The deck chairs were once again arranged toward the rear of the bridge. Captain Hertzog talked to his passengers as they made their way along one of the main shipping lanes in that part of the Pacific. The day was clear, the temperature was mild, the sky was deep blue and white fluffy clouds were plentiful as the Horizon sailed west.
Since before the storm, the bridge had been off limits to everyone but ship's personnel. It was safer if the captain wasn't distracted when conditions required him to be paying full time and attention to which way the wind was blowing.
While in Honolulu, the captain spent most of his time in the engine room. When he wasn't paying attention to the Sinclair engineers, he was catching up on his sleep. Now it was full speed ahead and business as usual.
“Listen to those engines hum, Klaus,” Bill said. “I don't recall we ever used all four engines at the same time. Am I wrong?”
“During our first research voyage. We ran all four engines for about a half a day. We were required to see to it that all systems were pushed to their recommended limits. We never went twenty-two and a half knots before but she'll do twenty-five knots. I'll wring the engines out today and tomorrow. When we turn south Tuesday evening, we'll have picked up one day. We'll arrive on site a day later then was scheduled before we ran into difficulties.”
“We'll reach our destination Wednesday, Klaus?” Bill asked.
“Wednesday in the early afternoon,” Captain Hertzog predicted.
All the engines were obviously in good working order, but the trouble had never been with the engines.
Bill had taken water samples before eating breakfast that morning and Clay and Bill went to the main lab to see if the results were ready. It's the kind of thing Clay constantly did back home.
“Harry showed me this on my last trip to DC,” Clay said. “I've had it in my lab for several months. It does cut down the time it takes to get results on my water samples,” Clay finally admitted.
”I forgot Harry sees everything before it comes on the market for us working folks. Each new advancement requires a new piece of equipment. Technology is moving forward at a furious rate,” Bill said. “You need a cup of coffee, Clay? I've run dry.”
“I do need a cup,” Clay said, looking into his empty cup.
“I haven't made a pot. Greek’s is so much better than mine. Be a good lad and get me a cup while you're in the galley.”
Clay knew when he'd been given an order and he stepped into the hall and headed toward the galley.
Clay heard the soft guitar music but he paid no attention to it. When he opened the door to Bill's lab to enter the passageway, Bill heard guitar music too. He knew where the sounds were coming from and he waked to the door of Logan's film lab.
Standing in the passageway, he could see in but he couldn't be seen. He listened to the strumming while watching Logan and Dylan.
“This is C.” Logan said strumming the guitar.
“This is A,” Logan said strumming his guitar.
“This is G,” he said, showing Dylan.
“E,” he strummed again.
“This is D,” Logan said. “Now put your fingers where you see mine. C..., A..., G..., E..., and D. That's it. Move your fingers a bit lower for G. Yes. That's it. Strum C. Good. Do A. OK, Right here is G. Fingers a smidgen lower. Right. That's G and E, and we go back to D. You've got it, Dylan. Now you do it by yourself,” Logan said. “Start with C. ...Yes. A. ...Yes, that's good. G. ...You've got it. E. ...Yes, and back to D.”
Dylan played each chord as Logan instructed. They didn't notice they had an audience. Bill was fascinated. How better to get a student to trust you than by teaching him something he wanted to learn.
“Now play the chords in your own time. Keep your fingers the way I showed you and play those chords again,” Logan said. “You learn to play by repetition. You repeat the chords over and over. Then you'll start mixing them in a different order. You do it in a way that sounds good to you. That's called making music.”
There was strumming as Dylan did what he was told to do. Bill backed away from the doorway without being seen. He had to go get Clay. He hoped they didn't finish the lesson before he got back.
Logan was teaching Dylan how to play the guitar. Bill remembered how Dylan reacted to watching Logan entertain during the storm. Now he understood Dylan's interest in Logan entertaining.
Bill stood at the door of his lab and took the two cups of coffee from Clay and set them down just inside the door. “Come with me,” Bill said to Clay. “You don't need to worry about Dylan and Logan getting along. Wait until you see this,” Bill said, leading the way back to the film lab.
