Uncharted Waters

by Scott MacKenzie

  Uncharted Waters

  A Novel

  Scott MacKenzie

  Copyright © 2020 by Scott MacKenzie

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover art: Hang Le Designs

  Edited by: Kara Malinczak & Laura Helseth

  Proofreader: Rox LeBlanc

  For my parents, Alan and Wendy

  Contents

  Note to the reader

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Glossary of Terms

  Note from the author

  Note to the reader

  To the sailors who are concerned with technical terms and geographic accuracy — there are many books that will suit you better.

  To those who want a simple love story and are put off by a few technical terms and sailing references — there are an endless number of books that will suit you better.

  There are things we know are real, and there are things we know are not — this is for the people who like to explore the space between.

  Prologue

  To be alive is to be consumed by dread.

  Some of us will feel it more than others, but it’s in us all. More than love, dread is what binds us. It’s all doom and gloom baby, and the clock is winding down. It’s far too easy to slip deep into the darkness that’s nipping at your heels. All you have to do is stop and you will disappear—right into the black.

  “Stop!” she yells from the passenger seat of the car.

  I hit the brakes, and for a moment, the force freezes time while we hang from our seatbelts. I didn’t see the red light. I drift off sometimes.

  “Sorry,” I say, keeping my eyes forward. The heavy rain hitting the cheap, thin metal of the little car sounds like a sarcastic applause.

  “It’s okay,” she responds between gasping breaths.

  “She,” is Kayla — my agent. Kayla has soft features, and her dark hair is always tied up. Her blue-rimmed glasses point up at the ends. Kayla is excellent at pretending life isn’t a horrible waste of time. The glass is always half full with Kayla, or so it seems. Her smile is a mix of positivity, love, strength, and of course, dread. You can see it in the left corner of her mouth and her right eyebrow; you have to look for it, but it’s there. She is mother goose - a nurturer - the strongest type of person, I think.

  She also hates driving, which is why I’m behind the wheel of her car. I think she’s regretting that choice at the moment.

  The light turns green, and I force myself not to drift off again. I need to stop doing that, especially if I’m going back into the workforce one day. I can’t imagine returning to the night shift in the railyard. I got lucky with my first novel and was able to quit that awful job. That was almost eight years ago. Things have changed since then. I’ve changed.

  “Okay, Vince, it’s going to be okay. We can do this. Turn left here.”

  It’s been over a year since Kayla and her husband paid me a visit down south, so it’s nice to see her. She’s clutching my manuscript close to her chest like a child that needs love. We are on our way to meet with the publishers.

  Since the success of my first — and only — novel, she has been quite sought after as an agent. She worked at the coffee shop here in Seattle where I wrote most of my book. I worked the night shift as a freight train mechanic and spent afternoons in the corner of that coffee shop, plotting, typing … escaping. When I got an email asking for my agent’s contact information, I asked Kayla if she was up for the job while she filled my coffee. I knew she would be great; she’s smart, likable, and hard to say no to. I also knew she had some experience in the field and wanted to get back in the saddle.

  We drive along the wet Seattle streets in silence, and even though it’s been years since I’ve seen Kayla, I feel completely at ease with her.

  “Have they ever taken anything on that wasn’t romance?” I ask.

  “No,” Kayla says, her eyes shut tight, the manuscript bending from her grip.

  “Right, do they know this is a dark space opera and not a romance novel?” I ask.

  “I sent them a copy a few days ago, and I haven’t heard from them since. Park here, Vince. It’s the only free parking available. We can walk the rest of the way.” Kayla gives me a reassuring smile while she unbuckles her seatbelt.

  We walk along the sidewalk, avoiding puddles. I take in the familiar smells of moss and rain; nothing takes you back like a smell. I’ve lived on a sailboat in the Caribbean for nearly seven years, and this is my first visit back to the Pacific Northwest. I grew up with this climate, half of my life I have lived in this rain. This is a beautiful part of the world, but I can’t imagine ever calling it home again.

  “So, what did you think of it?” I ask her as she motions for me to turn left.

  “It’s … good. A little dark. If it finds its audience, I think it could be an instant classic. Here we are. Oh, Vince darling, look at you.” Kayla pushes my messy hair to the side and straightens my collar. “I hope you wear sunscreen down there. Your skin is going to turn into leather.”

  “Do we have a chance with this?” I ask her as she flattens the lapels of my blazer.

  “It will be a tough sell, I’m not going to lie. But your first novel made them a lot of money, so they want to talk. Keep in mind they’re the only ones willing to talk to us,” Kayla says in a sober tone.

  It’s highly irregular for an author to accompany their agent to a negotiations meeting with the publishers, but I’m persistent. I know this book is different. I think if my publishers hear my case for the book in person, it will be harder to say no to.

