Shannon centered the main and steered the boat into the wind while Jake hoisted the sail.
Jake motor-sailed past the inlet headlands, and the breeze on his cheeks invigorated him. The boat heaved and bucked as they maneuvered through the confused seas close to shore. Until they reached clear water, conditions would be rough.
Shannon and Debi sat in the cockpit, both wearing inflatable life jackets. A tether attached Peanut’s harness to an eye hook. She curled into the spot between the cockpit seat and the helm station. Jake didn’t think his cat would be taking the motion quite so calmly. She’d probably be howling in protest.
Once they were clear of the inlet, Shannon, Debi, and Piddles went below to sleep. Three hours into the Gulf Stream, the wind picked up and the waves grew. The weather prediction was turning out to be wrong.
Shannon came up from below, looking as if she’d been sick. Smart enough not to mention it, Jake focussed on the radar.
“What’s with the weather?” Shannon asked.
“It’s blowing twenty from the south west. The waves are five to seven now.”
“What happened to three to five?”
“I guess the weather Goddess decided we hadn’t earned it. Want to turn around?”
“Nope. I can take it. By the way, the bilge pump is running. Is that normal?”
“That’s not good. Could you tell where the water’s coming from?”
“It looks like it’s draining from underneath the aft berth.”
“Take the helm. I’ll go have a look.”
Shannon perched at the helm station.
“Keep an eye out for ships,” Jake said. “We’re past the shipping lane, but you never know.”
Jake hopped down the three steps to the port side and lifted the floor boards. Shannon was right. The water flowed from the aft cabin. He entered Shannon’s berth, pulled the bedding off the bed, and lifted the wooden boards that gave access to the space beneath the mattress.
A sheen covered the water below the bed. Shit. Diesel fuel. If they had a leak in the diesel system they’d have to turn around or stop at Bimini. He wasn’t going to risk running out of fuel before they reached Nassau. He stuck his nose close to the slick and sniffed. It smelled like stew.
He pointed the flashlight at the back of the compartment and silently swore. The connection to the hot water tank had failed. The plastic tubing had fallen off the tank, and the water was draining.
The water was coming from an internal tank and not through the hull. That was good. He took a moment to assess the situation. He couldn’t explain why diesel mixed with the water, why the bilge pump hadn’t emptied the bilge, or why the hot water tank wasn’t empty yet.
He envisioned the plumbing and where the hot water tank got its water from. He bolted up the stairs. He had to stop the flow of water first. He flicked the switch on the electrical panel, then ran back downstairs and listened. The water pump was still on. A failed switch at the panel was not what they needed right now. The pump should have turned off. He’d have to go to the source of the water and stop the flow at the hot water tank.
He tethered his harness to the jack line on the port side next to the helm station. Both diesel gauges registered a tad below full, meaning if there was a diesel leak, it was a dribble.
“What are you doing?” Shannon asked.
“I need to shut off the fresh water valve. The water is draining into the hot water tank, and the tank is draining into the bilge.”
“Could we sink?”
“No. But we could lose our drinking water.”
“Is it safe to go up front? It’s pretty rough up there.”
“It’s fine. I’m tied on. Nice that you’re worried about me.” He winked and stepped out of the cockpit.
“Smart ass.”
With his left hand, Jake wrapped his fingers around the lifeline. He held a flashlight in his right. His tool belt sat snug above the waistband of his sweats as he waddled forward. Headlamps would be helpful at a moment like this. He’d search for some in Nassau.
Aft of the trampoline, he stepped right and kneeled beside the forward locker that housed the port water tank. He twisted the clasp, lifted the steel ring, and pulled the lid open.
A wave slammed into the bow and sprayed his back and legs. His sweatpants soaked through and stuck to his skin. He ignored the water and leaned low, reaching behind the water tank. He shone the flashlight beam into the dark hole. The connection to the tube leading to the hot water tank was at an awkward angle, and he couldn’t get his hand close enough to turn the valve. His hands were too big. He’d have to get Shannon.
