qwertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnmqwertyui opasdfghjklzxcvbnmqwertyuiopasdfgh jklzxcvbnmqwertyuiopasdfgh jklzxcvb nmqwertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnmqwer tyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnmqwertyuiopasCrowded Dreams 8/31/2015 dfghjklzxcvbnmqwertyuiopasdfghjklzx DKeegan cvbnmqwertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnmq wertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnmqwertyuio pasdfghjklzxcvbnmqwertyuiopasdfghj klzxcvbnmqwertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbn mqwertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnmqwerty uiopasdfghjklzxcvbnmqwertyuiopasdf ghjklzxcvbnmqwertyuiopasdfghjklzxc vbnmqwertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnmrty uiopasdfghjklzxcvbnmqwertyuiopasdf ghjklzxcvbnmqwertyuiopasdfghjklzxc vbnmqwertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnmqw ertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnmqwertyuiop asdfghjklzxcvbnmqwertyuiopasdfghjkl Chapter I "Sure you want to' take her out?” James drawled, pointing to the clouds, "Looks like a squall's coming up.” George Bates looked at the early evening sky and wondered if he should not wait until tomorrow to go to the island. Clouds were building and there were three foot swells in the bay, but he had to get this business finished. "I'll be fine, let her go." The boy threw him the ropes and pushed the boat away from the dock. George throttled and pulled the craft away from the sheltering marina cove and out into the chilly autumn sea blow. He shivered and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, took out a silver flask of brandy and took a swig. Liquor burned his throat going down and it warmed him a little for the journey. Once past the No Wake Zone, he gunned the engine. The front of the crimson cigarette boat lifted out of the water and banged down hard after each swell, taking a beating, but he was an experienced boater and was too preoccupied to be concerned. In his briefcase was the contract his attorneys drew up for Herbert Kimball to sign. This was George's fifth trip to Kent Island in two weeks. He pulled back harder on the throttle and the boat cut through the waves, flying up higher and coming down harder, water stinging his face. It was queerly cleansing, like a monk taking a thrashing to purify his soul. When he arrived at the island dock, he eased the boat into the slip as he had a hundred times before and tied up. The light was dwindling quickly and it was a fair hike to the Kimball cottage. He grabbed a few things from the boat and walked up the beach hoping to see the old man on his nightly stroll, but there was no sight of him. Quickening his pace, he negotiated with the hereafter for Kimball's life. By the time he arrived at the Kimball cottage, it was dark. His flashlight scanned the exterior of the cottage. "Herbert? Mr. Kimball are you here? It’s George.” He yelled into the black night air. 2 Nothing stirred. He rattled the door and banged hard, calling to him again. No answer. He shoved and the door opened and found the light switch but there was no juice. The place was freezing. "Kimball, are you here?” George tripped over trash on the floor as he moved through then finally saw a figure on the bed huddled under mounds of blankets. At first, he hesitated, then went over, and shook him. "Mr. Kimball . Herbert? Are you alive?" The old man stirred and looked into the flashlight. "Cold,” he stuttered, "SSSo cold." "Oh, thank God! You’re alive. Here, drink this.” George pulled the flask out of his jacket and poured some brandy down Kimball's throat. "Here, you drink some more of this and I'll get the heat on right away." He went out and checked the propane tank, the generator, turned a switch, tightened a wire, and there was light. While the heater was warming up, he went out and got a few pieces of driftwood to light a fire. Within an hour the cottage was cozy and lit and George had soup simmering on the stove. He carried it into Kimball on a tray. "Get up Herbert and eat some soup. The heat's coming up now." Kimball sat up in bed while George put some pillows behind him, but the old man was still shivering and shaking. He put the tray on the bed stand and felt his head. "You're chilled, finish the brandy.” The old man sat up so George could feed him some soup, "That's it . Now some soup . starting to feel better now?" Kimball finished the soup, then slumped back into the pillow and took George's hand. "Thanks . so much . I'm sorry, do I know you? You look familiar. Are you a doctor?" George hesitated before he answered, weighing the possibilities, "Err, yes, yes I am. Dr. Cavanaugh . you rest now, okay Mr. Kimball?" "Sure, sure. You're not leaving are you? Don't leave." 