The television droned on with a story about highway fatalities on Memorial Day weekend, and Jason hardly listened as he re-counted the deposit from the bar register. But when the next story splashed in from a Fox correspondent in Baltimore, Jason found himself more than half-listening to a young blonde female reporter as she unfolded a tale about a dive boat explosion in the Chesapeake Bay. It was one of those “news alerts” with few early details. As with most unfolding tales of tragedy, the network promised updates and film as soon as it became available.
Jason was distracted by the front door opening. A flash of blonde hair and a fresh white polo shirt signaled Nevah’s arrival. She was Manny’s most popular waitress for a lot of reasons — the way she looked in low-slung jeans and her effusive personality being up there near the top of the list.
“Hey, Jase, how’s it going?”
“Can’t complain,” he said as he watched her glide past him on the way to the kitchen.
“Cedric not here yet?” she said, noticing their short-order cook’s absence.
“He’ll be here. He always is.” Jason continued to get the bar ready for the first customers of the day.
It wasn’t until around 2:30 that the lunch business slacked off, giving Jason and his staff a breather. As he polished the bar, Nevah started talking, making small talk as she normally did, and for the first time in hours, Jason could actually hear the audio on the big TV.
Even though he had been barely paying attention, something hooked him in his subconscious and he began screening out Nevah’s words. He grabbed the remote, notched up the volume.
“—explosion in the Chesapeake Bay this morning. We have an update from Roger Powell on the scene in Annapolis.”
Jason watched as the face of an earnest young TV journalist appeared with a marina in the background. “Thanks, Allyson. The Coast Guard has identified the boat as the Sea Dog, which was a charter vessel out of Annapolis. Early this morning, its captain, Donald Jordan, had taken members of a dive club out on the Bay to investigate a sunken ship. So far, the cause of the explosion which killed the captain and divers Andrew Mellow, Kevin Cheever, and Lawrence Schissel is unknown. Ensign Gary Hawkins of the Coast Guard had this to say…”
The screen cut to an interview with a young officer, who said, “It’s really strange because we had a distress call for this boat just yesterday — they had a diver drown while he was inside the shipwreck.”
“What kind of wreck had the divers found?” said the reporter.
“World War II submarine.” The Ensign looked on the clipboard he was carrying. “It was called the U-5001. It’s the second Nazi sub ever found in the Chesapeake Bay waters and—”
“Hey, Jason, we’re running out of napkins!” Nevah emerged from the kitchen with a half empty pack of them.
“Wait!” he said, waving her off and looking up at the screen.
“What?”
“Ssshhh!” Jason glared at her, then back to the screen, where the segment played on with the reporter wrapping it up. Jason grabbed a pen and a waitress’s order pad. “What did they say the name was?”
“—and local police are investigating the possibility there were two additional divers on the boat still missing. Thomas Chipiarelli, a firefighter from Baltimore City, and Dexter McCauley, the proprietor of an Annapolis dive shop. More on this tragic story as it develops, Allyson. This is Roger Powell, Fox News.”
“What’s wrong?” said Nevah. True concern in her voice.
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “I… just wanted to hear that story, that’s all.”
“Well, we’re going to need more napkins by tonight,” she said.
“Okay, you can go up to BJ’s and get some,” said Jason, who was trying to collect his thoughts. There was something about that news story that nagged at him. He wasn’t sure he’d heard it right, but it sounded like that guy had said U-5001. If he’d heard her right. Could it be possible?
“Okay if I leave now? While it’s slow?” said Nevah.
“Sure, go ahead.” Jason said absently, then: “I need to stop back at the house. I’ll be back in a little while.”
U-5001.
The mention of the name struck deeply in him. Oh, man, he thought, are you kidding me?
Ten minutes later, Jason pulled his Murano SUV up to the house on Foxshire Drive. Everything looked serene, and it was.
Dad was probably finishing up the front nine by now — something he was doing with great regularity since Jason started to assume most of the duties down at the bar. Jason was happy to see the old guy have some time to enjoy himself after sending two kids to private schools and college. Richard Bruckner had become obsessed with turning in a card that broke 80 at least once before he died.
His mother was in the backyard working on her gardens, which had become a hobby years ago, and now consumed her with constant weeding, pruning, and replanting. The lawn behind the house had long ago disappeared and the multi-tiered gardens looked like something out of an English village in the Cotswolds. As he passed through the gate on the side of the house, he saw his mother doing something to a bed of day lilies that already looked spectacular.
“Hey, Mom, how’s it going?” She looked nowhere near her true age, never having needed to dye her strawberry blonde hair or torture herself with crash-diets. She’d lived an active, fulfilled life working at Manny’s, raising two kids, and lately becoming a horticultural expert.
“Jase, what’re you doing over here? Is there something wrong?” She took off her gardening gloves with the little green dots all over the inside fingers.
“No, not at all,” he said, smiling his best disarming smile. “I need to ask Opa something.”
Mom looked at her watch. “Your grandfather’s taking a nap, I think.”
Jason grinned, nodded. He loved the old man, and it was mutual. Opa Erich had long ago decided he loved Jason more than anyone in the world, and had made it his lifetime job to teach his grandson everything he knew about everything. And it had been a great ride. Some of Jason’s most favorite memories involved time spent with his grandfather — or as he’d preferred to be called — his “opa.”
The old man had taught Jason how to fish, to sail, to use just about every tool on the bench, how to use a gun, how to read the weather, how to stay alive in the wilderness, and a hundred other things from whittling a piece of wood to repairing broken appliances.
One time, when Jason had been maybe ten or eleven, he asked Opa how he knew so much about so many things. The old man looked at him and smiled, touched the side of his head, and said, “I am curious. I ask questions and I do whatever is needed to find the answers.”
That made a lot of sense, even to a young boy, and Jason had let his grandfather’s words inspire and guide him into adulthood. Even back then, Jason had a sense of the special bond between him and his grandfather. Of course they loved each other, but it was more than that — they understood each other.
“Go on,” said Mom. “Go on in and talk to him. You know how much he likes to see you.”
“Okay.”
He entered through the back door on the deck into the kitchen. There was fresh coffee in the pot, so he poured two mugs, then headed down the hall to a small suite of rooms realtors always called an “in-law” apartment. For as long as Jason could remember, this place had been called “Opa’s rooms,” and so they remained. But even though he still looked healthy and way younger than his age, the old guy was so old now, Jason wondered how much longer that would be true.