Traveler

He looked around and saw a paved walkway leading to a couple benches in a little park-like area with a great view of the harbor. It looked like the perfect place to just sit and enjoy the splendor. With his eyes closed, he concentrated on letting his senses soak up the soothing atmosphere. With the warm sun at his back, the wind gently caressing his face, and the rhythmic lullaby of the tide, Al was truly at peace for the first time since leaving.

There's only one explanation that makes any sense...DAMN IT, he silently cursed, I wasn't going to think about it. He sighed and shook his head in self-recrimination. Oh well, he thought, I think I at least have it figured out. Dawn was in on it. She wanted to break up and thought I'd piss and moan and wouldn't leave her alone otherwise so she thought up that bull shit about Shannon. That's why she didn't want me to confront her and why she wouldn't tell me the name of the so called witness. There never was a witness and I'll bet Shannon never had any marks on her wrists or anywhere else. Hell, I wonder if she even knew I was supposed to have raped her. Yeah, I'm sure she did, he told himself after more consideration.

Al sat there a little longer trying to find a hole in his theory but couldn't. It was the only thing that made any sense to him. That has to be it, he told himself.

Now that Al felt he had figured out the mystery, what to do about it? Over the last two weeks he knew he'd have to go back eventually. The little bit of money he had on him wasn't going to last forever.

Then again...maybe he could find a job? At least one that would keep him going until the end of the school year. Dawn was due to graduate. He could go back and resume his studies the following year. Yeah, it would put him back a year but at least he wouldn't be running into her on campus.

Al had actually thought about trying to get all the way up the coast to Maine but was now rethinking it. He wasn't a bad bartender. Surely there must be someplace between here and Maine that could use him. Maybe he could even find a day job and bartend at night? That way he could save up and go back to school with some money in his pocket.

Al was feeling better than he had in a while. He'd solved the mystery of why his girlfriend would accuse him of rape and had some tentative plans for the immediate future. Yeah, he wasn't what you'd call feeling good, but he was feeling 'relieved.'

Something else he was feeling was hungry. Listening to his stomach growl, he realized he hadn't had anything to eat since early morning. He remembered going passed a little diner on his way through town. It didn't look like the other small diners he'd been in. It had some of that New England charm he'd seen in movies. The wooden structure was very rustic and looked like it had weathered its share battering seas. The tables in the back were all filled but the counter had a couple of empty stools. One of them would suit him just fine.

There were two waitresses behind the counter. One was about sixty with graying hair and about forty pounds of extra weight. The other was maybe thirty-five with a much better body. Her hair was sandy blond which went well with her pretty blue eyes. She was heading his way with a menu in hand.

"Can I get you something to drink?" she asked as she laid the menu down in front of him.

"Coffee, please," he replied with a smile.

She reached behind her for the pot, turned over the up side down cup in front of him, and started to pour. "Chicago?"

It surprised him so much he thought he surely had heard her wrong. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I was asking if you're from Chicago."

He couldn't believe his ears. How the hell could she possibly know that, he asked himself? He took a quick inventory as to what about his appearance would give him away but couldn't come up with a thing. He finally had to ask. "How did you know I'm from Chicago?"

"The long vowel sound when you said coffee," she answered with a grin. "We get people from all over in here so I started studying dialects a while ago. I'm getting pretty good. I get about seventy percent of them right," she said while pouring his coffee. "Yours was easy. You have a strong Chicago accent."

"That's amazing," he said, "truly impressive."

She took his compliment with a smile and walked away to give him time to study the menu. She went around the room filling cups with black gold but kept an eye on Al and returned when it looked like he was ready to order.

For the last two weeks the only decisions Al had to worry about was whether to take this road or that road. Now his mind was preoccupied with decisions. The one he was struggling with at that moment was whether to stay for a while or start heading north. In any event, he at least needed a room for the night.

He had finished his meal and was nursing the last of his coffee when his waitress came over offering him another cup. According to the little plate pinned to her uniform, her name was Amelia.

Al set his cup back down on the counter so she could refill it. "Thank you," he said. "Hey, Amelia; know anywhere I can spend the night that's cheap?"

