Adrift

often during office hours, and I had two minutes to spare.
“Do you have a minute, honey?” Her soft-spoken question always made me smile. Dad trained her well. I could rush right off the phone and never fear I’d hurt her feelings.
“Just a sec. What’s up?”
“Adrian Tate’s back. Or he’s returned to the States.” I gathered my folders. Reed hovered in my doorway, but I waved him on. Whatever he wanted to say, he needed more than the sixty seconds I had to offer him. “I was wondering if you could reach out to Tate. Gregg and Adrian had a falling out. I wouldn’t normally ask, but if Rachel were still alive, she’d be torn apart.”
“Mom, I don’t really talk to Tate anymore.” My childhood best friend had grown up to become a Greenpeace warrior.
“He’s your best friend,” she pleaded.
“I’ve spoken to him a handful of times in the last ten years.”
“That’s more than he’s spoken to his family. Honey, his mother was my dearest friend. I wouldn’t ask you to get involved, but I feel helpless. And I think about if it was my children and—”
“Do you have a phone number for him?”
“No, but he’s staying at his grandmother’s beach house.”
“In North Carolina?” I pulled the phone away from my ear as if by doing so my mother could see me gape. Didn’t Pearl Tate die?
“Well, honey, I thought you could fly down there. It’s a nice short flight, right? And you’re always looking for places to fly to.”
She wasn’t wrong. Ever since I earned my pilot’s license, I’d been asking friends and family to go for short rides all over the northeast.
“Please, honey. I wouldn’t ask but—”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Oh, honey. Thank—”
“Gotta run, Mom.” I disconnected and paused at my assistant’s desk. “Valerie, can you contact the flight club and see if you can get me a Cessna for Saturday morning?”
“Route where?”
“Ah, shit. I forgot the airport name. It’s in North Carolina. Southport.” I did a quick search on my phone. “KSUT.” She jotted the letters down, and I headed to an analyst meeting.
Over the next few days, the suit against Cyr Martin wasn’t mentioned within Belman, our Wall Street investment firm. Reed seemed to be the only one aware the Justice Department had announced a civil suit.
Belman didn’t rank as the biggest investment firm, but Wall Street considered us a gold plate staple. The wealthiest in America trusted Belman to guide their investments and to make them money in an unstable world. Some investments in high-risk, volatile countries wouldn’t pan out. Finance 101, international investments were riskier than domestic. But if you knew what you were doing, you could make a shit ton more. Higher risk, higher reward.
Saturday afternoon, I performed a remarkably smooth landing onto black asphalt in the middle of a field. And an hour later I boarded a ferry.
It didn’t take much to get me in a plane. I loved the invigorating feel of navigating small aircraft, especially on a clear day with miles of views. But landing and requiring a car service plus a ferry to get to one’s final destination equaled hassle. But my mother asked, and I’d do it for her. As for my childhood friend, I didn’t know what to expect. It didn’t surprise me he chose to live on an island inaccessible by car.
The loud ferry horn sounded, and a calming breeze cooled, offering a welcome reprieve from the oppressive humidity and August heat. The ferry headed into the inlet, placing the sunset to my back. The salty air filled my lungs, and memories of my teen years surfaced as the island came into view. More homes surrounded the marina than before, and maybe there were a few more along the shore tucked in the trees, but overall, nothing much had changed. The top of the stone lighthouse rose above the green skyline.
Back in the day, I visited every single summer. Nana Pearl let us ride roughshod all over this speck of land couched between the Cape Fear and the Atlantic Ocean. A verifiable kid’s paradise.
An older guy struck up a conversation as the ferry slowed to enter the harbor.
“You here for the week?”
“Nah, just the weekend.”
“My family has been here all summer. I’ll stay for the next week, then we’re all leaving. School starts back. You got a place here?”
“No. My buddy does.”
“You been here before?”
“Yeah.”
“We love it here.” A woman and two boys leaned over the wooden railing on the dock. The boys waved excitedly, and he grinned, flinging his arm in the air to return their salutation.
“Have a good one,” I told the man then stood in line to unload.
After unloading, it didn’t take me long to spot my childhood friend. Tate stood outside the unloading area, arms crossed. He had longish hair pulled back in a short man bun, a deep tan, and wore a faded, ripped t-shirt, old khaki shorts frayed on the ends, and flip-flops. If I’d run into him on a city street, I might’ve assumed he was homeless. He hadn’t aged a fucking day. His familiar grin had me smiling back like no time had passed.
A crack of thunder tore through the sky. One drop fell, then two.
“You got any baggage?”
“It’s all here.” I lifted the shoulder strap of my carry-on tote bag.
“This way,” he shouted as heavy drops fell in quick succession. I chased after him to his golf cart and tossed my bag in the back seat.
“Get the zipper,” he shouted over another crack of thunder and now pounding rain. We both pulled on the zippers at the front, fastening a plastic shell over the sides. After securing us in the claustrophobic rain cover, Tate pressed forward on the pedal and set off at a slow pace. The windshield wipers swiped ineffectively. Visibility through the torrential rain extended maybe five feet. I kicked back for what I expected would be a longish ride.
“So, dude. Ten years. What’s up?”
Lightning lit the sky, and rain drowned