From Ashes to Honor Read Online Free Page B

shared a third floor Manhattan walk-up with two other bachelor cops, and what the trio knew about real estate could fit in one shirt pocket. Before docking in the narrow inlet of the Patapsco River, Austin had known even less about boats.
    But like the EMT certification that lured him from New York, scars collected retooling the engine and muscles built by varnishing wood and polishing brass had been earned the hard way. Both the career and his floating home delivered a sense of accomplishment, but few things filled him with more pride than the name, applied one Old West letter at a time in a bold, broad arc across the stern:
    One Regret.
    When asked why that, instead of something more work- or water-related, he recited the same answer: "At the end of every day, there's sure to be at least one thing I could have done better."
    Coffee mug in hand, he scaled the ladder leading to the pilot house, where, for decades, a short list of stalwart captains had stood to guide unwieldy vessels into an assortment of ports along Lake Michigan's shores. The 360° view made him feel like the ruler of a watery kingdom that stretched from the Bay to the Patapsco River to this private cove on Bear Creek. His one regret? That his twin would never enjoy the Van Gogh–like sunrise that blended orange and yellow into the cloud-streaked azure sky.
    Stepping through the narrow door and onto the upper deck, he filled his lungs with briny air and, forearms on the glossy brass rail, surveyed his domain. Melancholy wrapped round him as, holding the steaming mug high, he toasted the horizon."Here's to you, Avery," he said into the salty wind, "may you always—"
    "Ahoy, Finley!"
    Austin turned toward the eardrum-piercing voice. " Mornin', Flora." Grinning, he lowered the cup. "Don't tell me Bud's still in his berth. . ."
    Her brittle cackle skipped across the mirrored surface of the water. "I keep telling him if he intends to sleep his life away, I'll have no choice but to move in with the good lookin' young paramedic next door."
    Much as he enjoyed the company of his elderly neighbors, Austin sometimes wished he'd chosen a more remote place to tie up, because regardless of season, Flora squawked the same greeting every day, no matter what time he rolled out of his bunk. Half a dozen times, thinking it had been his cabin lights skittering across the water that roused her, he'd climbed to the pilot house without so much as a candle to guide him. But not even full-out darkness deterred her. Small price to pay, he supposed, for fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies in the winter, homemade ice cream during the summer months, and amusing conversation all year long. "You flatter me," he said. "I'm off to work in a few. What're your plans for the day?"
    Even from a distance of twenty yards, he could see the bend of her arthritic finger, pointing west. "Into town to restock the pantry," she said, loosing another guffaw. "Hopefully I can rouse that lazy husband of mine and get him to help me toss groceries from the car to the dock."
    "Aw, the exercise'll do you good," he joked. "Besides, poor ol' Bud hasn't been retired all that long."
    "Next Tuesday it'll be six years, I'll have you know!"
    His tug doubled their schooner in width and length, yet he couldn't imagine sharing it 24-7—for six years—with anyone.
    "Well, I'd better hit the road. Have a good day, kiddo."
    "Will do. And you stay safe out there, y'hear?"
    Three years earlier, the Callahans' firefighter son had died when the roof of a blazing building collapsed under the weight of his heavy gear, so they understood better than most the dangers of Austin's job. "Give my best to Bud."
    "I'm making shrimp Creole for supper . . ."
    Because she knew he had no family, Flora made sure they shared one meal a week, sometimes more; and much as he enjoyed the "your turn–my turn" feasts, Austin looked forward to his solitude. Tonight, he planned to watch a Tom Selleck movie on TV and hit the hay early. Think fast,