"I beg your pardon, lad?"
"She said it's okay because you're a ghost and things can't go anywheres anyways. Because you can't touch and stuff."
Jonathan squinted hopefully into the sun. He couldn't see the Captain's face, hidden behind the sextant. Their small rowboat bobbed uncertainly in the waves.
Slowly, the Captain lowered the instrument. How dare they, he thought.
"Isn't it, Captain?" Jonathan peered anxiously at his idol. He began to cry. "Okay? You're not going to leave or nothing because I told you what Mrs. Grover said to Mrs. Coburn? I mean, just don't touch Mom, she's a girl, anyways and no one will talk about us anymore. Please don't go away just because you really can touch. I promise not to tell Mom."
His voice pitched, trembling ominously. "I shouldn't have told you. Claymore said not to."
Thunder rumbled briefly.
"Lad," began the Captain as calmly as he could. "Belay those tears, midshipman Muir." He cupped Jonathan's chin with his hand, wiping the lad's face with his thumb.
What was this really about?
"You know I don't care for the idle pratter of silly women. Are you really worried I might leave, as your father did when he died?"
Jonathan nodded, and exploded into tears. The Captain drew him into his arms.
My first human contact in 100 years, he thought as he felt the sobbing child's arms clutch his peacoat.
"There, there lad."
The gulls circled overhead, shrieking noisily. The sun was warm. The ghost felt Jonathan gradually relax in his arms.
"You never had a chance to cry when your father passed, did you, Jonathan?"
Jonathan nodded into his chest. One last, convulsive sob, arose in the small body.
"I was just a little brat then. That's what my cousin said. I can't remember him. My Dad, I mean."
Just the absence of him, thought the Captain. The absence of a connection, a bond unfulfilled.
"I'm sure he was a fine father, who loved you very much and would be very proud of what a fine seaman you've become," he said, choosing his words carefully.
Mrs. Muir never spoke of her dead husband. She didn't have to. Not since the look she'd given him the night Claymore wed the blasted couple.
Her gaze was not the wounded stare of a woman mourning a beloved spouse. It was the wounded gaze of a woman who wanted more, he mused. A woman capable of great love.
Could he even hope to be the object of such a fine figure of femininity, the mother of such a fine lad?
"Do you think he would care about us, Captain Gregg? That you're kinda like a Dad even though you're a ghost and he's not?"
Jonathan withdrew, rubbing his eyes. He hiccupped as he peered hopefully at the Captain's stern visage.
"Nay, lad. Even though I'm sure your father has passed to the other side, to heaven, if you will, he wishes nothing but the best for you, Candy and your mother. Even Martha."
"Martha didn't like him," Jonathan volunteered.
The child has a point. tugged absently on his ear.
"Jonathan." A command, not a statement.
"Help me turn this craft and row us back to shore. I may not be able to replace your father, but I certainly can help you grow up to be a fine man, one that any father would be proud to call son."
"Aye aye, sir." The small boy pulled at the oars with all his might. The rowboat glided gracefully toward Gull Cottage's private beach, largely under ghostly power.
Jonathan scrambled out of the boat.
The Captain pulled the craft out of the water and well onto the beach.
Jonathan watched thoughtfully.
"Do you think my Dad would mind if you did have to touch Mom, like if she cried too, or something and needed a hug?"
"My boy, what your mother thinks or does or says is beyond the control of any man, living or dead," the Captain intoned gravely.
From the master cabin, Carolyn watched as he tousled Jonathan's hair.
Hot tears threatened to spill down her cheeks and ruin her mascara. She was mad, ecstatic and jealous of Jonathan all at the same time.
Unexpectedly, and for the first time in years, she felt the inexorable tug of sexual desire.
Carolyn pushed the telescope away. From the beach, the Captain noticed the sudden glint from Gull Cottage.
For the first time in years, he felt the inexorable pull of hope.
He swept the lad off his feet. Jonathan grabbed him around the neck and scrambled onto the Captain's broad back. The Captain strode purposefully up the stairs, to the house above.
She was waiting at the door.
"Jonathan!" He slipped from the Captain's back, into her waiting arms.
"Everything's gonna be ok, Mom," he informed her.
"Thank you," Carolyn mouthed silently. She brushed her arm purposefully against his as she stooped to whisper into Jonathan's ear. The Captain stood, riveted in place by her touch.
"Everything."