Ivan squatted at the top of the ladder. “How’s it going?”
“We’re stopping at a fast-food place for lunch, aren’t we?”
He grimaced and left.
“Does that mean no?” Stephanie called after him.
A young man swung down the stairs Tarzan style. His T-shirt was three sizes too large, and his baggy shorts hung precariously low on his hips. He struck a negligent pose against the stairwell and looked at her over the top of his dark glasses.
“Ace,” he said with a crooked grin. “I’m here to answer your every need.”
Ivan reappeared. “He’s here to do your dishes and peel your potatoes. He’s nineteen and walking on very thin ice.” He gave Ace a stern look and vanished.
“The captain runs a tight ship,” Ace explained. “And I’m kind of a loose sort of guy.”
“You know anything about working this woodstove?”
“Sure.”
“Good. You’re in charge. I do the cooking, and you do the wood stuff.”
Ace took a chunk of wood from the cache under the stove and flipped it into the air. He spun around and caught the wood one- handed. “I’m good with my hands,” he said, giving Stephanie another crooked grin.
This poor kid has watched too many Tom Cruise movies, Stephanie thought. He had him down pretty well, too, except Ace’s nose was larger, making him seem closer to Snoopy doing Joe Cool.
“Okay, Ace, I’m going to give your hands a chance to make lunch. I think we’ll have an abbreviated menu of fish chowder and biscuits. I don’t suppose we have twenty or thirty cans of fish chowder lying around somewhere?”
“Don’t suppose we do.”
“Okay,” Stephanie said, “then we’ll go to plan two. Find a recipe for the blasted stuff.” She fumbled in the cabinet drawer for Lucy’s recipe book and tore out the chowder page. “You assemble the soup ingredients, and I’ll get started on the biscuits.” Her eyes opened wide at the biscuit recipe. “Twelve cups of flour? I’ll need a cement mixer to make this recipe.”
Ace plunked a huge earthenware bowl onto the counter and gave Stephanie’s waist a squeeze. “This is the bowl Lucy uses for biscuits,” he said, dropping a kiss on Stephanie’s shoulder.
Stephanie waved a large wooden spoon at him. “This is the spoon Stephanie uses for smacking knuckles. Kiss me again, and you’ll never play the piano.”
Ace looked insulted. “How can you resist me? I’m a cool dude.”
“Listen, Ace, I’m going to level with you. I don’t know diddly about cooking for twenty- six people, I’ve never been on a ship before, and this is the first time I’ve seen a woodstove up close. I’m doing this so my cousin Lucy can have a honeymoon, and-”
“Lucy got married? No joke?”
“She’s marrying Stanley Shelton, the plumber.”
Ace looked impressed. “It’s always nice to have a plumber in the family.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
He took a cauldron from a ceiling hook and set it on the stove. “Lucy’s a real good guy, and any cousin of Lucy’s is a cousin of mine. I’m gonna help you out here.”
An ally! Stephanie felt weak with relief, but there was one more thing she had to find out. “Can I ask you a question? Isn’t it hard to see in here with those dark glasses on? You aren’t doing drugs, are you?”
“Not me. I’m too cool to do drugs. I’d take these glasses off, but I’m getting glare from your socks.” He gave Stephanie a meaningful look. “So you think it’s going to work out between us?”
“Yup. I think we’re going to be a great kitchen team.”
“Mmm. And what about romance?” He pointed to the bunk on the opposite side of the table. “We’re roomies, you know.”
“Sorry, romance is out of the question. I’m not into romance. You’re very tempting, but I took a vow.”
He pulled some onions out of a vegetable bin behind the ladder. “This is going to ruin my image. And my self-esteem is shot to hell.”
“Life is cruel,” Stephanie said, counting out twelve cups of flour. She looked around the small galley. “Where’s the butter?”
“Ice chest’s on deck.”
She wiped her hands on her shorts and gave him a thumbs-up sign, deciding he was a good guy-a little weird, maybe, but not mean.
She went topside and discovered they were almost out of Camden Harbor. She’d watched the schooners come and go over the past two months, usually from an upstairs window or from the widow’s walk on the top of her house. The big wooden boats were eerily quiet for their size. Not having the power of an inboard motor, Ivan relied on a yawl to move them through the flotilla of pleasure craft into open sea, where the sails could be unfurled.
The rigging creaked and clanked in the breeze, and the town of Camden looked very small, hugging the waterline, the steeple of the Chestnut Street Baptist Church sparkling in the morning sun. From this distance the mountains seemed to push against the town’s back. Wisps of fog caught in the treetops on Mt. Battie, and Stephanie could see patches of yellow, orange, and red, where autumn leaves had already begun to turn. A gull rode a clanging buoy, oblivious to the noise. Passengers sat topside, watching the gull, watching Ivan at the helm, waiting for the sails to go up. And in an hour they’ll be waiting for lunch, Stephanie thought with a groan.
Ace smiled at her when she returned to the galley with the butter. “I was afraid you’d gone overboard.”
“No. Just took a minute to enjoy the scenery.” She peeked into the steaming brew on the stove. “What is this?”
“Lucy’s fish chowder. I followed her recipe, but I think she must have left something out. Do you think it smells funny?”
It had passed smelling funny, Stephanie decided. It was more in the category of frightening. “What are those little round things floating on top?”
Ace stared into the pot. “They look like fish eyes.”
“Omigod.”
“You think I should have cut off the heads before I put the fish in the hot water?”
Stephanie clapped her hand over her mouth to squelch the laughter. She composed herself as best she could. “Nah, why waste a perfectly good fish head? This will be fine. We’ll… um, strain it before we serve it.”
“We might not have to do that,” Ace said. “Most of the folks on this cruise are pretty old. They probably can’t see so good. We could tell them they’re beans or something.”
Ivan came halfway down the ladder and stopped in midstride, immediately backing up a step. “What are you cooking down here, rubber boots? It smells like the fish-processing plant in Rockland on a bad day.”
“You think you can do better?”
He was sure he couldn’t do any worse. “I’m not really an expert at this,” he said gently, “but I think if you reduced the heat somehow, so it wasn’t boiling so furiously…” He held his breath and hoped the fumes wouldn’t peel the varnish off the walls.
“I think you’re right.” Stephanie gave the pot a clonk with her wooden spoon. “We’re going to reduce the heat right away.” She looked at Ace. “How about turning down the wood?”
Ace stared at her, his eyes hidden behind the silver-black lenses. “That’s the problem. You see, the wood control dial is broken.”
Stephanie looked at Ivan. “The wood control dial is broken,” she repeated with an absolutely straight face.
Ivan nodded. “Well, that explains it.” He inched his way back up the ladder, wondering what he’d done to deserve this. He’d cheated on his U.S. history exam in seventh grade, he’d wheedled Mary Ann Kulecza out of her panties in eighth grade, and he’d padded charitable contributions on his income tax. Now it was all coming home to roost. God had sent him Stephanie Lowe.
“After you turn the wood down, you should probably try to snag some eyes,” Stephanie told Ace.
“That’s going to be tough. They’re hidden under all this scum.”
An hour later the ship was heading due east, pitching through open seas. The scum had been ladled off, and the fish eyes slopped in the broth, mercilessly bashing themselves against the side of the big metal pot while Ace hunted them down with his spoon. Sweat rolled in rivulets along Stephanie’s back and collected on her upper lip as she stood guard over her baking biscuits.