“It’s okay,” I said. “As long as it doesn’t smell up the place. But, do me a favor, keep it in your pocket at all times. If any cops come near, throw it overboard.”
“There are a lot of different strains of weed,” she said. “Not all of them make you feel paranoid. Some are good for creativity. Others for just chillaxin’. It’s even used in pain management.”
Paranoia was exactly what I’d felt. I don’t like not being in control and tried not to drink enough to feel that way.
“Another time, maybe,” I said, turning to go up to the pilothouse. “If you need anything, I’m in the aft cabin, okay? The head’s right through that hatch on the port side.”
She nodded as she pushed the metal tube down into the larger side of the little wooden box.
“I’ll be up at first light,” I added.
I left her in the lower salon, and Finn followed behind me. He started up the companionway to the cockpit, but I stopped him. “We’re sleeping down there,” I told him, pointing toward the gangway that led to the aft stateroom. I knew he wanted to go back to the Revenge; Finn doesn’t like change.
Stepping up on the first step, I pulled the batwing doors closed, and slid the overhead hatch into place, latching them both. Then I went aft, toward my new bunk.
As I got ready for bed, I heard the music stop and a moment later, I heard a guitar playing a soft melody. I listened for a few minutes, remembering how I used to fall asleep to Mom playing. Kat was good. She played and sang softly. I couldn’t make out the words to the song, but I could tell it was a love song. She stopped for a moment and I heard the flick of a lighter. Sniffing, I couldn’t detect the smell.
What the hell have I gotten myself into? I wondered. Jimmy could function normally when he smoked pot. But I’d seen enough people turn into lazy couch potatoes to know that it affected some folks differently.
Or maybe it was like Kat said, different kinds did different things to people’s minds. At any rate, I’d given her the okay. What I should have done was toss the pot overboard, like I had with Jimmy that first time. I guess I’m getting more tolerant of petty crimes in my old age. At any rate, the smell of pot drifting through an island marina was hardly out of the ordinary
I stretched out on the bunk and put my hands behind my head. For a few minutes, the sound of tiny waves lapping at the hull was all I could hear. Then, almost as a backdrop to the gentle swish of the waves, Kat’s soft voice and music filtered into the cabin, barely audible.
I looked around in the near darkness. This had been Victor Pitt’s boat and his bunk. No doubt he and Charity had made love in this very spot. I’m not a materialistic guy. A boat’s a thing, same as a house or a car. The sheets were new; still had the straight-line wrinkles from being folded up. I closed my eyes and silently thanked Charity for that.
Waking, I could see light through the three aft portholes, the gray light of predawn. I wasn’t disoriented, I knew exactly where I was and how the boat was situated. In a few minutes, the sun would rise over the mouth of Nassau Harbour and stream directly into those portholes.
Stretching, I thought about the trip that lay ahead. It was about forty miles to Chub Cay. Calculating the boat’s hull speed by estimating the waterline length, I guessed that I could make forty miles in less than six hours if the wind was favorable. This time of year, it would be out of the east and I’d be sailing northwest on a beam reach. So, maybe six to eight hours to reach Chub. I’d have ten hours of sunlight; more than enough time, even if I had to motor the whole way at four knots. Still, I wanted to depart as soon as it was light enough.
Time in the islands is measured by sunrise, sunset, and the daily influx of tide. Sure, you could sail on a low tide at zero-dark-thirty, with a light wind, but your odds of a smooth passage go up substantially if you work with the elements that our forefathers harnessed before us. I’d already checked; high tide was an hour after sunrise. I’d have a following current through Nassau Harbour.
Rising from the bunk, I went to the in-suite head, then dressed for the day. The cockpit was covered with a large Bimini, so I opted for cargo shorts and a tee-shirt. Basically, the same thing I always wore. Opening the stateroom hatch, I let Finn trot ahead of me up to the pilothouse where I opened the companionway hatch to let him out.
