Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run

good. You were right. I never would have been able to do that without a guide. Thanks.”
    “No problem.” As they walked and cooled down, their conversation stayed on the run and the race. Malcom felt more relaxed, and he was glad that he had been able to get in the run.
    The two men said goodbye, and then Malcom started his car. As he was about to pull away he was startled by a knocking on the passenger-side window. He looked up and was surprised to see Alfred staring in. He began to roll the window down, but before it was fully open, Alfred leaned over and in that strange nasally voice, said, “Your wife’s book. What was the name of it again?”
    Maybe it was the question, or perhaps it was the way that it was asked, but a chill ran down Malcom’s spine despite the heat. “ The Captain’s Quilt .”
    Without a word, Alfred turned away. After a few steps, he stopped, turned back, and said, “Thanks.” There was an almost imperceptible hesitation before he added, “Have a safe ride home.” Then, without another word he turned and walked off to his truck, leaving Malcom to shake off the chill.

CHAPTER 17
    AFTER HIS RUN WITH MALCOM , Alfred stopped at the only used bookstore in town. To his delight, they had a dog-eared copy of Polly’s book.
As the sun broke the horizon, its rays shining under the heavy clouds, they had the first hint that the storm was finally subsiding. Even though the ocean was still turbulent and the ship’s motion had not yet eased, Christine could tell that something had changed. The wind, it was the wind. It no longer howled so in the rigging, and she could hear men moving about on deck. Christine remained huddled in her cabin, in her damp bed under her damp quilt. She heard the ship’s bell toll the hour, then she fell asleep, a deep, badly needed sleep.
At first, the knocks seemed a part of her dream. Then, as her mind began to shift from the world of dreams to the present, the knocking continued. She jumped. Part of her now was fully awake, but another was still not sure of where she was. She sat up from under the tangle of covers and looked about. Another loud knock on the door propelled her from the comfort of her damp bed onto the still-pitching floor to the door, and she pulled it open.
The cook, hand raised and ready to knock again, was caught by surprise. “Oh, beggin’ your pardon, Miss. The cook fires are lit again and I thought that you might like something hot to eat.”
“How kind of you to think of me so.” Fear has a way of killing one’s appetite and now, at his suggestion of a hot meal, her hunger was overwhelming. “Yes. Yes, that would be very nice. Thank you.”
“Ma’am.” He turned away to leave, but before his first step, he turned back and said to her, “The Captain sends his regards.” Without giving her time to respond, he retreated hastily.
Food had never tasted so good, and when she had finished eating, she decided to go up onto the deck. She could tell by the motion of the ship―and the familiar sounds of schwooshing water against the hull as the ship cleaved its way through the ever-flattening sea―that the storm was truly over.
She braced herself in the doorway and looked out over the deck to the ocean beyond. The first thing that struck her was the color. The water wasn’t the deep blue of home, and it wasn’t the colder grey-blue that she had noticed as they had sailed further north. Instead there was a sort of greenish hue to it and it lacked clarity. The muddy quality was particularly fascinating because they hadn’t seen land for weeks. Small breaks in the clouds let occasional sunrays illuminate the wave tops, while foam still dotted its surface.
The cry of an unseen seabird drew her gaze upward. The masts were still mostly bare, but the sails that were up were stretched full as they pulled the ship along. A work party was already hard at work washing the deck, and the seaweed and other detritus, which seemed to be everywhere, was slowly being returned to the sea.
She jumped when a hand touched her shoulder, and she spun around to see the Captain standing behind her. “That was quite a blow, but she’s a good ship and we survived.”
“Captain.”
“Yes,” he continued. “Yes, it was. I honestly feared we wouldn’t survive.” It was as if he were talking to himself and she were not there. He brushed past, making his way out onto the deck, shouting commands as he moved.
Christine decided that she would be better off