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The pickup had gotten me from Boston to Birmingham just fine and now steam was pouring out from under the hood as I pulled up in front of the apartment. Sighing, I got out. I could feel the heat coming off the metal and popped the hood and let it be for a while. I had some antifreeze inside. Waiting until I changed my pants and grabbed a beer wouldn’t hurt anything.Jack Night waved as I walked up to my door. He could go fuck himself. The son of a bitch had complained to the apartment management company about the size of my flag until they finally made me replace it. Meanwhile, he blasted The Monkees well past what should have been quiet hours while outside with his telescope trying to catch a glimpse at the moon and I never said a freakin’ word.Plastering a smile on my face, I waved back and kept going. If I hear “Last Train to Clarksville” or another of his anecdotes about busty librarians again I was going to lose my damned mind.Ignoring the garland and wreath that usually picked me. Becca was very impressed with the seamanship of the trawler skippers."How do they manage to fit their boats into such a small space and make it look so easy?" Years of practice."She also enjoyed the fish market with all its noise and bustle. They bought some cod and some herring. Then it was off to Robin Hood's Bay. The tide was out so that they had plenty of sand. Becca was as thrilled as a small child. She took her shoes and socks off and rolled up her trouser legs and paddled ever more adventurously shrieking with excitement at the higher wavelets and jumping over them. Inevitably she got her trousers wet but that bothered her not one bit. Eventually her legs became cold and she came out. She dried them on the towel that Steven had insisted they brought. Next he taught her to play Ducks and Drakes and she quickly became rather good at it, quite often getting her pebble to bounce six or seven times.There was a café at the top of the cliff so they had a sandwich lunch before setting.
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