Nikki gave me a slip number and the name of the boat, Fair Thee Well. I’ll just walk up and down the floating walkway here until I find them. Easy.
Except it’s not easy. There’s about a hundred boats down here, a tangle of masts stretching up to the darkening sky. After I make my way up and down a row or two, I stop and unearth my cell phone from my bag. While I’m punching in my passcode, I hear Nikki call out, "Hey, Gia!"
I turn and find Nikki and James standing in the cockpit behind a faded red canvas cover, James with his arm resting on the frame, Nikki waving next to him. She’s wearing her favorite pair of cropped chinos, matched with a nautical inspired polo shirt, and a striped sweater. Her chin-length blonde bob is tucked behind her ears, framing her high cheekbones.
"Glad you found us. I was beginning to worry," Nikki says as I walk toward them.
I glance up at the sky. "I already am worried. Do you think we should go out in this weather?"
"You can’t sail without wind, can you?" James grins and moves to the side runnel, extending his hand toward me. "Welcome aboard."
"Thanks," I say, taking his hand, climbing up and swinging my leg over the wires that stretch around the boat. Then I catch the tip of my tennis shoe and stumble. It wasn’t the most graceful of entrances. I hope I didn’t look like an idiot.
I give Nikki a hug, and can tell by the glimmer in her eyes that she’s thrilled to be dating a captain and a good-looking one too, in charge of a real life sailboat.
Fair Thee Well is a lot smaller than many of the other boats docked at the marina, but it looks cute and capable. A sporty red stripe runs alongside two tiny topside windows. There’s a confusing mess of ropes and lines and blocks and clamps, leading here, there and everywhere, and the sails are flapping half-heartedly in the breeze. Am I glad James knows what he’s doing.
"I can’t believe you own a boat. Wow," I say to him.
"Partly own. And sometimes I wish I didn’t. You know what they say about boats?"
"That they’re super fun to sail?" I ask.
"Ha! That they’re holes in the water where you dump your money."
"Oh dear."
James chuckles and slips his arm around Nikki. "Good thing they’re super fun to sail." Nikki looks up at him, smiling grandly, her half-moon shaped eyes disappearing into squints. "Go ahead and put your bag down below. I’ll get the engine started."
Inside the boat, I find old ropes piled onto the faded canvas cushions of the couch. A bucket filled with tools sits off to the side, and a small wooden countertop topped with a single gas burner makes up the kitchen. The boat has a musty smell that makes me feel queasy or maybe it’s the unsettling way the boat keeps bumping against the dock, knocking my sense of balance out of whack.
Quickly, I put my bag down and climb out into the fresh air again. The wind picks up, clattering ropes against masts all across the marina. Suddenly, I have a misgiving. I wouldn’t call it ESP because I turned my back on my extra special power long ago.
But I do have an inkling. Call it nerves. I have a feeling that something is going to happen today, something big, possibly bad. Maybe it’s just my imagination. What’s that saying about fear? Is it something to be heeded or pushed aside? I’m not sure. I can’t remember.
I sit down next to Nikki, while James fires up the engine and checks on a few dials. "Isn’t this exciting?" She asks with a big smile, squeezing my hand with both of hers.
"Mmhm. Yeah."
"You okay?" she asks, her smile fading.
"I’m just a little nervous, I guess."
"About what?"
"I wish I knew."
She smirks and wafts a hand. "Don’t worry, James knows what he’s doing." She looks over at him. "Right, babe?"
James chimes in. He’s seen it all before, he’s telling me. Big seas, bad weather, you name it. He sailed the boat to Catalina Island with six of his friends just a few weeks ago. Nothing broke. The boat didn’t sink. Nobody died of privacy invasion. He’s a real professional. People pay him to sail in inclement weather. In fact, he’s off to a regatta on Martha’s Vineyard in a few days to crew. "I’ll get you home safe and sound," he’s saying as he pats the yellowing deck of the boat. "She won’t let us down."
"It’ll be fun!" adds Nikki.
"Okay," I mumble. "Thanks guys . . ."
He’s up at the front of the boat now—the bow—tossing ropes onto the dock. Then he hurries back and slips the engine into gear. So I sit back and try to relax as the boat pulls away from the dock, while James steers us into the great windy unknown.
8
GIA
It’s definitely windy. Gusty, James calls it, with blasts up to thirty knots. That’s what his little wind-o-meter reports anyway, he calls it the Windex. I squeeze my hands between my knees and think about blue cleaning fluid. Thirty knots seems to be his threshold for concern. He’s looking very busy now, and Nikki is looking very green.
"Keep your eyes on the horizon," James tells Nikki, who turns to the side and stares into the distance.
"Can you winch in the sheet?" he asks me, voice raised against the wind, pointing at a thingy. Boats have a lot of thingies. Thingies with names that don’t make any sense. I look around for said sheet, trying to find a big white fabric-like item that one might find in bed. Does he mean the sail? I know what a sail is. Sheets and sails are kind of similar. Both are big and billowy. Right?
"The rope!"
Nope. Okay, I see a lot of ropes. There’s a thin blue one, a red one with black specks, and a dirty white one.
"The blue one. Put the winch handle on the winch and crank it up!"
Okay. Okay. I can do this. I grab a handle-looking device and try to fit it into the star shaped hole on top of the winch, but no matter how hard I push it won’t go in.
"Push the button!" he yells into the wind.
I find the button on the top of the handle and engage it. Some edges retract, allowing for easy insertion. In it goes, and around I crank, praying the wind will die down, praying the sun will come out and rescue us from this terrible situation.
I look up at the leaden sky. Storm clouds are gathering thick and dark now. I’m definitely frightened. And if it wasn’t for James’ sailing skills, I would be crying right now. Instead, I’m teetering on the brink of ‘terrified’ and retreating back to ‘shaken up.’ Rinse and repeat.
"Twenty-five knots!" he cries, a wide grin plastered across his face, while my hair is plastered across mine.
Nikki and I hold on tight to the arched canvas covered frame that thankfully blocks wind and seawater spray. He calls it the dodger. I call it our lifeline.
"I think we should stay close to land," I suggest, staring longingly at the coastal cliffs. I contemplate jumping over board and swimming to terra firma, where I won’t lose my lunch, where I don’t have to pull on sheets and cling to dodgers, where I will never, ever, capsize and drown.
"No way!" James cries. "That’s the worst thing you can do. You have to aim for the open ocean and ride it out, otherwise you risk running aground." He motions toward land, where heavy waves crash and crumble over a wide bed of jutting rocks that lead up to the cliff face.