The plane started it’s approach and Charles felt an excitement in his chest, but his eyes were heavy. He had experienced this many times before; working hard and late on a project for his business, being driven by adrenalin and the desire to succeed. This was a situation he could not force or maneuver. It was beyond his control. He would find a hotel, rest, and rent a car. Tomorrow he would be in Burin.
Charles was up with the sun and on the road. He drove while sipping a Tim Horton’s coffee and pulling on a bagel.
Newfoundland was rugged and green. Small sloughs sprinkled the landscape along the Trans Canada Highway. Only a half hour from the airport Charles felt he was in complete wilderness. No homes were visible from the highway. The only life was on the highway.
Charles put his life on hold. He had no thoughts of the future. He did not think about the business, investments, or any sort of plans. First he must put Burin behind him whether there was something there or not.
His mind wondered. ‘If the medallion is a coordinate that leads me to Burin, how did this all come about? Are there people there who gave me away? Was I an illegitimate child, an inconvenience and given away? Am I a secret lovechild? Or perhaps this is all nothing.’
He speculated on each question and realized that sometime, most of the time, things are seldom driven by reason and the plausible. It is often the thing not thought and unexplored. Nothing in his life to this point had followed a straight line of reason. His life was made up of a strange sort of unexplained and unforeseen episodes. ‘Lives have beginnings, middles, and ends; my life has been a series of middles. It has been as if I was cast for a play that had already started and asked to create a role from nothing.’
“And I haven’t done so bad,” Charles smiled.
Before turning southwest on to Highway 210 and he stopped for another coffee. Not knowing where the next gas station might be he filled the tank. He was soon on the Burin Peninsula called by locals “the boot.”
There was a serene and unaffected majesty to the land. It was a land that was in the way of getting to the continent and merely passed over or sailed around. Charles thought of it as a land settled by people who did not have the energy or adventure to go further. It was a land without passion.
It was just past 11:00 AM when Charles pulled into a gas station to use the restroom. Again he filled the tank. He was in Marystown, less than 20 miles from Burin.
Before pulling onto the highway he checked his map more closely. The exact point of the coordinates on the medallion was just off shore a hundred yards or so. That is what baffled him; why were the coordinates just off shore? That was his argument that it may not be a coordinate; why would some one give a coordinate just off shore?
The coordinates were in a small cove named Back Cove.
In Marystown Charles crossed a bridge, his final leg on his journey. On the other side of the bridge a sign directed up straight ahead to Burin. Just seeing Burin on a road sign created an anxious fear within him. His stomach churned as if taking a plunge on a rollercoaster.
The road hugged a river-like body of water to his left. It was dotted with small well-kept houses. Suddenly the road turned from southwest to directly south. Again he found himself a rural setting with small pines on both sides and where houses were sparse. Clusters of homes and businesses suddenly appeared as if to let you know the land was not forgotten by time and progress.
To his left huge hills folded into the water to his right. He was getting close. The excitement was intoxicating.
He came to a raise in the road.