Mrs Plansky Goes Rogue

2

Too late. There was nothing to be done, the fire already in its roaring midlife stage. Mrs Plansky realized all that but at the same time she found a hose coiled on the dock, turned on the faucet, and was now sending a limp stream of water into the conflagration, somehow all the more pitiful since it was still raining pretty hard to no effect on the fire. From where she stood she could see the name of the boat, gold-painted on the stern: Lizette. The name melted away, slowly at first and then fast. The lines tying the boat burned up and Lizette tilted toward the sea and began drifting off. Roaring amped down. Sizzling amped up. Mrs Plansky glanced at Kev. He stood by a mooring bollard, arms folded across his chest, face impassive, the fire reflected in his eyes. Mrs Plansky turned off the faucet, recoiled the hose, and moved beside him, putting her arm around his back. They were both soaked through and through.

At first he didn't seem to notice her, might as well have been a statue with a pulse. She thought about saying, It could have been worse, but that was stupid. What would be helpful or comforting or at least relevant that wasn't stupid? She still hadn't come up with anything when the rain stopped all at once. Kev suddenly came to life, turned, took her in his arms, and kissed her, a kiss that grew deep, passionate, intimate, and took Mrs Plansky completely by surprise, but which she returned in kind. Surprise number two, although in kind might not have been accurate, since she'd been out of practice with Norm gone - as long as you didn't count the events of one unplanned night during her Romanian adventure, a sort of sub-adventure. But now the memory of that got mixed in with present-time action, a super-charging combo of mind and body, so who knows what would have come next there on Kev's dock, with Lizette, her fire flickering out, now mostly underwater, only the sport tower and the ends of the outrigger rods still showing? Mrs Plansky's heightened state had heightened some more, so much that she felt like a different person and not a seventy-one-year-old widow with an artificial hip and perhaps - well, no perhaps about it - a few extra pounds on board a body that had always been strongly built, which was how she preferred to look at that whole question. So the truth was that anything could have come next out on Kev's dock despite - or because of! - the end of Lizette, but right then sirens sounded, close by and urgent. They let go and backed away from each other. Thunder boomed one more time, distant now and in the west, the storm drifting inland.

A fire truck rolled up the driveway, lights flashing, siren off, seashells crunching under the big wheels. Three firefighters hopped out and hurried toward the dock, two men and a woman. They had numbers on their helmets - 27, 99, 133. They took in the remains of the fire and didn't bother unspooling their fire hose. 99 snapped a few photos on his phone and 133 made a call on his. 27, the woman, turned to Kev and Mrs Plansky, gave them each a quick close look.

'Anyone on board?'

'No, thank God,' Kev said.

'This your place?'

'Yes. Well, mine. My name's Dinardo.'

27 motioned toward what remained of Lizette. 'What happened, Mr Dinardo?'

'We were just driving in and the rain was coming down hard but I got a pretty good look. It was a lightning strike. Toward the stern, I think, but I'm not sure. It was just a big bright flash.'

27 glanced at Mrs Plansky. 'Anything to add to that?'

Mrs Plansky didn't quite know what to add. She would have preferred subtraction, specifically regarding the lightning strike. There had to have been one but that wasn't the same as seeing it. She ended up saying, 'I don't think I've ever heard a louder boom.' And thus sounding stupid.

27 didn't seem at all surprised by that. She turned back to Kev.

'What kind of vessel?'

'Bertram Fifty-S.'

'Diesel?' she said.

'Yes.'

'Tank capacity?'

'Twelve hundred and some.'

'How full?'

'Only about a quarter, maybe less.'

27 turned to the other two firefighters, standing on the edge of the dock. 'Any slick on the water?'

'Nope,' said 99, a short, broadly built guy with a grizzled beard.

'Musta all combusted,' said 133, a tall, skinny kid who looked like he might still have been in high school.

'Uh-huh,' said 27, her tone discouraging further comment on his part. The kid looked down at his shoes - not shoes, of course, but heavy rubber boots with yellow toe caps. 'And get hold of the harbormaster.'

'Already done,' said 99.

