Beware the Mermaids

by Carrie Talick

  “Always so noble, always the high road … but at a huge expense to yourself.” Stella stared out into the distance and then added, “Mom, I need to understand you a little more. Can we do that when we get home? I think I’ve underestimated you all this time. You gave everything you had to me and Dad.”

  “I love you and wanted to see you happy, to see you succeed.”

  “Your job with us is done. It’s your turn, Mom.”

  Nancy felt something stir inside her, something she had never felt before. She felt free.

  She drew her daughter in for another hug and held back tears before she said, “Thank you.”

  Then she stood back, and they both looked to the Gypsea. Charlotte was already helping Judy and Lois ready the boat.

  “Thanks for bringing Charlotte. I’m happy the girls called you.”

  “The girls didn’t call me.”

  Nancy looked at her, confused.

  “Dad did,” Stella said as she squeezed her mom’s shoulder. “I’ve got to run. Good luck, or what does one say to a sailor? Fair winds and following seas?” Stella kissed Nancy’s cheek and walked off.

  Nancy stood there processing what Stella had said as she watched her walk away. Then she turned toward her boat and her waiting crew.

  “So …” Nancy wrung her hands and looked at Lois, Judy, and Charlotte. They looked expectant, as if they were soldiers yearning for orders. “Looks like we have a race ahead of us.”

  All three of them said in unison, “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  READYING FOR BATTLE

  Nancy awoke with a start at dawn on the morning of the race. She had been in the middle of a vivid, violent dream, in which she and her crew were just about to reach the finish line in Ensenada when a grotesque sea monster rose from the water, its eyes bulging and black, its menacing tentacles dragging her boat down, and its claws the same bright-red, lacquered color of Claire Sanford’s nails.

  She shook the vision from her head and rolled out of her berth. She splashed some water on her face, checked that everyone else was still sleeping, and quietly padded out to the cockpit to go over the nautical map and the weather forecast one last time.

  As she studied the maps, she realized that the biggest decision was whether to go outside, inside, or along the rhumb line past the Coronado Islands off the coast of Tijuana. The rhumb line was the straightest shot to Ensenada. Usually the shortest distance between two points was a straight line, but that wasn’t always the case in sailing when an ever-unpredictable factor like wind was involved. It was the rhumb line that Roger had historically taken, too. But many sailors were spooked by the rhumb line this year. Last season a boat had become disoriented in a fog that swept in after sunset, causing the boat to crash on the rocks at the Coronado Islands. Three of the four crew members on board had been killed. The tragedy was fresh in the memories of many in the race. Sailors were pragmatic and logical, but they were still a highly superstitious lot. Most sailors thought the rhumb line had been cursed since the crash, and this included Nancy. She wondered if Roger thought the same.

  While the rhumb line was still the shortest way there, it was also the most boring. She remembered Roger bragging about his line after he won the trophy last year.

  “You always keep your line. There’s no need to get fancy. The rhumb line works. I’m proof of that theory,” he said smugly as he drank champagne out of the big silver cup.

  But that was exactly what made Roger a bad sailor. Nancy knew that in order to get the most out of the wind that was given to her, she had to read it and constantly adjust to changes. Roger had also been lucky when it came to the weather. For four years in a row, the weather had remained virtually the same. Light southwesterly winds, no squalls, no changes. When conditions were perfect, Roger, with his fast boat and his conservative line, had an advantage. But this year was different.

  There was a small, squirrely storm rolling over the ocean, coming down from Seattle. It had been forecast to hit on the very day they were sailing down to Ensenada, but the reports kept changing as the storm kept shifting direction. The harbor master had warned everyone to stay alert and tuned in to VHF Channel 16 for up-to-the-minute reports on the weather. Until then, the same warm breeze that had been blowing up from Central America through Hermosa for the last six weeks, Santiago’s Winds of the Yamagaia, were still with her in Newport, and Nancy felt fortified by its constancy.

