Bogart the Boat Salesman's Arc

Chapter 2 of 5

The rain came down harder now. The woman sat on the dock with her arms around the boy, both of them soaked through and shaking. Bogart tied off the last line and looked at them. Their lips were going pale. The wind pushed cold water across the planks. He needed them warm, and he needed it in the next few minutes. He looked down the dock. Past the row of small boats tied along the mooring posts sat the little cabin he used as an office. It had a woodstove inside and a kettle on top. He hooked the woman under the elbow and lifted the boy against his hip. "Up," he said. "Walk fast." They stumbled with him past the moored boats, past the coiled lines, up the three steps to the cabin porch. He shoved the door open with his shoulder. Inside, he sat them on the bench by the stove and opened the iron door. Coals still glowed from that morning. He fed in two split logs and worked the damper. Then he crossed to the wooden chest under the window. He pulled out a folded wool blanket, thick and heavy, and wrapped it around the woman. From the shelf above he grabbed a red sweatshirt, oversized and soft, and pulled it down over the boy's head. The sleeves swallowed the boy's hands. Bogart rolled them back twice. The kettle started to tick as the stove caught. The woman's shaking slowed. The boy leaned against her side and closed his eyes. Bogart poured hot water over two tea bags and pressed the mugs into their hands. "Stay here," he said. "Do not go back outside." The woman nodded. She tried to say thank you and her voice broke. Bogart stepped onto the porch and pulled the door shut behind him. The storm was full on the lot now. Rain came sideways. He walked back to the end of the dock and climbed halfway up the lookout ladder, one hand on the wet rail. From there he could see the north water. Whitecaps rolled under the black cloud. He scanned for the third boat. He saw a shape, low, half a mile out, drifting with no wake behind it. No running lights. He climbed down and ran for the Offshore Rig Runner still tied at the dock, its engine cold now, its bow already knocking hard against the fenders.