  “I’m broke, Kayla.”

  “I had a feeling,” she says, and holds up the yellow folder containing the manuscript. “We won’t take no for an answer.”

  “No.”

  We are in the boardroom. Janis, who is sitting between her two underlings, says the word without blinking and tosses the manuscript onto the table where it lands with a thud, all while holding Kayla’s stare. I look down and stare at the title written on the top of the cover page, Live and Let Die, by Vince Stark.

  Janis is a warrior. Her mouth is small, her eyes narrow. Everything about her says don’t fuck with me. She’s younger than I would expect for someone to hold such a position; perhaps she needs to rattle her saber to keep the respect of her soldiers. She folds her hands and continues to speak.

  “Not a chance in hell. This is the darkest, most awful thing I have ever read. I literally did not come into work the day after I finished reading this because I lacked the will to get out of bed. Why? The world doesn’t need this depressing shit. Vince, you live on a yacht in the Caribbean. How the hell can you be so dark? The answer is no. Just no.”

  Kayla waves her arms around as if she’s trying to change the bad energy in the room. I can tell she hasn’t come up with a response yet — her smile, her hands waving around, the short noncommi
ttal sounds coming from the back of her throat are her way of stalling while her mind races to find an answer. Kayla begins to laugh; you can sense her thoughts in each ha. Her laugh quickens then falls away with a sigh.

  But life is a game of inches, and it seems Kayla has an idea. Kayla is going for a Hail Mary. Kayla is fighting for that inch.

  “That is the wrong manuscript, Janis. Vince, darling, I’m so sorry. It’s completely my fault. I sent the wrong one. Oh Janis, I can’t believe you read the entire thing. It really is dreadful.”

  I am equally offended and confused.

  Janis has her nose pointed up in the air and her eyes are narrowed at Kayla.

  The two corporate, pencil-skirt robots on either side of Janis watch their leader, ready to agree and support whatever direction Janis decides to go in.

  “You gave me the wrong manuscript?” Janis questions.

  “I’m so sorry, Janis, and Vince, I apologize to you both. Vince is only here for one day, you see. We have a meeting with Water Bird Publishing later this afternoon, and then we are flying to New York in the morning to offer Mcintosh and Watts. We wanted to come to you first because of our history with you. You know better than anyone the strength of the Vince Stark brand. We have a sure thing, Janis. We know what sells, we have done it before, and we will do it again with this one. Make ’em cry or die, we hit every fucking note. I can honestly say this is not only the best romance novel Vince Stark has ever written, this is the best romance novel I have ever read. I sent you his little passion project by mistake. We are here now, and we need to forget about Live and let Die and talk about the book that is going to buy all of us a summer house.” Kayla tucks the heavy manuscript into her bag and folds her hands, mirroring Janis’s powerful body language.

  I don’t say a word; it’s obvious what my agent is doing, but I don’t know what my play is in this game. I stay quiet and try not to give up this inch Kayla has fought so hard for. Janis is sizing me up; she’s a detective, and I’m sweating under the strong lights. I hold my terrible cards close to my chest and smile like I have a royal flush.

  Janis finally breaks the silence. “Vince, your one and only novel was one of the best sellers we have ever had. We had a great run with you, and we do want to work with you again. Your first book has run its course, and you are long overdue for new work. Now, if you can give me a straight-up romance manuscript, we can do business. When can I see what you have?”

  I slowly inhale, and my mind races to find an answer. Kayla interjects. “I’m sorry, Janis. Like I said, I really screwed up here. I will get it to you. This is the best romance I’ve ever read, and I know you are going to love it,” Kayla speaks earnestly.

  “Okay … what is it about?” Janis asks.

  “What is it about?” Kayla reaches for her water and prepares to respond. I slowly turn my head and look at her profile. Her cheeks and neck are red.

  “The synopsis, what are we dealing with here?” Janis asks with an air of suspicion.

  “Well, Janis, where should I start? First of all…” Kayla drinks her water again then continues. “It’s set in the Caribbean — on a boat. A yacht.”

  “Okay…” Janis unfolds her hands and opens them. “And…”

  “And…” Kayla looks at me. Her lips are smiling but her eyes are wild. “The male lead lives on this yacht, island hopping in the beautiful Caribbean Sea. It really is Vince’s best writing. I felt like I was right there with them. Oh, it’s funny, too! Oh Vince, that scene with the parrot!” Kayla is laughing wildly. “What was its name?”

  My god, what is she doing? Her hand is on my shoulder, waiting for my response.

  “Beverly?” I say.

  “Bahahaha, yes!” Kayla gives me a quick look telling me she is disappointed with my answer.

  “Oh, and it made me cry, too, Janis. They literally sail into the sunset at the end.”

  “Who are they?” Janis asks.