3 "I won't leave you Herbert. I will be right here when you wake up. You forgot to sign some insurance papers in my office. I brought them with me. You get some rest and we'll take care of that later." Kimball dozed right off, belly full of soup, bloodstream full of alcohol and warm for the first time in days. George regarded Kimball sound asleep, his mouth open, his eyes sunken in, the smell of decay and dampness pervading the cottage. He escaped to the living room, knowing he couldn't leave now until this business was done. George fished the contracts from his coat, took off his glasses, wiped them clean, put them back on, and began separating the copies. Kimball was only to see the last page where he had to sign his name and most of it was signature lines and legalese. He hoped the old man did not ask too many questions. The evening lay out in front of him like an unwelcome invitation. No TV or radio to distract him from the deed at hand, he spent this time recounting everything he had done to make this deal work, to make certain there were no errors; to insure he had left nothing undone that could get in the way. Two months had gone by since that evening he found Kimball on the beach and realized something was very wrong with him: George was on the island to help his parents close their summer cottage for the winter. It was his ritual to come down, board up windows, and eat some of his mother's chicken soup before taking them to the airport. His parents wintered in their condo in Boca Raton. George especially loved the island in the autumn. The sunsets were spectacular feasts for the eyes. While he was slowly strolling, admiring the view he saw a figure off in the distance. "Hello. Who's there? Mr. Kimball, is that you. Mr. Kimball?” George shouted into the night air. The figure weaved and staggered on the beach. He knew this time of the year it could only be Kimball. As owner and caretaker, he stayed on in the winter, making certain the docks and cottages were maintained. 4 Kimball turned away from him, swerved on the banked sand, and fell to his knees. George rushed over to him and knelt beside him. "Herbert, are you all right?" "Who is it?" "It's me Herbert, George." "Who?" "Georgie Bates. Kate and Jim's boy. Remember?" The old man squinted up at him in a daze, then opened wide, "Georgie, oh Georgie porgy, yes, yes . you have grown up." "Let me help you." George was short compared with Kimball and the old man was dead weight in the sand. "Give me a minute, Georgie to catch my breath." "It's okay. Take your time, Mr. Kimball." "Always so respectful, heh, Georgie. A good boy." George chuckled to himself, "It's been sometime since anyone called me a boy. I guess you can't see my bald spot in this light." The humor was lost on Kimball. He was deeply concentrating on standing up on his own. George helped him and the two jostled in the sand for a few moments before he was steady on his feet. George brushed the damp sand off both of them and then got his first good look at Kimball. "Did something happen to you, Mr. Kimball?" "Happen? Oh." He looked down, surveying his wrinkled and stained clothes, "Haven't been well, Georgie. Age is catching up to me I guess." Kimball straightened himself up and brightened. "How's your parents? Still using the old cottage?" "Yeah, that's what I'm doing here, helping them close the place for the winter. They like to wait until the last minute to leave. They love it here." 5 Kimball took a deep breath of the night air and gazed off at the water. "It is a pleasant place, isn't it? You always liked it here. Liked fishing, didn't you?" "No, that was my brother Ben you used to take fishing. I had the sailfish. I used the pond behind the Grande house." Kimball seemed to cloud again, "Ben? Took Ben fishing? Hmm.” He began walking again. "Like your parents, Georgie, always glad I sold them the piece. They have been good neighbors.” He stopped walking and tried to button his sweater as both tasks were obviously too difficult to accomplish at once. "Not easy to walk on this crooked beach, but I cannot resist a sunset stroll now and again." George took his arm, "I know what you mean. I was out here myself doing the same thing. Watching that glorious sunset." They stopped in unison to take in the last hint of orange in the pewter sky behind them. "Is it all right if I walk with you a way? I'd like to." "Sure, Georgie, come along, I like the company. Getting quite chilly now." They slowly made their way down the beach to the Kimball cottage. George studied the man he had spent time with every summer since he was nine.