At the fuel transfer station office, Wendy sat at her desk speaking to a deep-voiced man who I could not see. When I asked her where he was, he stepped out of a door. He was tall, craggy faced, muscular and handsome.
When he learned I wanted some kerosene, he told me I must be a sailor, which I confessed I was. He introduced himself as Lyle, and told me about the sailing courses he had taken, and how he would quit his job right now to join us. Wendy told him, oh no he wouldn’t. I countered he could join us for a short while if he would like, and he told me he was very interested. Continue reading “Part 3: Threads reweave, one ends”