In case another wave careened over the bow, he closed the locker lid, then waddled back to the helm.
Shannon sat on the helm seat, letting the autopilot steer.
“I need you to turn the valve. I can’t get my hand behind the water tank.”
“Look at the radar. What’s that big blob?”
Jake stared in dismay. “It’s a squall. The radar is picking up the rain. Point a little more south, and we might avoid it.”
“Doesn’t that mean we’ll be heading more into the waves, and it’ll get rougher?”
“It’s better than sailing into a squall. Go get your harness and wake Debi. She’ll need to take the helm.”
Shannon disappeared below.
Jake altered course by ten degrees. The fuel gauge didn’t show a drop in fuel level. Maybe they’d get lucky, and the fuel leak below was minimal. They’d deal with the water first. Then he’d figure out the fuel problem.
Shannon returned wearing her foul weather jacket and swim shorts. Smart girl. She must have noticed his soaking sweats. Her harness fit snuggly around her torso, and she held her tether in one hand, prepared to clip onto the jack line.
“Ready?” he asked.
She gave a curt nod.
Debi slid onto the helm station chair. “Be careful.”
Jake pointed at the radar. “If the squall gets within half a mile of us, let me know and I’ll come back.”
As if picking up on the tension, Piddles barked and jumped at Debi’s legs.
“Control her,” Jake said, “but don’t let her distract you.”
Jake followed Shannon to the bow. He opened the locker lid and used the flashlight beam to show her the valve location. Every second or third wave crested over the bow, showering them with salted spray. The mesh trampoline did very little to slow the amount of water hitting them.
Shannon leaned forward and slid her arm behind the water tank.
“I think I’ve got it,” she shouted.
A wave hit the port side and knocked Jake into her. She flattened over the locker. He pulled her up.
“You okay?”
She nodded.
Jake stood, offered his hand and pulled her to her feet. “Sorry.” His tether hooked to the jack line farther aft than Shannon’s, so he walked ahead of her back to the cockpit.
Another wave thundered into the side of the boat, knocking Jake forward. He landed on his hands and knees, and dropped the flashlight overboard.
He heard Debi scream and saw a look of panic on her face. He whipped his head toward the bow.
Shannon’s tether looped over the lifeline and out of sight. Fear grabbed his guts. What if she wasn’t attached to the tether?
CHAPTER SIX
Ten-Year-Old Boy
Somewhere in Canada
Eighteen Years Ago
The boy knows he’s not normal, and his gut cramps. He’s in the principal’s office. Again. It’s not like he’s done anything really bad. He was right, and the teacher was wrong. So what?
His so-called guardian is talking to his principal while he tries to figure out what apology they’re looking for. He sits in a metal chair, swinging his feet, so his heels sweep the floor. He knows he’ll remember this moment. Not just the highlights but everything. He always remembers, but his real problem is his inability to keep his mouth shut.
If his parents h
adn’t died, he wouldn’t be a weirdo. That’s when his memory perfected itself. He can replay the last two years, minute by minute, and wishes he couldn’t. He can bring back the cop’s words as if they were spoken seconds ago.
“Both parents were killed.”
His guardian and the principal talk about him as if he isn’t in the room. The principal sits behind her desk. Her pointy nose is sunburned. There is a small wad of spit at the edge of her mouth. One more detail the boy wants to forget.
From her seat on the opposite side of the desk, his guardian slides her eyes in his direction without moving her head. “I know two years seems like a long time ago, but to him, I don’t think it is. He’s still suffering from the loss of his parents.”
“That doesn’t mean he gets to act out forever. He has to deal with this,” the principal says.
