Myrtle Beach, South Carolina Being in Myrtle Beach had brought back a lot of old memories. It was Jenny's favorite vacation spot. She loved to walk the beach for miles and talk about life's little problems; problems that, back then, seemed pretty huge. Now, from his perspective, those miniscule problems were a walk in the park.
Jenny's Uncle George was more than happy to let Christopher take the sail boat out. At least somebody was getting some use out of the thing. "Take her for as long as you like, but be gentle," he had said over the phone. "She's almost as old as me."
Christopher rented a car and drove non-stop from New York to Myrtle Beach, arriving at the marina in just over twenty hours. A large sign in the parking lot instructed all visitors to check in at the dock office before venturing out to their vessels. This was something new; he and Jenny had to "check in" with nobody when they took the boat out in the past.
An old man sat behind the counter; his dirty coveralls hid a just as filthy bare chest. He eyed the newcomer warily, and Christopher's heart sank. This old codger was probably going to ask a lot of questions-questions that would lead to him refusing to let Christopher take the boat out, because it was not his.
Surprisingly, the suspicion quickly turned into a friendly smile. "How can I help you, son? You look lost."
He set his duffle bag on the floor and returned the smile. "Just came down to take out my boat for an extended vacation."
He stood to prop greasy hands on the glass countertop. He must be a mechanic who doubles as the cashier, Christopher thought. "What slip is she in?"
"Twenty-two.' "Twenty- two? Really?"
Christopher nodded.
"Hell, I was getting ready to yank that one."
"Yank it?" The younger man's brow wrinkled in confusion.
"Okay, terminate your lease, if you want to get technical. She's been sitting in the same spot for three years. Don't know why you folks buy a boat if you don't plan to use it. It's a waste of a good slip, if you ask me. I got lots of customers who want to rent it, and they actually use their boats."
Christopher wanted to tell the man that the boat was not his, but why confuse the issue.
The clerk/mechanic handed the younger man a form, which had to be filled out with his name and address, the time out, and the expected time of return. He frowned in indecision. If Matthew Fox should get his hands on this… "Strictly for security reasons," the old man read his thoughts. "Boats get stolen from time to time, and the police want me to keep an accurate log book."
