“I take him seriously. He’s so many things. Archeologist, environmentalist, historian and, of course, the big draw, international adventurer. I have a feeling he could make his mark here in Two Moon Bay—and the entire region—in any number of ways.”
Lark cocked her head. “You’ve got my attention. Knowing you as I do, I’m eager to see what kind of a campaign you put together for him.” She opened her front door. “Do you want me to bring Gordon home after practice?”
Dawn let her shoulders drop in relief. “That would be great.”
“Better yet, he can go to Lou’s for pizza with Evan and me. Miles is in Boston for a couple of days, so Evan and I are on our own. You can meet us for dinner there when you’re done with your calls.”
“Thanks so much. Now I don’t have to worry about fixing dinner.” She gave Lark a quick hug and hurried to her car.
As she drove through town, Dawn’s thoughts turned to Lark and the enormous changes in her friend’s life. It made Dawn’s head spin to think Lark was reunited with Miles, the father of a baby girl they’d given up for adoption when they were college students. Eighteen years later, they’d discovered their daughter was the rising figure skating star Perrie Lynn Olson. Dawn still found it remarkable that in working together to learn about their daughter, Lark and Miles had fallen deeply in love. Perrie Lynn had even come to their wedding. It was a matter of addition, not subtraction, Lark had said about how their family formed. She had become stepmom to Miles’s nine-year-old daughter, Brooke, and Lark’s son, Evan, gained a stepdad.
A miracle, Dawn thought, feeling the same surge of pleasure she always did when recalling Lark and Miles’s small but joyful wedding.
Maybe it will happen for me one day, Dawn thought, pulling into her driveway. Maybe. Baby Zinnie had been on her mind, ever since she’d seen her happily snuggled in her daddy’s arms. Bill was a good dad, too. Dawn had never denied that fact, no matter how she’d claimed to hate him for what he’d done to their family. Did Jerrod know how lucky he was to have Carrie, a little sprite full of curiosity?
What was she doing? She had no business asking questions like that.
JERROD PREFERRED TO wait for Dawn to arrive, but Ian Shepherd showed up right on time at 10:00 a.m. Nothing laid-back about the photographer.
Jerrod stood silent as he observed Ian examining the exterior of the two boats as they moved gently at the dock. He took a few shots that seemed random to Jerrod, but based on what he’d seen of Ian’s work on his website, he trusted the photographer had a sharp eye—and a plan. It was a good day for a photo shoot, starting with the calm waters. The scattered clouds in an otherwise blue sky provided a background more dramatic than a clear day.
Ian wore an expression that went way beyond curious. Jerrod knew that look. He’d seen it plenty of times before when the sight of his dive boats sparked someone’s imagination. He’d bet Ian was hungry to experience at least a day trip, maybe some diving. No problem. The trial runs would begin soon.
“From what Dawn told me,” Ian said, “we’ll get some shots today with the boats at the dock. Later, we’ll take more when you’re underway on the water. But she needs some visuals now to send to newspapers and feature writers.”
Ian fixed his gaze on the Lucy Bee. Nodding toward her, he said, “I need a feel for what you’re selling. A sense of what the business is all about.”
Jerrod shrugged. “That’s easy. I sell adventure. And while that tour boat looks tame to me, and maybe to you, everyone defines that a little differently.” That was his philosophy, anyway. For some, adventure was nothing more than a new experience—a short, safe jaunt on a tour boat. For others, his small company offered a chance to explore the mysteries of diving. “Divers are our most satisfied customers. Some people take to scuba like fish to water, and that’s not even a pun.”
“I’ve always known there’s shipwreck diving going on up here,” Ian said pensively, “but I personally don’t know anyone who’s done it. It’s almost like a well-kept secret.”
“Maybe I can change that,” Jerrod said. “As long as people are willing to suit up for cold water, there’s no reason not to enjoy it.” Jerrod was aware of several companies, but they offered less than he did. Fewer diving days and not as much structured training.
Jerrod stared at the dock and kicked away stray clusters of gravel with the toe of his shoe. He was conscious of Ian waiting, not jumping in with a comment just to fill the silence. “My late wife liked to arrange dinner reservations as part of a two- or four-person package. She liked the idea of enhancing visitors’ vacations—she’d even make some calls to get a golf outing add-on and make it a two-day deal. Over the years, quite a few couples or groups took her up on it.” He stared at the ground again. “She was one of a kind, my wife.”
Why had he said all that? He looked up into Ian’s questioning eyes. He’d wandered right up to the door of the danger zone, but he wouldn’t let himself cross the threshold. He changed his tone when he continued. “Sorry, didn’t mean to take that detour. Now that I’m up here for the season, we might try the same kind of packaging ideas. We won’t invest a lot of time on it for our first season, but we’ll see if some extra customer service works.”
Ian pointed to the Lucy Bee. “But I expect your day trips will be the bread and butter, huh?”
“I think so, especially for this first summer.” He spoke with determination, but he was desperate not to get lost in nostalgia, reliving the best years of his life. He thought he was mostly over those jaunts into the past. He hadn’t expected that filling in the history of his business would stir up so much emotion.
Refocusing on providing Ian with facts, Jerrod cleared his throat and pointed to the open water.
“Hold it right there, skipper,” Ian said with a laugh. “I want to catch you in the act of gesturing toward the water—it communicates partly what you feel about the lake itself.”
For some reason, Ian’s words didn’t lift Jerrod’s spirits much, but it wasn’t the photographer’s fault. Faking it, Jerrod grinned. “Follow me.”
“At last,” Ian said, following Jerrod aboard the Lucy Bee.
“This is a classic passenger ferry, redone, refitted, repurposed,” Jerrod quipped. “Since Dawn tells me anything considered classic sells, we’ll use those exact words in the brochure.”
“Hmm...she’s right. ‘Repurposed’ is big these days, too.” Ian stepped down to the passenger well and aimed his camera at the wooden benches and the planked deck.
“What made you choose our neck of the woods?” Ian asked, as he kept at it, aiming his camera, angling it over the stern, up the companionway to the wheelhouse. He climbed on a side bench and from that perch, shot the bow of the dive boat, Wind Spray.
Good question. It wasn’t just the story of the ships, with colorful names like Fountain City or Empire Lake. Nor was it the venerable shipbuilders, whose stories fascinated him and he found himself retelling to Wyatt and Rob. “This is a beautiful stretch of coast on both sides of the lake, right down to Chicago and up to Mackinac Island. People are drawn here. I was drawn here.”
Jerrod struggled to quiet the new bittersweet feelings his surroundings triggered. Augusta had grown up in Milwaukee, but he wasn’t so foolish to think he’d keep her alive for Carrie in some mystical way by coming all the way to the thumb of Wisconsin. He was clear about that.
“I don’t know if this will make sense to you, but I like places that don’t take themselves too seriously. There was nothing pretentious about the Lake Erie shore where I grew up, or the Milwaukee lakeshore where my wife spent her childhood and I did some commercial diving. And it’s the same here.”