I look around. “Is Mike here?” The dog, formerly Tonya’s, now belongs to Josh’s brother.
“He must be.” He scratches Claude’s ears. “We’re looking into buying another boat.” He grins. “To take out more charters.”
“That’s great,” I say, pleased to hear their charter business is expanding. Josh made his money in the States, on a tech startup, but moved back to Victoria for a more outdoorsy lifestyle. He and his brother Mike haven’t always had an easy relationship. I’m glad their partnership’s thriving.
We descend the ramp, which is steep at low tide. I look for the seals that hang out under the ramp, waiting for tourists to throw them frozen fish, but both the water and dock lie empty. Even in the harbor, the water’s clean enough to see the rocky bottom.
Claude follows us some way along the dock, only to veer off and start chasing a seagull. We turn toward the Customs station. As we get further from shore, the boats grow larger. Josh reaches for my hand and squeezes it. At his touch, my insides squirm. I can’t stop smiling.
Near the Great Escape, my steps falter. It’s impossible not to recall my last, terrifying trip. I thought we’d both die. Josh gives my hand another squeeze. I turn his way. Does he know how I’m feeling?
But no, a look at his face reveals he’s studying his boat. “The new boat will be even bigger,” he says. “It’ll be ready for the spring tourist season.” He looks delighted. He climbs onboard, then gives me a quizzical look. “You coming?”
I nod. I can’t back out now. And I don’t want to. I must get over this fear. With a deep breath, I follow him onboard. A brief, dizzying flash of déjà vu strikes as I climb the spiral stairs. I touch the wall to steady myself and keep going.
As before, I’m hit by how bright it is up on the bridge—everything gleaming white—the floor so clean it’s like it’s never been walked on, the table and chairs also shining. I fight back a memory of the bloodstains. There’s nothing to be afraid of.
Josh unlocks a cupboard and pulls out two floatation jackets. We both put them on. Mine comes down to my knees. He laughs. “Want to try a kid’s size?”
I’m not sure if he’s joking. “This one’s fine,” I say. If I ever want a pumpkin costume for Halloween, all I’ll need is this jacket and a black marker.
Josh starts the engine. “Are you okay to go down and untie us?” he asks.
“Aye, aye Captain.”
I follow his shouted instructions.
“You learn fast,” he says, when I regain the bridge. “You’ll make a fine first mate, after all.”
I fight back a smile. “And you thought I was just some feeble landlubber.” I sink into a large white swivel chair. “Know any good pirate jokes?” I ask him.
Josh shrugs and turns the wheel. “You got me stumped.” The boat edges smoothly away from the dock.
I curl up in my chair. “Neither do ayyyye,” I say.
He groans. “Any more jokes like that and you’ll be walking the plank.”
“You know there’s an official Talk Like a Pirate Day?” I say. “I think it’s in September.”
Josh rolls his eyes. “You and I are never going boating on that day.”
As we motor out of the harbor, I start to relax. I like the implication that we’ll still be together next fall, that pirate talk will be an in-joke we share, part of our couple language. This is fun. I’m glad I’m here, seeing another, important side of Josh’s life.
We cruise around the breakwater and turn toward the golf course. The wind is cold and damp on my face. Out to sea, I spot some seals on the rocks, fat as bratwurst. There’s the little beach where Quinn and I used to play as kids, skipping rocks and collecting sea glass. With no wind, the ocean is smooth and shiny as a high-grade sapphire, set beside the polished emerald of the Victoria Golf Club. From this angle, the familiar landmarks look different: McNeill Bay, the Chinese Cemetery, Beacon Hill Park, Ogden Point. I feel excited each time I recognize a place. Past Esquimalt, nothing looks familiar, although I know we’re passing Colwood and Metchosin. Victoria’s suburbs keep spreading westward.
“You having fun?” calls Josh, from behind the wheel. His blond curls bounce around his smiling face, eyes covered by black Ray-Bans. He looks even hotter than usual.
“Yes!” I yell. It’s invigorating to be out on the water, moving at speed. Up ahead, in the distance, I can see a fishing boat. More of the clouds have blown away. Currents of multicolored blue crisscross the sea. Where the sun hits it, the ocean sparkles.
“That’s East Sooke Park,” says Josh. He slows to consult some charts and his iPhone. I see grey rocks, backed by dark green forest. Once we’ve passed the park, the occasional cabin comes into view, little matchboxes set by the water. We pass three sailboats headed the opposite way. All their passengers, also dressed in orange, wave at us. We wave back. Out toward the States I spot a hulking cargo ship.
“Want to steer, matey?” calls Josh.
I walk to his side. “I’m a little green, m’hearties.”
“Here.” He moves over so I can take the wheel. “There’s nothing to it.” With him standing so close, it’s hard to follow directions. Before I know it, my hands are off the wheel and on him. He slows the boat and pulls me close. It’s suddenly much hotter in my giant survival jacket. Our kiss sets my heart racing.
When we finally lean back, Josh grins. “Shiver me timbers.”
I laugh. “See, you’ll love Talk Like a Pirate Day.”
Back on track, we see less traffic. The coast looks more desolate now. I see dark trees and grey rocks with some ribbons of beaches.
Josh slows the boat and checks the GPS. “We must be close,” he says. A few minutes later, he points toward a narrow cove gripped by steep cliffs. “That should be it, just ahead.”
I squint to follow the line of his finger. Thick trees come right down to a rocky beach. There’s a rickety jetty but no sign of a cabin.
We slow further and turn into the cove. Above the trees, I spot a circling bald eagle.
As we draw closer to shore, I peer overboard. The water is crystal clear. Down below, I see rocks and seaweed. “Is it deep enough?” I ask.
Josh nods. He studies the depth sounder’s small screen. “Yes. Plenty deep.”
Josh’s obviously had lots of experience; he makes steering this big boat look easy. “Now heave ho,” he says. “I need you to run down and tie us up.”
I give him a mock salute, then grab my backpack and descend the spiral staircase.
When we’re safely tied up, I peel off my floatation jacket. Now that we’re stationary, I’m sweating.
Josh trots down the stairs.
As I step onto the thin dock, it shudders beneath me.
I shade my eyes as I walk. Negotiating this rickety dock I feel a sense of misgiving. This is private property. We’re uninvited. What if Daphne’s here and doesn’t want visitors? Am I being invasive?
But then I recall my mom’s worry. She thought it was a wonderful idea to check Daphne’s cabin, just in case. As Daphne’s best friend, surely my mom has a right—no, a duty—to look for her. Or has my mom lost the plot? After all, even the turquoise looked ominous. If you’re convinced of something, you’ll see signs everywhere. Ordinary things become omens. Every bird, bug, or rock is a messenger. That’s the danger of magical thinking.