The boy wants to shout, “I’m sitting right here,” but for once, he stays silent. They won’t remember this meeting, like so many others in the past two years, and they won’t see beyond his mistakes. He squishes his lips between his teeth to stop himself from telling them all this. He’s proud he’s kept his mouth shut. Being ten is so much better than being nine. He’s like a superhero with a secret talent. Now all he has to do is figure out how to use it.
His guardian sighs. “Alright. What happened this time?”
“He got into an argument with his teacher. He told her she contradicted herself. That last semester, she said they had to learn to read maps in case they became world travelers, and today she said it was because it helped them with their mathematical development. When she wouldn’t agree with him about what she did or didn’t say, he started banging his head against his desk.”
His head is starting to hurt again. The headaches began at the same time his perfect memory did. The video returns to the night of the accident. Two hours have passed since the police arrived. His mind travels to the second the cops walked in the door and spoke the awful words. Words that can’t be true. Two hours swirl inside his head. Pain starts in his right temple. He’s never had such a headache before. He wants his mom. He sobs. And that is the moment he understands he can replay the last two hours second by second.
“Well, surely you can understand how frustrating it is for him. You know he has a keen memory. The teacher probably did contradict herself. He also has trouble with math. Maybe he didn’t want that mentioned in front of the other kids.”
His guardian has no idea what he’s frustrated about. She doesn’t get what his keen sense of memory is. She doesn’t know he could repeat every word she’s said to him since that awful day he went to live with her and her stupid husband. She doesn’t get he remembers each time she favored his sister over him. She doesn’t get he remembers exactly what the teacher said about reading maps, what she was wearing, where she was standing, and that she had a mustard stain on her white blouse. He knows he was right today, but he doesn’t know how to convince others.
“That’s not the point. She’s the teacher, and he needs to respect her.” The principal picks up a pencil sharpened to perfection and points it at him. “He can’t bang his head on the desk every time he doesn’t like what he hears.”
Now he knows he has to stop banging his head. Apparently, that’s an unforgivable action. For the boy, everything he hears triggers a memory. He remembers banging his head against the wall after the cop said, “There’s been a car accident.” What’s frustrating is he can’t remember what happened before the cop spoke.
A police car drives into the parking lot of the diner across the street from the principal’s office. Two officers get out of the car and head into the diner. He wants to be a cop when he grows up. He wants to be on the giving end of bad news instead of the receiving end.
He stares at the green squares on the linoleum floor. He leans forward and throws up.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Shannon
The Gulf Stream
Water filled Shannon’s mouth, and she gagged. The urge to vomit was almost unbearable. Her head thumped against the hull of A Dog’s Cat, and the edges of her vision turned gray. Don’t pass out.
She kicked her leg, aiming her foot for the toe rail, but missed. Her feet dangled in the ocean. Why had she ever watched Jaws? Monsters lived in the dark water. Teeth. Gaping mouths. Was she bleeding? Calling to the creatures to come get her? If her heart beat any faster it might explode. Pain from heartbreak was nothing compared to the fear of being eaten alive by some unseen beast from the depths.
She grabbed the tether with both hands. Her arms, stretched on either side of her head, protected her skull from hitting the fiberglass side of the boat again. Her harness pinched her armpits.
Time warped. She couldn’t have said if she’d been hanging overboard for thirty seconds or thirty minutes. How long would it take for Jake to notice she was no longer on board? Debi should have seen her from her position at the helm, so why weren’t they helping her?
“Aunt Debi,” she screamed. Had Debi been up top when she toppled over the lifeline? She couldn’t remember. Did Debi even know she was hanging there?
What if Jake wasn’t who Debi thought he was? What if he wanted her dead? Crazy thoughts, but she couldn’t help herself. Fear made her mind search for all possibilities. She had to save herself.
Another wave poured over her face. Her nose stung from the salt. Her eyes burned. She spat the horrid water and inhaled deeply. Wrong thing to do. The next wave slid over her tongue and down her throat. Her body vomited the substance back into the sea.
