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Liz Faraim © 2023
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One

Warm Beer Chaser

The first rainstorm of the season had drawn me out of my house. Local radio news had said something about a bomb cyclone and an atmospheric river. Either way, the whole area was getting hammered in a way I hadn’t seen in over a decade.

I’d had the wise idea to go out and watch the storm rage instead of sitting on the couch at home waiting for the power to go out. Rain pounded the roof of my truck with a constant rat-a-tat-tat. Massive drops splattered on the roiling surface of Marshtown Strait, and runoff flowed down the boat launch in sheets. Dusk turned to darkness under thick clouds, casting everything in shades of gray.

A lanky great egret tried to take flight from the shoreline, its wings spread wide, but the gusting wind swooped it up and blew it toward the frenzied tides. I leaned back in my driver’s seat, its padding and springs worn down to the point where the seat had a hollow that hugged me, and watched a tattered American flag savagely whip about, the halyard’s counterweight clanging.

Through sideways rain, the shadowy form of a person scrabbled up from the rocks below Archer Point. Sitting forward, I turned on the windshield wipers to get a better look. Sure enough, a tall figure made it up to solid ground and loped along the walking path. The person wore a hooded rain slicker, a familiar orange backpack, and clutched two fishing rods in their hand. They made their way down to the boat launch, passing briefly under an overhead streetlight, before fading to a silhouette at the end of the dock. I wasn’t certain but thought it might be my friend Darcy.

The person, seemingly unbothered by the rain and wind, baited their hook and cast the line out into the void. I settled back into my warm seat and gazed out across the water, spotting the tiny headlight of a train flashing at the base of the hills. My mind wandered around thoughts of a time years ago when I had been caught out on a motorcycle trip during similar conditions.

Looking back at the dock to check on the person who was fishing, all I saw was their orange backpack in a limp pile on the dock.

“Frick,” I grumbled and slapped a faded ballcap on my head.

I pulled the keys out of the ignition and pushed open the door of my truck. The wind ripped it from my fingertips. Hopping out, I fought the wind and slammed the door, then tucked my hands into the front pocket of my hoodie and made my way down the slippery boat launch, eyes squinted against the weather.

At the end of the dock, I leaned over the railing and saw someone sitting in waist-deep water, rubbing their elbow.

“Hey! You all right down there?” I hollered.

They stood up, the water barely up to their knees, and felt around in the murk. Eventually, they came up with a fishing pole. I waited, the deluge soaking through my sweatshirt and jeans, running down the back of my neck and between my shoulder blades.

Rather than trying to climb up the slick wooden pilings, they walked around to the boat ramp and up the pavement. I grabbed their bag and spare pole and jogged back the way I had come. We met up under the streetlight and they took their pole graciously and shrugged into their backpack.

“That you, Darcy?” I asked, wiping water out of my eyes.

At the sound of her name, Darcy raised her eyes and looked at me. “Well, hey, Randy, what’re you doing out in this weather?”

Not wanting to talk about myself, I dodged her question. “I was wondering the same about you. What happened? Are you hurt?”

Darcy heaved a sigh. “My line got caught and I leaned over the railing to try and free it. My shoe slipped and over the side I went. Stupid move. I know better.”

“Dang. The water is so shallow with the tide out right now. You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

She nodded, rubbing at her elbow again.

A train horn echoed. Across the water another headlight cut through the sooty darkness along the tracks. A huge gust of wind nearly blew us both over, sharp rain pelting my cheeks.

“You need a ride?”

She stopped, considering. The back of her jacket hood shifted with a nod. “Yes.”

“Come on, then.”

I strode to my truck and unlocked the passenger side with a good old-fashioned key. I didn’t have one of those cars with automatic locks or a key fob. The door flung open when the wind caught it, and she maneuvered her rods into the cab while I got in on the driver’s side.

Slamming my door, I was grateful to be out of the wind and weather. I fired up the engine and cranked the heater. I cupped my hands in front of one of the dashboard vents for a minute, then took my hat off, turning in my seat.

“Long time, no see, Darce.”

“I suppose it has been a while. Thanks for the ride. Sorry I’m crapping up your seats with low tide sludge.”

