This was not good news.
“The thing is,” Pete continued, “the schedules were already set and had to be redone for the one vessel with priority time going to our senior researchers.”
Abby was getting a very bad feeling.
“Unfortunately,” Pete said, “we couldn’t fit you in.”
Abby closed her eyes and took a deep breath. No boat meant no soundings. No soundings meant no data collection and no data meant no research analysis. The disappointment was palpable and she felt near tears.
“I do have an alternative,” Pete said hastily.
“Really?” Abby’s spirits lifted slightly.
“There are a limited number of charter boats available in Tadoussac. If you could find one, I’m sure the center could certify it and then you could use part of your grant to pay for it.”
Abby thought that possibility over. “Do you have a charter you could recommend?” she asked.
Pete shook his head. “We’re not allowed to,” he said. “We get funding from the government and all of our business has to be based on bids. I can, however, give you a list of boats and their captains.” He pulled a sheet of paper from a desk drawer and handed it to Abby.
It was a very short list, Abby thought, scanning it.
“Well, I’m glad I accepted the office,” she said, standing. “Now I know how I’ll spend my first day—calling boat captains.”
THREE HOURS LATER, Abby hung up the phone in her new office, folded her arms on her desk and laid her head down on them.
There had been ten boats, and none of the captains were at the contact number listed next to each name. Abby had spent the morning tracking down the captains and had been referred to, among other places, a marina office, a café, a garage and a warehouse. When she’d finally reached them, one by one, they had said they were too busy or already booked for the entire summer, or else quoted a price that far exceeded the limits of her budget. It was not an auspicious beginning to her summer.
Raising her head, she looked at the clock mounted on the wall and saw it was close to noon. Might as well break for lunch, she thought.
Thinking she’d see if Pete or Chris would like to join her, she walked past the director’s office, but saw the door was shut. Hearing the sound of several voices coming from within, she continued on without knocking. Downstairs in Chris’s office, she saw the lab director was on the phone and decided to leave him undisturbed, as well.
For lack of anything better to do, she decided to walk down to the wharf across from the building and look around. At the foot of the center’s dock, she saw the gleaming blue and red hull of the research vessel Caprice bobbing gently up and down. Abby watched enviously as a team of workers loaded equipment and supplies on board.
Continuing down the path to the docks, she considered her options. Find a boat and find it fast, or revamp her entire project. At the moment, the former seemed impossible, and the latter unacceptable.
MARC LOVED spending time doing routine maintenance on his boat. He found the work immensely satisfying. The engines of the Percé ran superbly, thanks to his regular attentions. He’d just spent the morning draining and replacing the oil and had come up to deck for some fresh air when he spotted a familiar form walking down the dock.
“Well, ahoy there,” he called to Abby. He saw her looking around. “Up here.”
Turning, she spotted Marc on the deck and watched him climb down the ship’s ladder and hop onto the wharf next to her.
“How’s your first day going?” Marc said, wiping his oily hands on a rag.
“I’m not sure.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, really,” she said. “Well, nothing I can’t figure out.”
“Can I help?”
“Not unless you can get the owner of this boat to let me use it for the summer.”
Marc looked at her a moment. “I thought the center had boats for the scientists to use.”
“So did I,” Abby said, sounding bitter. She told Marc about the loss of the Mistral.
“So, what you’re saying is, without a boat, you can’t do what you came here to do?” Marc asked.
“That’s right,” Abby said.
“And your research? What happens to it?”
“I honestly don’t know. My grant is good for one year, and I may be able to get an extension. But it’s more than that. I’ve worked too long and too hard to get here. And now, to think it might all have been for nothing….”
Marc heard her voice catch and swore he saw tears in the corners of her eyes. “I might be able to help you out.”
She looked skeptical. “Really? How?”
“Were you serious about talking to the owner of this boat?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
“Yes, yes, I was,” Abby said eagerly. “Do you know him? Do you know how I could get a hold of him?”
Marc nodded.
“Today?”
“Right now, if you want.”
“Yes, please.”
She sounded so excited, Marc couldn’t tease her any longer. “Okay then. Allow me to introduce myself— Marc Doucette, captain, owner and first, second and third mate of the Percé.”
“You! You own a boat—this boat?” Abby appeared flabbergasted.
“I do, or rather, she owns me,” Marc explained. “That’s kind of how it goes with boats.”
“And you do charters?”
“Not normally. I’d rather haul freight to remote construction sites. Pays a helluva lot better than charters, but those pickings are pretty slim these days. And I’ve already told you the shape of the fishing industry around here. Want to come aboard and take a look?”
“Sure, I’d love to,” Abby said.
“Okay, take hold of the ladder rung and then pull yourself up, like this.” Marc grabbed a rung and swung himself up from the dock and onto the ladder. He quickly scrambled up, threw one leg over the rail and turned to give Abby a hand.
“Impressive,” he said after she scooted unaided up the ladder and over the rail to stand next to him. “Welcome aboard the Percé.”
“What does Percé mean?” Abby asked, looking around.
“I named her after rocher Percé,” Marc explained. “One of my favorite spots in Québec. It’s this massive stone on the tip of Gaspé Peninsula with a huge natural arch in it. Rocher Percé literally translates to ‘pierced rock.’ If you get a chance, you ought to go check it out sometime.”
“I might just do that,” Abby said, “but right now, I’m more interested in Percé the boat.”
“Forty-four feet from aft to bow, with a twelve-and-a-half foot beam,” Marc said, unable to keep the tinge of pride from his voice. “She sleeps eight, has a full galley, head and plenty of storage space.” He pointed above them. “The bridge is completely enclosed and accessible from deck or inside. She’s outfitted with twin diesels and has all the latest GPS and navigational equipment.” Marc pounded the rail with his fist. “She could use a coat of paint, but she’s solid through and through.”
“I wonder why you weren’t