“Use the bathroom and get back here,” I whispered to him. “I don’t want you wandering around in the dark.”
I’m not sure how dogs interpret human speech, but some seem to understand more than others. I preferred to think that Finn knew what I was saying much of the time.
Leaving the hatch open, I went to the forward companionway to check on my guest. I could see her feet and calves, a sheet twisted around them, as she lay sleeping on the sofa. Another step forward and I froze. Apparently, Kat slept in the nude. The sheet was pulled down across her flat belly, exposing her breasts. She had no tan line that I could see.
Turning on my heel, I made my way to the galley to set up the coffeemaker. My face was flushed; I could feel it. True, she was a grown woman, of that there wasn’t any doubt. But, she couldn’t be much more than half my age. Both my daughters were grown women, a thought that I constantly had to push out of my mind.
Rattling some pots and pans, I tried to make enough noise to wake her, without it seeming obvious I was doing so.
“Timezit?” I heard Kat mumble from the lower salon.
I leaned with both hands on the counter, staring hard at the coffeemaker, trying to will it to brew faster. “Sorry if I woke you,” I said over my shoulder. “It’s about half an hour before sunrise.”
Please don’t come up here naked, I thought. I really didn’t need any drama, especially with a young girl.
There were rustling sounds from below and a moment later, Kat emerged, wearing a white bikini top and white shorts. The sallowness of her eyes was still there, but her face seemed to have more color.
“Sorry I overslept. I had a lot of thinking to do and playing lets my mind wander. Your Silvertone sounds cool.”
“Just waiting on the coffee,” I grumbled. “I’m really not at my best until I have my first cup.”
“My dad’s the same way,” she said, which for some reason made me feel immensely old. “I can cook, too,” she offered. “If you have things to do to get ready, I can bring coffee and breakfast up to you.”
When I glanced over at her, she seemed fresher. The gaunt look that had been in her eyes last night was diminished slightly. But she could still have stood to put on a good ten pounds or so. Her ribs were showing below her bikini top.
“You haven’t eaten much lately, have you?”
“Benny wasn’t exactly the best provider,” she said, leaning a hip on the counter and crossing her arms. “I’ve decided I’m better off with him out of my life.”
“Had you been together long?” I asked, pushing away from the counter. “I’m sorry, that’s none of my business.”
“It’s okay. I hooked up with him down on Crooked Island a few weeks ago. A friend of a friend. He was meandering toward the Berry Islands, so I hitched a ride.”
“There’s eggs in the basket,” I said, pointing them out. “And sausage in the icebox.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” she said, attempting a salute.
I started up the companionway. “Coffee first, though.”
Finn greeted me, then sat down and looked over at the Revenge. It was like he was wondering when we were going to go home or something.
“This is home now,” I told him, as I went to the helm, fished the key from my pocket and started the engine. It was an old Ford Lehman and the tach showed it had just over three thousand hours. About a fourth of its life expectancy. Probably not even that, if Victor was as fastidious about engine maintenance as he seemed to be about the boat as a whole.
Kat came up with a large mug and a thermos. “I don’t like coffee ver
y much.”
“Lucky for me,” I said, with a wink.
“Food’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
I could tell she wanted to say something. I just sipped at the coffee and waited for her thoughts to quit spinning around in her head and exit her mouth.
“Do you plan to hurt this person you’re looking for?” she finally asked. “’Cause you look a little scary.”
I almost choked on the coffee. “No,” I said. “I’m not planning to hurt anyone.”
“So it’s someone you like? A girlfriend?”
I gave that some thought. My affair with Savannah, which might or might not have resulted in a child, had been years ago.
“Something like that,” I said. “Maybe—I don’t know. It was a long time ago.”
“You’re not married, then?”
“No,” I replied.
“Well, you’re not gay; I’d have picked up on that.”
Lifting an eyebrow, I looked over at her, “You’re the second person to ask me that this week. No, I’m not gay.”