  Before long, the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee came from below. She looked and saw a hand rising from the galley, holding a steaming-hot cup for her. She gratefully took it.

  Lois’s head popped up next.

  “Mind if I join you, Skipper?”

  “By all means, I could use the company.”

  Lois climbed up, wearing her flannel pajama pants with little octopi all over them, her hair in a clip, her expression as excited as a kid’s on Christmas morning. “What’s up?” Lois asked as she inspected the nautical maps and sipped her coffee.

  “Deciding on our line. There are two ways. The inside line and the rhumb line are the most direct routes, but they can have more feeble winds and more traffic.”

  “Okay, I follow.”

  “And then there’s the outside line. It’s not typical for a boat our size to take the outside line because it’s more nautical miles, but if the wind is right, it’s much faster. There’s a chance the wind is going to change out there. There’s a northwesterly wind that blows far offshore, wouldn’t even touch the rhumb line. And if I’m right and this storm blows north to south, it could give us the extra speed we need to make up the distance.”

  “Does the storm put us in danger?” Lois asked.

  “It shouldn’t. In fact, given our timing, it should be right behind us.”

  Judy poked her head up. “Morning! Just making sure you two have coffee.” She disappeared down below. They could hear the unmistakable sound of crinkly wax paper that held buttery croissants.

  “I think you have to go with your instincts on this one, Nance. I can’t give you an answer, but it seems like taking chances is your new thing, so …”

  Nancy smiled and remembered the secret that Santiago told her about this race.

  Judy came up on deck, armed with breakfast, as did a sleepy Charlotte, who was still wrapped in her blanket. She had a mouthful of croissant and nodded good-morning to the ladies.

  “It looks like we’re going to try the outside line for this race,” Nancy said. Everyone looked down at the map as she traced the route with her finger on the map from Newport Harbor, past San Diego, outside the Coronado Islands off Tijuana, and finally into the harbor and the X that marked the finish line at Ensenada.

  “So, this might be a wild and woolly ride,” Nancy warned. “There’s a storm coming from the north; it might hit us, or it might not. But one thing’s for sure. It’s going to bring wind and rougher seas with it. Especially if we go farther out to sea.”

  Judy clutched her napkin and nervously brought her hand to her throat. Lois looked sternly at the map. Charlotte finished her toast, stood up, and said, “Bring it. We can handle it.” Then the teenager clomped off below.

  Nancy looked at Judy and Lois. “Ah, the naïveté of youth.”

  “I’d give my right arm for her courage. And her skin,” Judy said as she sipped her coffee.

  “Well, you heard our youngest Mermaid. Let’s get ready. The horn sounds in a few hours.”

  * * *

  At three PM, they all took one last turn to run to the yacht club and use the facilities before taking off. As Nancy was coming out of the bathroom, she ran, full force, straight into Roger.

  They stood there, not knowing how to handle the moment, and there was a long pause before Roger said gruffly, “I’m sorry to hear about Ruthie.”

  “Thank you, Roger.”

  “Please tell the old floozy I asked after her.”

  “I will. She said that if you asked after her, she had a message for you.”


  “Oh?”

  “I think her exact words were, ‘Don’t get too comfortable with that trophy, bucko.’ ”

  Roger chuckled. “I’m glad to see her particular brand of charm is still intact.”

  Nancy smiled. “It’ll be the last thing to go.”

  “Our girl get on the boat yesterday?”

  “Yes, Charlotte is officially our fourth.”

  “Good,” he said as he looked down at her.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “I prefer a fair fight.” Roger brushed some invisible thing off his shoulder.

  Nancy nodded. But she knew there was more to it. It was his version of an act of kindness.

  “Good luck,” he said, rather stiffly.

  “You too,” Nancy said.

  He turned and began to walk off. Then, turning once more, he took a long look at her, as if he wanted to say one more thing but just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  Nancy watched him walk away, and when he got to the end of the dock, he met the Scandinavians, his America’s Cup ringers. They were two strapping gents from some Nordic country, probably Sweden, who looked tall, strong, and determined. It gave Nancy a shiver.