Clay and Bill stopped just outside the film lab door. They could see inside but they couldn't be seen.
Clay could hear two guitars being strummed at the same time.
“That's it,” Logan said. “You are my Sunshine my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. Very good. You've got it. You've played before.”
“I haven’t,” Dylan objected.
“You play that song like you've played it before,” Logan said. “I just showed you the chords. You can't play a song just by being shown the chords.”
“You told me which chords to play. All I did was what you told me to do,” Dylan said. “I see it in my head. How you placed your fingers.”
“He's never played any instrument that I know of,” Clay said.
“You can't say that any longer. You'll need to buy him a guitar,” Bill told Clay.
“Looks that way,” Clay said, listening to Logan's instructions to his son.
Dylan began strumming the guitar and singing the lyrics.
“Why that song?” Logan asked. “I've never thought of teaching guitar with this particular song. You know this song.”
“My mother's name is Sunshine,” Dylan said, playing the chords and singing You Are My Sunshine.
“What a nice name for your mom and you're going to play it for her when you get home. That's nice.”
“Yes, I'll play it for her once I'm home,” Dylan agreed, not bothering with the details for a man he hardly knew.
“You're a very intelligent boy,” Logan said.
“I'm not a kid,” Dylan objected.
“I knew that when I first met you,” Logan said.
Clay indicated for Bill to move back toward the galley with him.
It was that evening when Clay came into his cabin. He found himself watching Dylan strumming chords on the guitar Logan had been using the night of the storm.
“You've got Logan's guitar?” Clay asked.
“No, I've got my guitar. He gave it to me,” Dylan said.
“He gave you his guitar? I don't know if I like the idea of a stranger giving you an expensive gift,” Clay said.
“He's Logan, Dad. He's not a stranger. He bought a guitar he found in Honolulu. He was planning to buy a better guitar. He saw one in Honolulu and he bought it. He gave me his old guitar after I asked him to teach me how to play. That's all.”
“Back up a little bit. He bought a new guitar and he gave you his old guitar once he started to teach you?”
“That just about sums it up, Dad,” Dylan said, as he played the song Logan showed him how to play.
“You didn't tell him your mother died,” Clay said.
Dylan looked into his father's face. He was stung by his words.
“How do you know what I did and didn't tell Logan.”
“It's an observation,” Clay said.
“Dad, how do you know I didn't tell him my mother died?”
“Bill and I were listening,” Clay said.
“You were spying on us. Dad, I'm not a child. You've got a lot of nerve,” Dylan said. “Whatever you're doing. Stop it now. I'm not going to not do things because you don't approve. This life belongs to me.”
“We weren't spying. Bill heard Logan teaching you the guitar chords and he came and got me to hear what Bill thought was wonderful. You're still my son and I'm still not sold on Logan.”
“Logan is cool. He doesn't need your approval. He's teaching me things I want to learn. I want you to butt out, Dad.”
“We don't know Logan, Dylan.”
“I know him just fine. He's teaching me to play the guitar. He went to get his old guitar when he started teaching me. He let me play it while he showed me on his new guitar. Once we finished, I tried to give him his old guitar back. He told me to keep it and practice on it. He didn't need two guitars and he had no room for both in his cabin,” Dylan explained.
“Makes sense but you shouldn't be taking gifts from strangers,” Clay said. “You weren't brought up that way, Dylan.”
“Harry gives me books on Christmas and on my birthday. I don't know Harry either, Dad. You want I should give the books back?” Dylan said, taking the concept to its logical conclusion.
“I know Harry. He's like family. There's a big difference between Christmas gifts and gifts out of the blue from someone we've known for a couple of days. Harry's like your uncle. You've been around him your entire life.”
“I've known Logan all week. He plays the guitar, Dad. He wants to teach me how to play. I can't practice if I don't have a guitar, Dad. Think it through. He gave me his old guitar so I can practice. I want to learn to make music. What's the big deal? You're confusing me.”