She did smell awful. The silt and muck on the bottom of the strait was full of slimy nastiness, and some was still stuck to her rain pants and shoes.

“No problem. You know I’ve had to clean worse off my interior before.”

We both chuckled, remembering other adventures that had stunk up my truck.

*

We sat quietly for a few minutes, relaxing in the growing warmth of the cab as the rain pounded down relentlessly. The windows fogged up and the stink of low tide and bait bloomed even more.

Even though it was pitch dark out, it was barely six o’clock and I was hungry. The smell of a soaking wet fisherwoman in my truck didn’t ruin my appetite. I sat up in my seat, ready to head out.

She startled a bit, coming out of her thoughts. “I’ll help you clean up your upholstery this weekend. But in the meantime, let me make it up to you. You hungry?”

“Yeah, I could eat.”

“How about we pick up something from the Thai restaurant on the main drag? My treat.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice.” I swiped at the fog on my windshield, toggled the worn-out dial on my dashboard to turn on the defroster, and pulled carefully out of the pier’s parking lot.

There weren’t many other cars on the road, which was a good thing since the streets in our waterfront town were narrow, making the bad weather and darkness more dangerous.

The restaurant was deserted, so we didn’t have to wait long for our takeout. Lands End was a small town, just a speck on the map, so I was home and in warm, dry sweats and wool socks soon enough. Darcy had on proper rain gear over her clothes and was dry underneath despite her little dip in the strait.

I hadn’t been expecting a guest, so my place was a bit more cluttered than I would have liked, but I stifled the urge to make apologies. I had spent the first five decades of my life apologizing for things that didn’t need apologizing for, and at fifty-three years old, I wasn’t doing it anymore.

I put on a Melissa Etheridge record and pulled chipped plates and bowls from the cupboard. Darcy was well acquainted with my kitchen and grabbed silverware and napkins, humming along to the record as she set the table.

I served up piles of bami and miang kham, then ladled steaming Tom kha into bowls. I split a bottle of Singha beer between two small mason jars. We tucked in at the booth I had built into the corner of the kitchen. It was a tight space, and her knees bumped mine under the table.

“Gets me every time,” she said around a bite of noodles and scooted down a bit so we weren’t directly across from each other.

I tapped my toes along to the record as I ate the savory, crunchy vegetables. I let out a satisfied groan as I popped a miang kham into my mouth, the heat, sour, and sweet of it hitting all at once. I chased that with a spoon full of coconut broth and a sip of beer.

As usual, Darcy was so calm and quiet that I slid into the same level of comfort as if I were home alone. I hadn’t seen her in a while and snuck looks at her between bites of food. She looked well. Her big brown eyes were clear, and her long, windblown brown hair fell wildly around her face.

She was exceptionally slim, which was also normal for her. Slim enough for her tall narrow frame that when we first met, I had worried for a moment about her health, then scolded myself for having an opinion about her body. None of your business, Randy.

“Mmm,” I said as I licked my spoon with relish and got up. “You finished?” I pointed at her empty plate and bowl.

“Yes,” she said with a small nod, though she put her hand around the mason jar which still held a few sips of beer. “Need some help?”

“Nah. Take a load off.”

I gave the dishes a quick wash and stacked them neatly in the dish drainer, then piled some Oreos onto a little tea saucer before stepping into the living room and flipping the record to the B side. Darcy doodled quietly on the back of her napkin with a carpenter’s pencil.

“Come on in here, that old wooden booth bench isn’t good for much longer than a quick meal before it’ll start hurting your ass.”

Darcy collected her beer glass and made the trip from kitchen to living room in three strides. I flopped down in my recliner, and she settled into the love seat. My living room was too small for my recliner plus a full-sized couch. Cozy was the word my realtor had used when we had originally toured the place before I bought it.

It seemed like conversation was in order, though I was never too good at getting one going. I searched around for an easy topic.

“What were you fishin’ for tonight?”

“Striper, but I kept pulling up Dungeness crab when I was down on the rocks at the Point. You know they are illegal to keep this time of year.” I nodded and she went on, “So, I moved over to the dock to see if I’d have better luck. And…well, you know the rest.” We both chuckled.

“You been snagging a lot of fishing lately?”