"Not really. We're still in the tourist season. Even the cheap motels aren't cheap this time of year." She started to walk away then stopped and turned back to face the counter again. "Hey, Jack," she raised her voice enough so the guy sitting at a table in the back of the room could hear her. "Does Coral have that room fixed up to rent yet?"

Evidently, not wanting to carry on a conversation across the room, the weathered skin, white haired man stood and ambled over. "What's the matter, Amelia, your old man finally toss you out of the house?"

"He better never try," she responded with a chuckle. "No, this young man is looking for a cheap place to stay."

He looked at Al. "How long you plan on staying? My daughter's a painter, you know-pictures. She has a room we're fixing up in the back of her art gallery in town. It's not quite done though. The plumbing still has to be hooked up in bathroom but I can get to that in a couple of days or so. In the meantime you'd be able to use the washroom in the studio."

Now that Al had a chance to see the guy up close he was intrigued. The man looked like he'd probably lived there all his life. His leather looking skin was deeply tanned and his rolled up shirt sleeves revealed powerful forearms. There were still some blond patches of hair mingling with the white and Al could see more than a life-time of experience behind the man's piercing blue eyes. The not too neatly trimmed beard that covered half his rugged, weather-beaten face made him look like he'd just stepped off the page of an Ernest Hemingway novel.

"Ah, well I'm not sure yet, definitely tonight and possibly another two or three," he responded to the man's question.

The older man squinted one eye. "Oh, I'm pretty sure she wants to rent it out by the month, or at least the week."

"Jack, you said yourself it's not even done yet," interjected Amelia. "You think Coral will turn down good money?"

"You're right; it's not up to me. She's the one with the room. She might be willing to do it, at least until we get the bathroom hooked up." He reached in his back pocket and took out his wallet. He pulled out a business card and offered it in Al's direction. "Here's her card," he said. "Give her a call. All you can do is ask."

Before he could say thanks, the man turned and walked back to his table. Al looked at the card, East Wind Gallery. He glanced up at Amelia. "Is it far? I don't have a phone, I'll have to ride my bike."

"What kind of bike you got?"

"It's a Shimano twenty-one speed."

She looked confused for a second. "Twenty-one speed...you mean it's a bicycle bike? I thought you meant a motorcycle. You didn't ride all the way here from Chicago on a bicycle?"

"Yup," he said with a smile and a sense of pride."

Amelia just shook her head in disbelief. "Coral's place is right in town. It's six or seven blocks from here. This is High Street out in front here," she said while pointing out the front window. "Make a right, go up to Main and make another right. It's about three or four blocks down."

He thanked Amelia for her help before leaving. He saw the gallery was open so he went inside. Almost immediately a blond woman, who looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, approached and asked if she could help him.

"Yeah, ah, I'm looking for Coral Erikson."

"That's me."

"Ah, I saw your dad in the little restaurant down the street. He gave me your card and said you might be interested renting me a room for a night or two."

"It's not even done yet," she remarked.

"Yeah, he mentioned the plumbing wasn't done in the bathroom yet, but said I could use the one in the gallery. That would be okay with me. I'm actually on my way to Maine but I really like it here and thought I might stay for a couple of days. Ah, I'm kind of on a shoestring budget so when I asked the waitress if she knew of a place that didn't cost too much, she and your dad directed me here."

She was studying him while he talked. He seemed like a nice enough young man. Financially, she could use all the help she could get. They got a lot of tourist during the summer but a lot of them were men who came for the fishing; they didn't bother buying art. She made up her mind.

"How about fifty bucks a night—sound fair?"

"Yeah, that's fine," he said, digging out his wallet. He was pretty sure he was going to stay at least one more day so he handed her a hundred dollars.

She showed him where the washroom was on their way through the back room and into a small, three room apartment. The little kitchenette had a refrigerator, small stove, and a coffee maker. The living room was just big enough for the recliner in the corner and a loveseat. A flat screen TV hung on the opposite wall. The bedroom had a dresser and a full size bed, and the place had its own entrance. After sharing a dorm room for the past several months, it felt like a palace and was more than adequate for Al's needs. It was the first night he went to sleep without thinking of Dawn.