“You asked him to teach you to play?” Clay asked, looking for room to compromise.
“I was asking him about the songs he sang for us. We started to talk about music. He was talking about chords and showing them to me. He asked me if I wanted to learn the chords. I did. He went and got his old guitar. Once he showed me the chords, I tried to give the guitar back to him. He said, 'No, you keep it to practice.'”
“I should pay him for it,” Clay decided.
“He gave it to me, Dad. Don't insult the man,” Dylan said.
“No, I won't insult him. I'll reason with him. If you want a guitar, I'll buy one for you,” Clay said.
“Hard to do in mid Pacific, Dad. I'm learning to play now,” Dylan said. “Once I'm home there will be no one to teach me.”
“You have a nice voice, Dylan. You picked up the chords fast.”
“I do?” his son asked. “Have a good voice?”
“I'm cautious about people you're exposed to is all. People I don't know,” Clay said. “I'll try to get better acquainted with Logan. He'll be teaching you tips on film making. I know how you feel about your photography.”
“I'm not exposed to Logan. He's a guy on the boat with us. He's smart. He knows stuff I want to know. Like how to play the guitar, Dad. You don't think I'd know by now if he wasn't a nice man? He treats me with respect. You should try that, Dad. I wouldn't do anything to disappoint you. I wouldn't do anything I've been taught not to do. I was raised in a good home. Now, I'm going on deck to try to forget you treat me like I'm a child, and in case you think he might be a perv, he's not. If he was I'd deal with it. You're way off base.”
With that Dylan left his father and he went up on deck.
Clay wasn't sure what it was about Logan he didn't like. The man had become very involved in Dylan's life.
That was enough for the time being. He was probably wrong but where Dylan was concerned, it was his responsibility to protect him.
If that made his son angry, so be it.
Logan got up later than Clay and Dylan most mornings. Bill was an early riser and was always in the galley when Clay arrived for his first cup of coffee. The next morning, when Clay went into the galley, Bill was sitting across from Logan at their usual table. When Clay reached the galley, Dylan was in the kitchen. He could hear Greek and his son talking. Bill was drinking coffee and reading one of the scientific journals he'd picked up while in Honolulu.
Clay sat beside Bill and he said, “Good morning.”
“Morning,” Logan said with a mouth full of waffle.
Logan didn't always come to the galley before he went to his lab. His devotion to coffee wasn't nearly as great as men like Bill and Clay.
Dylan hadn't had much to say since the guitar conversation the day before. He was dishing up his breakfast while Greek was in the midst of preparing for a day of cooking. Once his plate was full, Greek chase him away like he couldn't tolerate the boy being in his kitchen.
It was all good clean fun and Clay could tell that Greek was fond of his son. They got along fine and took the time to tease each other. Dylan didn't act like a kid and Greek treated him like one of the crew.
“You dream you starved to death?” Clay asked Dylan as he sat next to Logan and across from his father.
“I don't know, Dad. I'm starved all the time. I wasn't looking forward to eating food someone besides Mama cooked, but this is good stuff. The Greek knows his way around the kitchen,” Dylan said.
“That's probably why he's the cook,” Clay said, wanting to keep the conversation as light as possible.
“You're pretty smart, Dad,” Dylan said, shoveling in the food.
“How many eggs do you have there?” Clay asked.
“Four. I don't want to act like a pig but it makes Greek feel good to see me fill my plate. I took extra sausage so I went easy on the eggs. Man, that's good sausage, Dad. You think Mama could find this sausage in Piggly Wiggly?”
“We'll ask Greek what it is. We'll get Piggly Wiggly to order some,” Clay said. “Mama and Pop would really like it too.”
“Kewl,” Dylan said, becoming lost in the mounds of food.
Clay also enjoyed the sausage.
Bill put down the journal and he got up for more coffee. He came back with the pot and filled Clay's and Logan's cup.