  “You see Roger’s ringers?” Lois asked. “Brawny.”

  “Yeah. But Roger’s still in charge, so at least we have that going for us.”

  Fifteen minutes later the Mermaids had finished their lunch, stowed away dishes, and secured everything that could possibly move, and then they motored out to the staging area. The first start time was two PM. They were in the sixth group to leave. Their start time was at four PM.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CAST OFF YE BOW LINES

  The starting line of the Border Dash was controlled chaos. The line went straight out from the NB10 buoy for a hundred meters to another marker. Every thirty minutes the horn would sound, letting loose another class of boats. All the boats in the class scheduled to take off would wildly maneuver for the perfect start.

  The first to leave were the racing catamarans at two PM sharp. These were teams that used this race as a training ground for the Transpac Race from the coast of California to Hawaii. They ran fast and lean and finished the race in just over eleven hours. In contrast, Gypsea’s class would take anywhere from sixteen to twenty hours to finish. With any luck, Nancy was hoping to hit closer to seventeen hours. Last year, Roger had won his class in seventeen hours, forty-three minutes.

  About five minutes before their allotted start time, all the boats in her class entered the staging area and began jockeying for position to cross the line first.

  Given the wind speed and angle, Nancy mentally calculated exactly where she should be so that thirty seconds before the horn sounded, she could position the Gypsea to hit the start line at the perfect time and at full speed. Problem was, everyone else had that same idea. She was caught in a logjam of boats all vying for the same position, including Roger on Bucephalus and Turk on Hot Rum.

  “Tighten the jib, Lois!” Nancy said.

  Judy handed her the winch handle, and tightening commenced. Charlotte was on the bow, keeping a general eye on the surrounding boats. Nancy was at the helm surveying the chaos when her phone alert buzzed. Thirty seconds to go. She immediately yelled, “Prepare to tack!” and brought Gypsea about. The girls executed the tack flawlessly, and they were set to hit the line first and at full speed. But suddenly Nancy realized the other boats weren’t following at the same pace.

  She looked back and saw Roger in the distance. He gave her a sideways salute, with an absurd smile, as if saluting a soldier who was foolishly going up the wrong hill in battle. She looked down at her watch and the speed at which they were coming up on the line. They had timed it perfectly. They crossed the starting line at exactly four PM, but there was no horn. Where was the damn horn?

  “Where’s the horn?” Lois asked.

  “Damn it. We’re early. We have to cross again. Coming about again!”

  They had to circle back around. The same dance of jib lines and winches happened while Charlotte kept her vigil on the front of the boat.

  Ten seconds later, as Nancy and her crew were headed away from the starting line, the horn blew, and every single boat crossed over the line before they did. As of that moment, they were dead last.

  “We’re last, Gran,” Charlotte called out flatly.

  “Damn it,” Nancy grumbled as she silently cursed herself for not remembering it in the race booklet. Even though their start time was at four PM sharp, the horn had been delayed for exactly thirty seconds to honor the crew that had died on the Coronado Islands last year. Nancy knew this, had forgotten, and was mad as hell at herself but said to the crew, “Oh well, it makes for a better underdog story.”

  There were about thirty other boats in their class, and they all were headed straight for the inside line to Ensenada. Judy looked back at their captain. “Well, there they all go. You sure about our strategy, Nance?”

  Nancy nodded sternly, even though internally her stomach was in knots. Was she sure about this? She was barely sure she could keep everyone alive. But since no one liked to see a nervous captain, she followed up her nod with, “Aye, aye, let’s take her out to sea.”

  The Gypsea tacked starboard and sailed out to sea, while all the other boats in her class headed for the inside line. They were on their own. She saw Roger, who looked back at her from the helm of Bucephalus, shake his head. She knew that particular gesture. It was his “Jesus, woman, you’re wrong as usual” shake. Up yours, Roger. She sailed on.