The following morning, Al awoke to find the term, "sleepy little New England town," was a misnomer. It was barely light out when he heard noises coming from the gallery on the other side of the wall. He sat up on the side of the bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Shit, he thought. He had a coffee maker but no coffee. He was just zipping up his pants when he heard a knock from the door that led into the gallery.

"You up?" asked Coral.

"Ah, yeah; just a minute."

"I have coffee out here if you're interested."

"Yeah, I'll say. I'll be right out." Al threw on his socks and shoes but had to make a quick pit stop in the washroom first. She had his coffee already poured for him as he joined her.

"Sleep okay?"

"Yeah—like a log."

"The mattress is brand new. You're the first person to sleep on it."

"I'm honored," he said with a smile.

There was small lull so Al said the first thing that came to mind. "Is your dad retired?"

"Dad? No, he'll never retire," she scoffed. "What made you think he was retired?"

"Ah, I don't know. I guess just way he was sitting in the restaurant. He kind of looked like he had all the time in the world."

"Yeah, well, sitting in Joe's Galley isn't his idea. He owns a fishing trawler, an old one. He actually inherited it from my grandfather. A few days ago the wench motor burned out. It's so old, parts aren't that readily available. He ordered them but they won't be in for a couple more days yet. So—now he's sitting in Joe's Galley with nothing to do but wait. It's killing him."

She took a drink of coffee then continued. "I wish he would retire. He can't even keep a crew anymore but he's so damn stubborn..."

"Why is that?" Al asked. "Why can't he keep a crew?"

"Everyone else has moved into the twenty-first century. The others invested in new equipment...new boats, but not my pops. He's an, 'if it was good enough for my daddy it's good enough for me,' kind of guy."

"I see," Al acknowledged. "Do you and him get along?" After asking the question he felt embarrassed. It was no business of his. He was just curious because of the bad relationship between him and his dad. He was about to apologize for the question but she had no problem answering it.

"Oh yeah; in spite of his bull headedness I love him with all my heart. Dad's been my hero since I could remember. My mom passed away about ten years ago. He took it really hard. If it wasn't for fishing and that old boat, I don't know what he'd have done."

Al was sorry to hear about her mother but at the same time, felt a small twinge of jealousy. He wondered what it would be like to have a dad he could look up to.

"So," she asked with sigh, "what about you? Where're you from?"

"The Chicago area," he replied. "Born and raised."

"What are you doing in Stonington?"

"Ah..." The question, simple as it was, caught him off guard. He didn't think it was a good idea to tell the good looking woman from whom he was renting, that he was accused of rape back home. "I needed a break—some new scenery, that's all. I've always wanted to see New England and thought this was as good a time as any."

There was something in his answer that just didn't sit right with Coral. It was kind of evasive and he appeared to be slightly nervous. It made her a little suspicious. She talked to her dad the night before and learned of his mode of travel.

"Sooo...you decided to just up and ride your bike from Chicago to Connecticut?"

Al detected a wariness in her voice and tried to act as natural as he could. "Yeah, pretty much," he said with a smile. "I love to ride."

"Did you have a job in Chicago?"

"Yeah, I worked nights as a bartender. Which reminds me, you don't know of any places around here that might be looking for one, do you?"

"Oh? You thinking of staying longer than tonight?"

"Ah, well, if the room is still available after tonight."

"Yeah, but I'll have to get dad to finish the bathroom for you if you're going to stay longer. I'm sure you'd like to take a shower at some point," she said with a smile.

"Yeah, that would be nice," he said, returning her smile. "I'm fairly handy myself. I can give him a hand if he'd like."

"I'm sure he'd appreciate that," she replied. "As far as anyone looking for a bartender, I really don't know any places off hand. The bars around here can be pretty rough at night. I pretty much stay away from joints like that."

After a little more conversation, Al asked her to name the best places to get a good breakfast. She told him, breakfast, lunch, or dinner, the best place in town was where he was the night before, Joe's Galley.

After a hearty helping of eggs and sausage, Al decided to do some exploring. He hopped atop his padded seat and took off along the coast. He was fascinated by the powerful whitecaps smashing into the jagged, rocky shoreline. It was a whole lot different than the calming, rolling waves he'd seen ebbing and flowing along the sand in Florida.