“So, why didn’t you come to my bed?”
If she’d struck me with a feather, she’d have knocked me right off the boat.
“Kat, how old are you?”
“Twenty-five,” she replied.
“I’m forty-seven.”
“We’re talking about sex here, right? Not a relationship. You’re not currently attached, not gay, not dead, and probably still too young to need help from Pfizer.”
I really didn’t know how to take that. Sitting in the helm seat, I looked up at her, somewhat embarrassed even to be discussing it. I said the only thing I could come up with. “Some things just aren’t done.”
“That’s kind of old-fashioned,” she said, turning toward the hatch. She stopped before going down and looked back at me. “I bet without that beard, you’re pretty cute.”
She turned and went back down to the galley, leaving me speechless. I glanced over at Finn, and he was looking at me quizzically, his head cocked slightly to the side.
“Yeah,” I whispered, scratching his neck. “We live in strange times.”
I’m never sure around women. Or at least I’m always sure I’m wrong, if that makes any sense. A woman Kat’s age wouldn’t be remotely interested in a man twice her age. It was just weird. Most of the people I knew were older. Had society become more liberal about age and relationships?
The truth was, having been raised by my grandparents, I probably did have some old-fashioned notions. It was Pap who told me about girls and sex. I was thirteen, and it was the Seventies. He had been thirteen during the Depression years. So the morals and values I learned as a kid, and carried into adulthood, were those from a time long past.
Going to the open hatch, I called down to her. “Can you locate the electrical panel and switch off the non-essential breakers?”
A moment later, she yelled up that the AC and water heater were off, and I stepped over to the dock. Going to the pedestal, I turned off and disconnected the shore power and water, then stepped back aboard and stored the gear under the bench.
“We’re on battery power now,” I called down as I went forward to untie the lines.
Returning, I glanced down the companionway. Kat was standing in front of the stove, swaying to the beat of the music coming from the lower salon. For just a moment I felt a stirring, then pushed the thought aside, and got to work.
When she came up to the cockpit again, we were idling away from the dock. “I already ate,” she said, placing a plate piled with scrambled eggs and sausage on the port bench. “You didn’t say how much you wanted, so I just guessed. Want me to take the wheel so you can eat?”
Shifting over, I picked up the plate and dug in. I hadn’t realized how famished I was. Kat took the helm and started a wide turn into the channel toward the high bridge. The early morning sun revealed a dark tan, which the white bikini and shorts accentuated. She stood at the wheel, instead of sitting, and she looked quite comfortable. I could tell she was no stranger to a boat.
I ate quickly, washing it down with copious amounts of Hacienda la Minita coffee. I let Kat continue to steer as we passed under the high bridge to Paradise Island. She slowed as a cruise ship began to maneuver alongside the outer dock, half a mile ahead of us. I watched the activity on the ship closely and judged that it would bump the dock about the time we passed alongside. Kat had a sharp eye.
“Tell me about her,” she said, turning toward the north side of the channel, just to give the cruise ship some added room.
“Who?”
Kat took a pair of white-framed sunglasses from her pocket and slipped them on. “The woman you’re looking for.”
“We met nine years ago,” I said, wondering why I was talking about Savannah to a stranger. “She moved on a few weeks later.”
“Nine years ago? You don’t take a hint very well.”
“She has an eight-year-old daughter now.”
“Oops,” Kat said.
“Yeah, oops. I guess I just want to know if she’s mine.”
Kat’s face was expressionless behind her shades. “Nah,” she said at last. “That’s not the vibe I’m getting.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. “Vibe?”
“You’re still in love with this woman, carrying a torch for almost a decade.”
Sliding the last bite of food into my mouth, I chewed and swallowed it. “How could you know that, if I don’t even know it?”
“It’s a gift,” she said. “Had it all my life. My dad said I was an old soul. I don’t exactly know, I just feel things that others don’t seem to.”