27 turned to Kev. 'How's your insurance?'

'Good,' said Kev.

'Don't want to jump the gun but the harbormaster will be wanting to short haul what's left down there.'

'Should be covered,' Kev said.

27 nodded. 'Act of God.'

'Yeah,' said Kev. He shot Mrs Plansky a quick glance.

'How about we get started on the paperwork?' 27 said.

'Sure.' Kev gave Mrs Plansky a little smile and followed 27 to the fire truck.

The sky began to darken, night moving in fast the way it did down here, down here being how Mrs Plansky still thought of Florida. A bright light appeared to the south, grew brighter very fast, and soon the harbormaster's patrol boat was gliding into the dock. 133 helped the harbormaster tie up. 99, the short, thickly built guy with the grizzled beard, approached her.

'Mrs Plansky?' he said.

'Uh, yes?'

'Thought I recognized you.'

That was the moment Mrs Plansky realized she was still wearing her sleeveless peach-colored tennis dress with white trim, not at all a water-repellent garment and still soaked from the rain and therefore on the clingy side. Very clingy, in fact. She could feel just how clingy it was, especially here and there, but dared not look.

'Ah,' she said, 'I'm sorry but I don't-'

'No, we never met but I've seen you a few times.'

'Oh?'

'From out in your parking lot. Picking up Lucrecia when her car was in the shop. I'm her worser half, Joe Santiago.'

'Of course, of course.' Although she would have preferred to somehow arrange her arms in a body shield position, she shook hands with Joe Santiago. 'I don't know what we'd do without Lucrecia.'

'Same,' said Joe.

Lucrecia was the home health aide who came to Mrs Plansky's place for four hours every weekday to. well, to basically entertain Mrs Plansky's dad - who despite being ninety-eight had no apparent health problems, although he himself in toto was just about unfailingly problematic - and Mrs Plansky regretted her last remark immediately. Did it sound patronizing? What could she say to smooth things over? Nothing came to her. Then something sizzled out on the water, actually more of a hiss. They both turned to look but there was nothing to see except dying embers. Lizette was gone.

'We were just playing tennis,' she said.

Joe sounded very surprised. 'You and Lucrecia?'

'No, no, although I'm sure it-' Mrs Plansky slammed on the brakes before she began a description of the fun she and Lucrecia would have on the tennis court, both she and Joe knowing full well that Lucrecia had no interest in tennis or any other sport. She gestured toward the fire engine, where Kev was saying something and 27 was writing it down on a notepad. 'With Kev. Mr Dinardo. He lives here.'

Joe glanced around. 'Where's the court?'

'Not here, but earlier, over at-'

Before she could make herself even more ridiculous, the man at the wheel of the patrol boat called over. 'Joe? Got a sec?'

'Nice seein' ya,' said Joe, walking away.

Mrs Plansky wanted to call after him: I'm not even rich! Just comfortable! In her mind she heard what that would sound like before she could speak.

She stood alone on the dock, watched the harbormaster's crew shine flashlights on the water. Somewhere farther off a piece of wreckage burst into flame. She watched it die down to nothing. Did people still use the word comfortable to mean whatever the hell she meant by it? Probably not. Your language gets outdated as you age. You end up becoming like a foreigner. My goodness! What thoughts were these? She heard Norm's voice in her head. Hook. Just the one word, his customary signal that it was time for them to leave wherever they were, the hook being the kind that whisked vaudeville performers offstage.

Mrs Plansky walked off the dock, slowing down when she reached the fire engine. Kev interrupted whatever 27 was telling him and turned to her. 'Sorry for all this, Loretta.'

'I just hope everything's okay,' she said.

'Should take a few days to sort out. I'll be in touch.'

'When you have time,' said Mrs Plansky. In her mind - and so brazen! - she thought but absolutely did not say, To be continued. Instead she waved what she imagined was a noncommittal goodbye, then got into her car and drove away. The fire engine lights kept flashing in all her mirrors until she made the turn onto the coast road. She dialed up the heat, hoping it would dry out her tennis dress but it only made things...