She couldn’t breathe through her nose or her mouth. She pressed her chin to her chest and took small breaths, avoiding the water threatening to drown her as she hung over the lifelines.
Uncle Bobby drowned at sea. Had he known he was going to die? Did he fight it like Shannon was doing now? She could almost hear his voice telling her to hang on. He was a man who truly loved her. She could barely remember her dad’s love. She knew he’d loved her, but the details had long faded. Maybe he was watching her now, just as Uncle Bobby was. And maybe she was hallucinating.
A wave slapped her face. Get a grip and pull yourself up.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jake
Gulf Stream
Jake scrambled forward and pulled Shannon’s tether. The cord was tight. She was still connected. He leaned over the top of the lifeline and saw her desperately trying to get a hold on the toe rail. Her feet trailed in the sea. Her eyes tore at him just as Becky’s had the moment before she died.
He grabbed the back of her harness and lifted. A wave hammered Shannon into the side of the hull, ripping her from his hands.
She grunted but didn’t cry out.
His feet slipped on the wet deck, and he fell to his knees. He grabbed the lifeline and yanked himself up. Ignoring the spray stinging his eyes, he focussed on Shannon.
“Give me your hand.”
Eyes filled with fear stared at him.
He held the stanchion with one hand and stretched the other toward Shannon.
“Now, Shannon. Give me your hand.”
She shook her head.
“Shannon, trust me. I won’t drop you.”
She let go of the toe rail and reached for Jake. The boat lurched sideways, and he missed her hand.
Debi’s fingers clamped Jake’s shoulder. Damn. She’d left the cockpit.
“Get back to the helm and try to steer between the waves,” he shouted.
“But Shannon—”
“Now! I’ll get her.”
Debi hesitated for a second, then duck-walked to the stern. Jake watched her until she was safely at the helm station.
He lay flat on the deck, reached under the lifeline, and grabbed Shannon’s harness again. From that angle, he could hold her but not lift her. Water bashed through the trampoline, soaking his head and back. He let go, and Shannon grabbed his wrist.
“Hang on. I need leverage.” He ripped her hand from his wrist and placed her fingers back on the toe rail. H
er knees pounded against the hull, and her feet dragged back in the water. He wouldn’t lose her, not the way he’d lost Becky.
Jake spread his feet a shoulder’s distance apart, steadied himself, and with both hands, hefted Shannon over the lifelines and onto the deck.
She dropped to her knees and threw up salt water.
He held her hair away from her face. “Are you hurt?”
Shannon gagged, then gulped for air. “Not seriously.”
He put his body between her and the sea and waited for her breathing to settle.
“I’m okay,” she said.
“Holy shit.” Jake wiped water off his forehead and eyes. “Are you steady enough to walk back to the cockpit?”
She nodded. Jake helped her stand and led the way.
Shannon kept her fingers tight around his harness, and her knuckles dug into his back. He pulled her into the cockpit, and her knees buckled. Jake caught her and cradled her against his chest. His body reacted to hers. He had a sudden vision of her naked on a beach, her body tanned and waiting for him. What a jerk. Shannon almost drowned and he wanted…wanted what?
* * *
The sun was setting just as A Dog’s Cat entered Bahamian water. The passage across the Gulf Stream had finally turned into the promised fifteen-knot beam-reach sail. The boat settled into a gentle rhythm with the waves. Time to assess the situation. The fuel level hadn’t changed drastically in the last couple of hours, so the diesel leak couldn’t be big.
After her fall overboard, Shannon had gone below to sleep. Thinking about how good hugging her felt was a bad idea. He’d wanted to hug her tighter, but she’d pushed herself away from him, said she needed a change of clothes and headed below. No crying, no complaining, no mention of steering for land.
“Check this out,” Jake said. “The depth sounder just went to eight feet.”
Shannon rose from the cockpit seat and stood beside Jake. “That’s amazing. Can you believe the change in water color? I’ve never seen a sea so blue.”
Look the Other Way Page 4