  For the next several hours, Gypsea and her crew sailed along unimpeded on her lone course. Once out well beyond the shore breezes, Nancy felt the wind shift as they caught a stiff northwesterly wind coming down from the North Pacific. Nancy felt a shiver as the temperature dropped. And then she realized, with an unexpected sadness, that the Winds of Yamagaia were gone. Those constant warm breezes that had blown her hair back, the wind that had woken her up, the gusts that had blown in the change that she so desperately needed, had left her. She briefly wondered if those winds were the magic in her sails. She’d felt stronger when they were with her. She thought of Santiago and what he might say. She was outside her comfort zone, but she also realized that it was these strong winds that she needed, indeed had wished and planned for, to win this race. She felt the whip of the cooler air from the north and shivered. She heard Ruthie’s voice in her head, “Go get it, girl.”

  Charlotte had gone down into the salon to get sweat shirts and fleeces while Judy arranged the carnitas sandwiches from Boccato’s, their favorite gourmet deli in Hermosa Beach. Franco, the store’s lovable owner, had even included some Italian chocolates with a note of good luck for the girls. Judy passed out much-needed bottles of water. Lois applied her fourth coat of sunscreen and Nancy looked up at her wind vane.

  The Gypsea’s new sails responded well to the stiff northerly winds and picked up speed until she was cruising between nine and ten knots, faster than Nancy had ever seen her skim over the water. They had already passed the first way point, and it was only seven PM. At this pace, they should be able to see the outer edges of the Coronado Islands right before it got too dark.

  Sailing at night always gave Nancy the willies. The dangers were multiplied near the coastline, but out here, the only fear was running into a shipping lane unawares. Hearing a tanker horn could deafen you and scare you out of the way. Or, if your reflexes were slow, it could crush your boat into toothpicks. Tonight, however, the moon was full and bright, and Charlotte was an excellent lookout. She was camped out at the bow with a full bag of gummy bears and graham crackers.

  True to Nancy’s map and calculations, at around nine PM that night, in the fading light of the sunset, they could just make out the jagged rocks off the eastern tip of the Coronado Islands. They could also make out a fleet of boats. Bucephalus was leading them all.

  “Grandpa Rog is in the lead,” Charlotte said as she peered through the binoculars.

&nb
sp; “I guess I expected it, but I didn’t think they were getting the same wind as us.”

  “Binoculars do not lie,” Charlotte said as she handed them over to Nancy.

  She took a look and sighed. This was going to come down to the wire. And if she knew Roger, she knew that even without having anything on the line, he would do anything it took to win. She knew she had to outsmart him, but she also knew she needed a little bit of old-fashioned luck on her side.

  Judy and Lois brought out cheese, crackers, and nuts as it grew darker. They sipped on tea and watched the waning light on the horizon. The running lights on the boat gave off a comforting glow as they skimmed over the water. They trimmed the sail so Nancy could stay on her line. Just before midnight, Lois put on a strong pot of coffee in the electric kettle for Nancy and the crew.

  While Lois and Judy attempted to get a little rest, Charlotte stayed up with Nancy as they marveled at the night sky.

  “Gran, is Ruthie going to be okay?”

  Nancy took a long time to answer. The truth was hard for her to take. “I don’t know. She’s got stage three lung cancer. And the odds aren’t good.”

  The news seemed to sadden Charlotte. She didn’t say anything for a long time. “It’s wild. I think she is so vibrant, so full of life. I can’t imagine her being anything but the love warrior she is.”

  “Love warrior?”

  “You know, someone who will do anything, even throw down against rage-y bikers or snarling zombies, for the people she loves.”

  “I love that you think of her that way.”

  Charlotte looked out at sea and said, “I think of you that way too, Gran. You’re the love warrior supreme.”

  They heard it before they saw it. A great whoosh of an exhale and then a gentle splattering of water. A little seawater even splashed onto the boat.

  Charlotte’s eyes grew wide at the unfamiliar sound.

  “Charlotte,” Nancy exclaimed in a whisper. “Do you see it?”