danger. I don’t want any of you dying because of me.” Mido began to voice his protest. Jessie got up on her toes and covered his lips with hers. That shut him up. He blinked a few times, then pulled her closer and returned the kiss. She pressed her hips and abdomen flat against him and he wrapped his arms around her.

She pulled away before the kissing lasted too long. It left them both gasping for breath. Mido licked his lips and leaned in for another round, but Jessie put a finger over his mouth. “No more. This is already hard enough. You’ve helped me so much. Now I return the favor by making yours and everyone else’s lives safer.”

He took hold of the hand in front of his mouth. “Jessie, that’s not a valid reason. Our lives aren’t your responsibility.”

“The level of danger considerably drops if you remove me from the situation. I say you’re wrong.” She peeled her body from his.

“And I say you’re as wrong as all those times you tried to tell me you weren’t hungry. Just stay until Cyprus at the very least.” He kissed her hand.

“I’ve already made up my mind. I’m telling you out of respect.”

“I’ll carry you all the way back to the ship if I have to.”

They were standing far apart enough to get in a decent swing, but close enough to make it impossible for Mido to react. Jessie swung a leg and the steel toe of her boot connected with his groin. He grunted and collapsed in a heap, clutching his groin. “I’m so sorry, Mido. Please don’t hate me.” He reached for her ankle but she easily yanked free and backed away. He looked up at her with eyes full of hurt. “Good bye.” She ran off with that heartbreaking expression etched in her memory.

“Jessie don’t!”

Jessie headed for the train station. Once there, she’d buy some supplies, then hop the soonest train to Egypt.

It took me a good hour to help my cargo pushers unload our delivery and get the next one on. Sauna had made quick work of bringing in more business. First a delivery to Athens immediately after Cyprus, and now a separate delivery near Paris. Not the most ideal direction but France was good money. It’d be worth the few extra days.

I took a conventional ladder off my boat so I wouldn’t be limping for the next three weeks. A dock worker used a steam crane to lift Jacobi onto the docks, and once he was settled, the three cargo pushers and Sauna left for their favorite Moroccan bar, Cerveza Sonriente. Smiling Beer. Dumb name but great beer.

“I’ll catch you guys later. I need a burger fix at Milud’s.” My crew broke into hearty laughter and we bid each other farewell. I waved back and made the fifteen-minute trek to Milud’s burger joint.

Even after all these years and a self-inflicted apocalypse, Morocco was still heavily influenced by Spanish food, language, and culture. Mostly Africans and Middle Easterners filled the streets, and all the locals were at least bilingual. Despite my age, I knew only English. I’m lazy like that. So, when I saw a food sign years ago that read “Hamburguesa Divino”, that was close enough to English to grab my attention. To my delight, the place served half-pound patties of heaven with perfectly seasoned steak fries. The complete meal, I must confess, was as good as anything Mido could fix, maybe even a smidgen better than his burgers. Of course, neither party would ever know that.

Hamburguesa Divino was an outdoor walkup and sit at the counter place. There was room for maybe twenty customers elbow to elbow. One stool on the end had my name on it. I carefully took off my trench coat without exposing my gun, draped it over the chair back, and fastened a button so no passing breeze or klutz could inadvertently expose the weapon. That would be everything short of fun to have the quasi-children pop up during vacation. I plopped onto the stool and put my fists on the counter. Didn’t even bother looking at the menu.

A small African man with a roundish face and smile lines etched into his cheeks brightened at the sight of me. He set two plates in front of other customers and marched right over. “Why if it isn’t Captain Dyne Lavere! Welcome back, my friend. Can I fix you up with your usual?” He toweled his hands.

“Oh, yeah.” We shook hands and I sat back down. “How long has it been since the last time I was here?” I was already wincing at the ballpark answer.

“A year thereabouts. And you still look as young as the day we met.”

That comment made me wince for real. I had maybe five more years with him before my lack of aging made him ask too many questions.

“So where’s this fountain of youth you’re hiding?” He ripped a handwritten meal ticket from his notepad and handed it over to the portly chef.

I let out a humorless laugh. “I’d make myself younger if I had one.”

Milud laughed. “Okay, you got me there. So what’s new?” He poured me a tall mug of beer and thumped it on the heavily varnished counter. Foam rolled down one frosty side.