Seagulls were everywhere, screaming and screeching as they glided effortlessly through the air on white feathered wings, sometimes just hovering in place as they'd catch an updraft.

Try as he did to forget about her, Al couldn't help but wish his girl was beside him as he discovered new sights with every mile.

Al didn't realize how hungry he was until he was pulling back into town so without stopping at his rented pad, he made a bee-line for Joe's Galley.

"Hey, traveler."

He smiled. "Hi, Amelia, what's on the menu tonight?"

"Not me," she quipped.

As he sat down at the counter he noticed Jack Erikson sitting at the back table with two other guys. They appeared to be arguing.

"What's going on?" he quietly asked, indicating the men with a nod of his head.

"Jack's having trouble with his crew again," she answered in a hushed voice while turning over his cup.

Al turned around toward the counter for a sip of his freshly poured coffee but kept one eye on the brewing trouble.

"Listen, old man, I ought a take you out back and..."

Al jumped from his stool and headed to Jack's aid. His back was already turned to Amelia who grabbed for him across the counter in an effort to stop him, but it was too late. She knew Jack could handle both guys with no problem but the kid could get hurt in the melee.

Al, showing no fear, charged up to the table. "Everything alright here, Jack?"

By then the two trouble makers had pushed their chairs back and were menacingly standing over their seated captain. The one with the big mouth was about six-one, maybe six-two, about two hundred and thirty pounds and looked tough as nails. The other guy was shorter and a little pudgy but still didn't look like a push over. Al immediately realized he'd bitten off more than he could chew but he wasn't about to back down.

Loud mouth turned toward Al with an amused look on his face and gave out a derisive laugh, then turned back to Jack. "Never mind, old man," he snarled. "We quit." He looked over at his buddy. "Come on, Jocko, let's get out of here."

Al watched with relief as they left.

"Don't ever do that again," Jack growled. "Eric there would have cut you up for fish bait before you knew what was happening. I can fight my own battles."

Al could just never win for losing. Every fucking time he tried to do something nice he got it thrown back in his face. "You're welcome," he grumbled, then walked back to the counter.

Amelia also let out a sigh of relief. "Don't let it bother you, Traveler. Jack would have held his own easily with those two but he got scared for you when you went charging in like that."

"I was just trying to help. It was two against one. I was just trying to even the odds, that's all."

"I know," she replied sympathetically.

Al had just started on his perch dinner when Jack walked up to the register to pay his bill. He handed Amelia a twenty then looked over. "You got more guts than brains, kid."

"Yeah, well it won't happen again. You can be sure of that."

"You know how to clean fish?"

The question seemed so far out there Al wasn't sure he even heard him right. "What?"

"I asked if you knew how to clean fish. It ain't a hard question. Yes or no."

"Well...yeah, I can clean fish. What..."

"Good; I'll have my boat fixed by day after tomorrow. Meet me on the dock at four-thirty."

"Ah, I'm sorry, you lost me."

"Coral says you need a job. Abby and I need another man for the crew. I'm giving you a job," he said, then turned and walked out before Al even had a chance to think it over.

He looked up at Amelia. "Who's Abby?"

"That's the name of his boat."

"I see...so...I have a job on a fishing boat?"

Amelia just shrugged her shoulders and laughed.

***

As the weeks went by, Dawn was losing hope. Every day since realizing he was gone, she woke up praying she would hear from him and every night she'd go to bed praying the next day would be the day. As time passed with no word, however, the feeling that she'd never see him again grew.

The wind had torn some of the posters that were hanging up and no one paid attention to the ones that were left anyway. The cops were getting more and more impatient with her daily calls so she cut them back to weekly. People's interest, or maybe it was hope, was starting to wane.

The only thing that wasn't fading with time was her guilt. There was no way she'd ever forgive herself for believing Shannon over Al. Her conscience kept telling her she failed him—him and herself. It was a test...a test of her love and her faith in him and she failed miserably. She was desperate to somehow get word to him; if she could just tell him how sorry she was.