What Comes Around

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The bright blue waters of Penobscot Bay beckoned, and Cam Hooker paused to throw open his dressing room window. Glorious morning, all right. Sunlight sparkled out on the bay, flashing white seabirds wheeled and dove above. He took a deep breath of pine-scented Maine air and assessed the morning’s weather. Sunny now, but threatening skies. Fresh breeze out of the east, and a moderate chop, fifteen knots sustained, maybe gusting to thirty. Barometer falling, increased cloudiness, possible thunderheads moving in from the west by mid-morning. Chance of rain showers later on, oh, sixty to seventy per cent, give or take.

Perfect.

Certainly nothing an old salt like Cameron Hooker couldn’t handle.

It was Sunday, praise the Lord, his favorite day of the week. The day he got to take himself, his New York Times, his Marlboros, and whatever tattered paperback spy novel he was currently headlong into reading for the third time (an old Alistair MacLean) out on his boat for a few tranquil hours of peace and quiet and bliss.

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