Dylan finished his food and took his plate into the kitchen to wash it. When he left the kitchen he went on deck so Bill and his father could talk. He hadn't seen the ocean since yesterday and he wanted to see what it was up to.
“Oh, Clay, I've been meaning to speak to you,” Logan said, chewing on another bite of waffle. “I'm teaching Dylan how to play the guitar. I hope you don't mind.”
“I don't mind. He was playing your guitar in his cabin last night.” Clay drank coffee as Logan finished off his waffle, sausage, and home fries.
There was still the question of the guitar and he would wait for Mr. Warren to add that to what he asked Clay.
“Good morning, Clayton. Sleep well?” Bill asked.
“Yes. I usually sleep well but nothing like this. Once I knew we were going on with the voyage, I was able to relax. I didn't want to think about flying home already,” Clay said. “I'm looking forward to the work we're going to do together.”
“Sorry I was rude. I was reading an article in the Scientific Journal. They say the atmosphere is becoming saturated in CO2. It's heating the earth in increments. Their theory is that a change of a few degrees will totally change the weather patterns,” Bill said.
“Sounds bad,” Clay said. “Didn't we follow the Gulf stream once? Your theory being, the ice sheets melt causing a cooling in the oceans, canceling out the Gulf streams warming of Europe, sending Europe into a deep freeze was how I think you put it.”
“I would say this article is related to that,” Bill said. “The planet warms, sea ice melts, and we have the next ice age. Global warming ends up in a deep freeze.”
“Which is it. Is the planet warming or are we going to have another ice age?” Clay asked, knowing the answer.
“Both,” Logan said after taking his plate to the counter.
It was the first time Clay heard Logan speak on the environment. “Warming to achieve an ice age. As strange as that sounds to me, I can see the connection. Melting ice neutralizes the warming effect the Gulf stream has on Europe. I've heard that theory.”
“Do you remember where you heard that?” Bill asked.
“Greenpeace, maybe. Someone in the environmental community mentioned it in front of me. Might have been with Greenpeace.”
“Interesting,” Bill said. “That's a consequence of melting sea ice.”
Logan was feeling pretty good about being near Clay without being insulted. He'd even commented on the environment without being criticized. Maybe it was going to be a good day.
“What's on the agenda today, Logan?” Bill asked.
“I'm getting accustomed to using one of the new 16mm cameras you bought for the trip. I'm going to film the ship from top to bottom today. I especially want to get footage from the bridge. Capture the grandeur of the view. I'm in the process of catching the Pacific in all its phases,” Logan said. “I'll get those shots before we get on site where my focus will shift to what's in the water.”
“Logan,” Clay said, being careful how he worded what he wanted to convey to the young filmmaker. “You gave Dylan your guitar to practice on, or to keep?”
Logan didn't like Clay's tone.
“I gave Dylan the guitar because he needs one if he's serious about learning to play and he is serious, I just happened to have two guitars and one of them I planned to give away. I gave it to Dylan.”
“Didn't you think you should check with me about it?”
“No, it never crossed my mind,” Logan said using the same tone Clay used.
Logan's hand shook as he sipped from his cup of coffee as he stared at Clay as Clay stared at him.
“Why did you do that?” Clay asked.
“Clayton,” Bill interrupted. “We're all friends here. Lighten up. The man is using his valuable time to teach your son how to play the guitar. The proper response in such a case is, thank you, Logan.”
“I didn't mean to step on anyone's toes,” Logan said, wanting to stomp on Clays foot. “Let me explain it to you in its entirety and maybe you'll understand. I've been looking at guitars for a while. I went into what looked like a ukulele shop in Honolulu. There were gorgeous ukuleles in the shop window. I didn't want a ukulele but I wanted take a closer look. They looked handmade because they were,” Logan said.
“I've been looking for a new acoustic guitar. As I'm talking to the owner of the shop and the man who makes the ukuleles, I mention that I'm in the market for a guitar and I'd love one that was handmade. I asked him if he made guitars. He said he didn't. He looked me over for a few minutes while we talked.”
