Another Page!

I have gotten emails from some readers asking for a few new pages from Out of Arms Reach.  In response, today and tomorrow I will post a page from Chapter One.  Let me know what you guys think by commenting, voting on the new poll, or email!  You can catch up on previous pages, too, they are in the December archive.

Cheers!

       Inhaling the fresh north woods air, Rich smiled faintly, wondering what his mornings would be like if he were still living in Chicago. He polished off his coffee and dragged himself up the street to check his mail at the post office, which was little more than a closet. Rich waved at Kenny Hampton, the aging post master/improvisational handyman and unlocked his P.O box. Empty. It wasn't unusual. Rich had previously had a number of magazine subscriptions, but when the time came to send more money, he never went through with it. It seemed like a lot of work. He didn't have many bills either, living on a boat and owning his car outright. The only time he did get mail was the occasional letter or nuisance notifications, as he called them, like jury duty.

       Shoving his hands in his pockets, Rich wandered down to the diner, scarcely five hundred yards away. A few older men looked up from the counter when he entered and he showed them a polite smile. He stopped by for breakfast almost once a week, but never had felt quite like starting a conversation, which wasn't for lack of amicability, but for a lack of energy. Mornings weren't his thing, to say the least. He ordered his usual omelet and hash browns and bought a paper. He finally started to wake up halfway through the world news and his sixth cup of coffee. He even started a brief conversation with his waitress, whom he knew, if somewhat distantly. Thanking her, he stopped by the cash register and paid his tab. On the walk back to the boat launch, he felt something nagging on his mind, like a mosquito bite that refused to stop itching, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

       Rich walked around the corner of the stone fence surrounding the harbor and saw a family of five standing on the dock not far from his boat. Like the flick of a switch, he remembered what had been eating at him; he had a boat tour today and apparently it was scheduled for just that moment.

       “Morning!” he called with his best smile.

       “Well, good morning to ya! We’re ready for some fun!” the wife with a nice, but quickly receding smile, replied.

       Piling them all on board, Rich got them settled with a variety of canned drinks and headed back to the pilot house. Taking a seat in the worn captain's chair and saying a silent prayer that the engines would start, he turned both keys. After only a few cranks and gentle encouragement, they both fired up. Rich smiled, giving her a grateful pat. The only thing farther astern on his boat, past the pilot house, was a small sitting area shaded by a canvas canopy that he used occasionally for dining. Taking up the majority of the small deck space were a handful of mismatched plastic chairs and a cheap dinner table, which Rich tripped over on his way back to cast off the stern line. He hurried back to the pilot house, half-tripping on a chair again and half stumbling through the door. His passengers shot him a worried glance, which Rich returned with a smile that hid his gritted teeth.