Hunter's Moon by Randy Wayne White

Author:Randy Wayne White
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery & Suspense
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2011-04-12T04:00:00+00:00

WHEN I RETURNED TO THE FUEL DOCKS, I WAS CARRYING two Styrofoam cups filled with ice and Tuborg beer. I knew the president wanted to be back aboard by midnight so he could make his nightly shortwave contact.

We found a bench facing the harbor. No Más’s anchor light was a white star among many clustered off Christmas Island.

“That smell . . . heat and rain”—Wilson sniffed as if tasting—“it hasn’t changed.”

At night, a bubble of Caribbean darkness envelopes Key West insulating the island from the mainland. Air molecules are dense, weighted with jasmine, asphalt, the musk of shaded houses. Rain on coral; heat, too.

“When I was in the Navy, we were stationed here for six weeks. The air base off Garrison Bight—I’d just completed amphibian training in San Diego, and we were still flying the Grummans. I didn’t want to leave. When I finished my hitch, I wanted to come back and run a charter boat. Maybe buy a seaplane and fly tourists to the Tortugas and Bahamas.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“It was Wray. She had a higher calling. The woman was born with a need to serve. We couldn’t have children, and I’m not the religious type. So we went into politics.”

“Not religious?” His month in a monastery, the interest in Zen—then both were precedents for severing contact with security people.

“Unofficially? No. My wife, though, was religious in the best sense of the word.”

He took a drink, shaking his head. “I hope I don’t sound like some maudlin old geezer when I talk about her. One of the perks of being president is that when I bore people, they think it’s their fault.”

No, it wasn’t tiresome. He’d mentioned his wife a few times while sailing. Stories that provided fresh insight. Wray Wilson’s public persona was that of the solid, supportive First Lady who had overcome handicaps. According to Wilson, though, “She was the brains, I was the mouthpiece, and we shared the balls.”

A tough, driven soul, was the impression. He loved her. He was also in awe. She compensated for her deafness, and slight speech impediment, by working harder, studying harder, than her contemporaries. The woman had a sophisticated understanding of the world, he said, that could only have been assembled in silence.

“I didn’t go into politics because I wanted to be president,” Wilson told us. “Hell, I didn’t even want to be a congressman. Live in D.C. after some of the places I’d been stationed? I went into politics because I wanted to live up to Wray’s expectations. At first, that was the only reason. Then it kinda swallowed me up.”

He focus was inward. The Navy pilot chuckled. “I was more comfortable as a hero than a president. I’m right at home leading a charge. But I have no interest in assigning tents afterward. If it wasn’t for Wray, I never could’ve pulled it off.”

It was touching. I told him that as we sat looking at the harbor, sipping our beers, adding, “I prefer boredom to surprises. That’s why I’m offering to help.

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