“After about five minutes, he said, ‘Excuse me a minute.’”
“I watched him walk into the back of the shop. He reached up to take what looked like a guitar off of a peg board where other instruments hung. He walked back to where I was standing with a beautiful handmade guitar. I wanted that guitar. I was sure he was about to offer it to me if I liked it.”
“So he did make guitars,” Bill said. “That was a lucky find.”
“Way luckier than you think. He said, 'I don't make guitars as a rule but my son started playing the guitar a couple of years ago. He's in a band. The guitar he was playing was a cheap guitar he picked up at a music shop up the street. I didn't like that my kid was playing a cheap instrument and I set about making him the best guitar I could make for him. This guitar.'”
“So why did he still have it in the shop?” Bill asked. “That's what I asked. He said his son switched to electric guitar without telling him. He didn't bring it home because his band had gone electric. They practiced in a barn behind one of the band member's houses. They decided electric was the way to go and he didn't want to go back to acoustic.”
“Then he said, 'The guitar has been hanging in the back of the shop since I finished it. I recently decided I'd sell it to the right person for what it cost me to make it. There was no way anyone could pay for the labor of love that went into it. I'm not a guitar maker but I do have one guitar. For you, today only, It will cost you $150.00.'”
“Right out of Damon Runyon,” Bill said.
“That really doesn't explain the gift to Dylan,” Clay said.
“That man practically gave me that guitar. He made a gift of it to me. Now I've got two guitars and a very small cabin on a ship. I didn't have room for both guitars. I also wanted to pass along the good karma. Someone did something nice for me and I'll do the same thing for someone else. I knew Sidney Peacock played a beat up old guitar, and I was thinking I'd offer it to him,” Logan said.
“It was at this point that Dylan asked me to teach him to play the guitar. He liked what I did the night of the storm and he decided he wanted to have the ability to do that. I said I'd teach him and I let him use the guitar he saw me playing that night,” Logan said. “Once I saw he was going to pick it right up, and he was using the guitar he'd seen me playing, I decided he should have it to practice on. I liked that idea better than giving the guitar to Sidney who probably likes that battered thing he plays. I told Dylan that I was going to give that guitar away. He asked for it and I made it my gift to him.”
“See, Clay. It was an innocent gift. Dylan asked for it,” Bill said.
“I want to pay you for it,” Clay said, figuring he'd feel better if he bought it for Dylan. “How much?”
Logan stood straight up.
“No, you won't. It was a gift to Dylan. You can't buy it. It was never for sale. You have an intelligent talented son. I like Dylan. I'm sorry I can't say the same thing about his father. Now, if you'll excuse me Bill, I need some fresh air,” Logan said, starting for the door.
“By the way,” Logan said, turning around at the galley door. Mr. Olson, I'm going to be filming the ship and the ocean today. I would like to show Dylan how to use one of the new cameras. I'd like him to take some shots to see how steady he is. Is there anything I need to sign before I ask him to help me?”
“Logan!” Bill said. “We're all friends. We need to be civil.”
“I'm not feeling the love at the moment,” Logan barked. “You and I are friends. I'm friends with Dylan. I am not Mr. Olson's friend and I don't want to be. Are there papers I need to sign or do you want to ask your son if he would like to help me today, or should I?”
“You can ask Dylan. I think it's what he's been waiting for,” Clay said.
“Thank you. I'll do that,” Logan said, leaving the galley.
“What's gotten into you?” Bill asked. “He did a nice thing for your son. The proper response would be to thank the man.”
“I don't share your enthusiasm for Logan. He's spending time with my son. I'm not sure I like it,” Clay said.
“You are way off base, Clayton,” Bill said. “What happened to that sweet kid I taught to be a marine biologist?”
Bill stood to follow Logan out of the galley, which had Clay rethinking his position on Logan Warren.
Clay felt like he was slapped hard by a man whose respect he wanted and needed. He wasn't sold on Logan.
Wasn't that his right? No one liked everyone.