As we motored sedately past the cruise ship, I retook the helm, and throttled up slightly, pointing the bow toward the western mouth of the harbor. Kat went below to clean up the galley.
Raising the top of the cabinet, I switched on the GPS chart plotter, and laid in a course for Chub Cay. Kat returned to the cockpit, just as we were turning into the open ocean.
“Galley’s all set,” she said. “I checked the rest of the boat to make sure everything was secure. I put your laptop in the desk drawer. Are you a writer?”
“Me? No,” I replied. “The laptop came with the boat, too.”
“It looks like everything else is secure down there,” she said, looking around the cockpit at the sheets and halyards. “And it looks like your boat is all rigged for single handing. What do you want me to do?”
“To be honest,” I said, “I’ve never sailed this boat before.”
“A boat like this is a breeze,” Kat said, cocking her head, and smiling at me. “More sails, yeah. But they’re smaller and easier to handle. I’ll take the winch drum and haul in the slack in the halyard, while you hoist the main.”
Once clear of the shallows near the harbor entrance, I turned into the wind, dropped to idle speed, and loosened up the main and mizzen sheets. I went to the mainmast and, while I did the grunt work on the main halyard, Kat quickly took up the slack, matching my rhythm easily. We then did the same on the mizzen sail. The windspeed indicator said we had twelve knots of fresh morning wind, so I decided on just the fore staysail. In a lighter wind, we could unfurl the genoa, but I thought that might overpower my ability under these circumstances. Slow is smooth, and smooth is fast.
With the sails set and luffing in the wind, I spun the wheel to port. Salty Dog fell off the wind and the sails snapped, filling with air. Kat manned the sheets, quickly adjusting the sails for a broad reach, and the Dog heeled over slightly. I reached down and shut off the chugging Lehman.
The near silence was exhilarating. The big ketch heeled like a plow horse leaning into the harness. The feeling in the wheel was one of strength and solid mass. While the Formosa ketch was fiberglass, it was built solidly, and had considerable weight in the full keel.
Kat sat on the windwa
rd bench seat next to me and looked at the navigation equipment. “Cool, all high-tech but keeping with the rustic lines of an old sailing ship.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I think your dad was right about you being an old soul, Kat.”
“At this speed, we’ll make Chub by mid-afternoon.”
A quick glance at the chart plotter confirmed our arrival time. “So long as the wind holds,” I replied. “Nothing to do now but relax and enjoy the ride.”
Standing, Kat scanned the horizon in all directions. We were more than a mile off the western tip of Paradise Island and moving away. “I’m glad you mentioned that,” she said, sitting back down, and pulling her wooden box from her pocket. “I want you to take a lift with me.”
“Get high? In the morning? Naw, but thanks.”
“This strain is different than any you might have tried,” she said. “It was developed for a slight euphoric affect. Perfect for chillaxin’. And like you said, there’s nothing to do for a few hours.”
“Developed?” I asked. “I thought it was just pot.”
“It is. But growing it has evolved a whole lot.”
Reaching past me, she took the cover off what appeared to be a remote stereo controller, which I hadn’t even paid any attention to. She pushed a few buttons and soon, a steady island beat began to reverberate through the speakers in the cockpit.
“I loaded four CDs in the changer,” she said, twisting the little tube into the box. “This is Bob Marley’s Legend album.”
The song was familiar. I’d heard it in bars and on boats all around the Keys. He sang of loving and treating his woman right. The beat was a little faster than the rhythm of the bow cutting through the waves.
Putting the little tube to her lips, Kat lit it and drew deeply. The tube was shaped sort of like a baseball bat, but just three inches long. Like a bat, it tapered; getting smaller at the mouthpiece. The tip glowed for just a second and she exhaled a small cloud of blue-gray smoke, which disappeared in the wind. Then she leaned over the side deck to blow the ashes out of the tube.
Rising Force Page 9