“Oh yeah. Most days. I’m usually out at the cove. More room to get out on my own, away from the other hordes of people at the pier, many of whom I have had issues with.”

“Ugh, fuck those guys. Bunch of haters.”

“I’d rather not, thanks. I’m not naïve or anything, but you know about how when I transitioned…and things didn’t go well at my job after that?”

I nodded, watching as she picked unconsciously at a hangnail. She sat up straighter and went on. “The crew I worked with in Oakland made it impossible to stay on there and I used to come to Lands End a lot to fish and hike, so I figured I’d give this little town a try. The rents here are almost as stupid as they are in Oakland, but I love the small-town feel and had hoped I could just kinda be left alone, but there are some assholes here too.”

I nodded and we both sipped our drinks.

She tilted her glass toward me. “What’s going on with you? How’s the retirement countdown going?”

“I’m still at the warehouse over in Diablo. Two years till retirement. Thank goodness.” I scrubbed at my shaggy hair and nodded. “It’s a good thing, cuz I don’t think my body can handle much more manual labor. Been working in warehouses for thirty-three years. Being able to retire at fifty-five is a blessing these days.” Darcy nodded in agreement. “Aside from being harassed by ignorant-ass fishermen, how’s work going for you down at the port?”

She grinned. “It’s good. Can’t complain about it. I mean, not many people can say they get to unload brand spanking new cars from cargo ships. It’s kinda cool driving ’em off the ship and over to the storage lot or loading them up into auto transport trains. It’s good work, fast paced. And it’s fun to see the insides of all the new cars. Everything from minivans to sports cars. And it keeps me moving and mostly outdoors, which you know is what works for me. I couldn’t stand having a desk job.” She paused, tilting her beer glass at me. “Professionalism is classist bullshit.”

I paused, Oreo in hand, suspended midway between the plate and my mouth. “Huh. I never thought about that, but it makes sense when you put it like that. They’ve tried a bunch of times over the years to make me a supervisor and I always turn them down. I don’t want to leave the protection of the union. And besides, I figure I don’t want to stress out about production numbers and all the logistical stuff.” I looked down at the cookie in my rough hands. “All I have to do is show up and move boxes till the buzzer rings. I’d be miserable in a desk job too. I move boxes, you move flashy cars. I’d say we are doing just fine.” I used my teeth to pull one side of the cookie into my mouth, crunching on the chocolatey goodness.

She nodded. “I like that I only see my coworkers in passing. We ride in vans together down to the port and around the storage lots. But mostly I am on my own, driving car after car from point A to point B. That’s the way I like it. I just go in, keep my head down, do my job, and leave. Then all I have to worry about is where I wanna go fishing after work. Keeping it simple.”

I tilted my head at the cookie plate, but she shook her head. I popped the other side of the cookie in my mouth and washed it down with the dregs of my beer and cringed.

“I don’t recommend Oreos with a warm beer chaser.”

We cackled before settling into another comfortable silence. Darcy closed her eyes, nodding along to the tempo of the song. I leaned back, listening to the rain pattering on the roof and window. When the last song ended, the record player shut itself down with a click.

My cat slid out from under the couch and took a moment to stretch his legs. After shaking his head, he let out a curious mrow as he sniffed at Darcy’s pant leg. Losing interest, he came to me, giving another mrow as I reached down to pet him. He rubbed the sides of his face along my hand. Darcy smiled, watching us.

“Dammit, Porkchop,” I growled. I had made the mistake of taking my eyes off him and he had bitten me. I shook my finger, admonishing him. He purred and tried to rub his face on my stern finger. “God, you’re such a jerk.”

Unphased, Porkchop halfheartedly licked at his messy black-and-white fur. I admired his extra-long white whiskers but disliked his bad attitude and shedding. I shooed him away.

“He’s always been a sweetheart to me,” she said with a little laugh.

“Little bastard. I love him anyway.” I checked my watch and grumbled. It was almost nine. “Ugh, it’s past my bedtime. Do you need a ride?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

She slid into her rain gear, and I pulled on a dry hoodie. I drove the few blocks down to the last row of houses just before the massive fences for the port. After a quick hug she disappeared into the dark alley that led to the in-law unit she lived in.

Back at home, I set my alarm and groaned again. Two a.m. would be there before I knew it.