  “Oh, they are two liveaboards. Enemies-to-lovers kind of thing. Vince does it perfectly.”

  I have been nodding my head up and down, and I match Kayla’s body language the best I can. I really don’t know where to go from here.

  “It sounds like what we had in mind. Send us the manuscript. If we like it, I’m sure we can make a deal.” Janis’ words have the tone that she would like to wrap up this meeting.

  “Well, I know it would be unusual, but we do have other meetings lined up. Of course, you’re the first I brought this to. We want to work with you, Janis. I was hoping to get something signed today.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Janis answers.

  “This is an enemies-to-lovers romance novel by Vince Stark. It’s going to make millions and you know it.”

  “You want me to sign without reading a manuscript?”

  “A Vince Stark Romance set on a yacht in the Caribbean. I know you’ve signed plenty of authors on spec without seeing a single word. This is a genre change, yes, but it’s still pure Stark,” Kayla says, then postures like she just dropped the mic.

  “What do you want from me here?” Janis asks with some confusion in her voice.

  “I don’t want to go to anyone else. I realize I screwed up sending you the wrong manuscript, but we’re here now. We have a history together, and we just want something in writing that says you’re with Vince Stark. We can cancel our other appointments, and I’ll send over the manuscript as soon as possible. You know Water Bird will sign on the spot for this one.”

  Janis stands up and crosses her arms. “How much do you want?”

  “Ninety thousand. Thirty now, thirty after edits, and thirty on publication,” Kayla says.

  Janis is pacing the room with her arms still crossed, her slow steps sounding heavier than her small body should. She looks at one of her attentive underlings, who seems both panicked and amused at the negotiations going on in front of the author.

  “Bring us a contract and a check for thirty thousand,” she orders. Then she says, “Just kidding. That’s not how this works. We’ll have to run this through accounting first, but Vince, we have a deal.”

  I feel a smile form on my face. I really do have the best agent in town.

  The contract is drawn up extraordinarily fast, but even so, it takes a few hours. While we wait, Kayla decides to go explore Pike Place Market. I find myself in a used bookstore and get lost in the sci-fi shelves, even though I should probably be brushing up on the romance genre after everything that just went down.

  After a few hours, we are called back to the office. I go through the contract and blindly sign everywhere the colorful sign here arrows point. My smile begins to melt away as I make my way through the papers. What am I signing? I don’t know what Kayla has in mind, but this feels like career suicide. I finally finish and pass the large folder to Kayla beside me.

  Janis talks directly to me. “This better be good, Vince.” With that, she leaves the room without a goodbye or a handshake.

  Kayla and I don’t say a word as we make our way out of the building. I feel like we just robbed a bank and this is our quiet getaway. It occurs to me that I have never heard of anyone successfully robbing a bank. The exit door closes behind us with a thud; it sounds like a cell door closing behind me.

  I’m relieved to be outside in the fresh air and light rain. I need to get some distance from the lion’s den before I can speak. I notice Kayla’s expression indicates she feels the same. She has wild eyes and walks with the deliberate steps of a soldier.

  Even when we are back in her little car, we do not yet speak, and we’re well down the road before I break the silence.

  “What was that?” I question.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know. I saw it slipping away, and I reacted. Things got out of hand,” she says nervously.

  “I admire your quick thinking, but what now? I mean, there is no book. It took me years to write that manuscript everyone agrees is awful. I can’t come up with a romance novel in a week, Kayla. The truth is, I don’t kno
w if I can even write romance at all. I don’t think I have it in me anymore,” I admit.

  “Well, Mr. Stark, you’re going to have to,” she says, giving me an uncharacteristic side-eye. “It’s not just your career, it’s mine, too. Look, come over for dinner. It’s Skylar’s night to cook, so that means we’re ordering pizza.”

  “Sounds good,” I answer as I glance at the familiar Seattle skyline.

  “Look, I know you don’t like to talk about it, but I have to ask.”

  “Please don’t.” I know what she is trying to bring up. When I left Seattle, I left behind a broken marriage. Her name was Lydia, and she broke my heart. When the money came in from my novel, she left me. She was seeing her new lover on the side for some time before that. I was a fool because I truly didn’t see it coming. Lydia always had a sharp tongue, but she became truly wicked during the divorce. She dug a dagger in my back so deep it pierced my heart.

  “Have you heard from her?” Kayla asks.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I answer.

  “You know I care about you, Vince. I hate to see you carry this with you for so long. I mean, it isn’t a coincidence you haven’t been able to write about love since then. You’re in a very dark place. You’re someone who writes what they are feeling. Vince, you need to move on.” Kayla is struggling with her words; she knows she’s entering a sensitive area.

  “Knock it off, Kayla. Please. I can’t.” I want to yell at her, but I have a deep respect for her, and I can’t raise my voice.