Uncharted Waters

by Scott MacKenzie

  Stan and I spend the next couple of hours taking turns telling tales of the sea — some may be true, most probably are not. From whales, to pirates, to reeling in a monster fish bigger than the boat, we cover all standard subjects. The bottle of rum is light, and my eyes are heavy. Sleep finds me well.

  I dream about sailing with Tenn. We lay together like we had on our day sail to Pender. Just as Tenn leans over to kiss me, I wake, sitting in my chair with Stan snoring loudly beside me. I must have been sleeping for a few hours because it’s dawn.

  The sun is just beginning to break, and a few birds chirp and sing. It’s a pleasant morning, but I wish I was back in my dream. My head is pounding, and my body is sore from sleeping in the lounge chair. I struggle to my feet and stretch out my tired, stiff muscles.

  Stan looks like a drunk, the way he is slouched over with the empty bottle in his lap. I consider waking him so he can go to his bed, but he has a smile on his face and whatever dream he’s having is surely better than me waking him to a hangover and a sore back.

  I’m hungover, and I desperately need water. I help myself to a hose on the side of the restaurant. My little drink turns into a shower, the cool water refreshing as it rains down on my head. I splash my face and begin to feel like myself again.

  The sun is rising quickly, casting a golden morning light over the bay. I’m not tired of Solitude Bay. I can’t imagine a more beautiful place to call home. It’s a nice feeling, knowing my beautiful boat will be waiting for me right here when I get back.

  I adore these moments alone on this beach. A feeling of peace washes over me as the sun begins to dry the beads of water on my skin. It’s as if I’m witnessing everything in the bay waking up from a night’s rest. Even the cool sand beneath my feet seems to absorb the life from the morning sun.

  Getting on the paddleboard is the hard part, but once I find my balance, I feel comfortable. I paddle slowly away from the shallow shore and toward my boat. I have a few near falls, but quickly compose myself and remain standing on the long, heavy, floating board. The sun is high enough that it’s now shining its light into the water below my feet, and I can see all the way to the sandy bottom. Large blue and yellow fish follow me along my way, or perhaps I follow them.

  I’ve been concentrating on my blue and yellow friends rather than where I’m headed. I look up and notice I have been paddling off course for some time. Looking back in the water, the fish are gone, and there’s nothing but blue water and white sand below me.

  With some careful balance and fancy paddling I get myself pointed in the right direction. Then four loud, very out of place sounds come from my beautiful white sailboat floating about one hundred feet away from me.

  Snap. SNAP-SNAP-SNAP.

  I stop paddling and look over to my boat with concern, and then it happens.

  Boom!

  The world stops. It happens so fast that I can’t make sense of it.

  A thunderous crack fires through the air and thumps my chest, throwing me off my board and into the water.

  My mind is racing, trying to understand what’s happening.

  Before I surface, I feel the pulse of another explosion from under the water.

  Deep down, I know what’s going on, but I deny it. Something about horrific events does this to people. It’s too much to feel, and even though it’s happening before my eyes, I cannot compute. I feel nothing.

  A third violent explosion blasts from my boat and echoes off the shore.

  The horrific reality before me can no longer be denied; my boat is being torn apart.

  My home is on fire. I have been attacked.

  I tread water, watching as smoke billows from my pristine white sailboat. She’s taking on water fast, and her stern is already completely submerged, her bow pointing in the air. She looks like she’s in pain, like she’s dying, as if she has been murdered. I feel as if I’m watching my closest companion die a brutal death before my eyes.

  I want to cry out to her, to my home, to my friend. But I’m frozen and unable to make a sound. I want to cry, but I don’t seem to feel anything.

  I am empty.

  I am in shock.

  She’s dying. She is sinking into the sea and there is nothing I can do.

  The water bubbles as it swallows my home. Only the tip of the bow is above water, and it is falling fast.

  And then she’s gone.

  Moments ago, my floating home was waiting for me, and now there is nothing but calm blue water. There is no trace of her except the very tip of the mast that is still above water and a cloud of ugly smoke.

  Dread consumes me. My broken heart begins to race, and my throat tightens. The paddleboard is close, so I hang on with one arm.

  Tenn is on the deck of her boat, her hands on her head, mouth open in surprise. Stan is on shore looking over the scene helplessly. There are others running to the beach to see what has happened. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go. I consider letting the ocean swallow me. If I succumbed to the water, I would simply disappear and the bay would once again be serene, as if I never existed. A captain should go down with his ship. I have nothing without her.

  Tenn screams. She may have been screaming for some time but I only notice now. I look back at Stan who is walking into the water toward me. He’s waving his arms and shouting something at me that I cannot understand.

  I slide onto the paddleboard and prop myself up to my knees. I paddle with all my strength, making my way to where the mast is poking out of the water. Stan swims closer, and Tenn has jumped into the water and is swimming toward me. She is shouting at me, maybe apologizing. I take a breath. Her voice and everything else are silenced as I jump into the water.

  It’s hard to make it all the way down, and once I get to the boat, I feel the need for air again, so my visit is quick. She sits on the white sandy bottom; already tropical fish are exploring the new addition to their watery world. I want to explore further, but a survival instinct makes me surface for air. On my way up, I see Tenn frantically swimming toward me. Together we swim to the surface.

  We both take a moment to gasp in air.

  “I’m so sorry, Vince. I’m so sorry!” she cries.

  Ten

  I hold on to the very top of the exposed mast. Tenn shouts something with tears in her eyes, Stan still swimming toward me. I can’t hear what Tenn is saying. I can’t hear anything over the awful ringing in my ears. The violence of the explosion switched off all my senses, but they are slowly coming back, and I’m able to feel again.

  I feel dread.

  My head is pounding, and I only now realize I’m injured from the blast. My chest and shoulders are cut and bleeding. I can tell by how Tenn is looking at me that I do not look good and may have injuries to my face or head. The awful burning smell is thick in the air. There are a few familiar items floating around me that didn’t stay down with the ship.

  The pain in my ears is impossible to ignore. It’s like the steel wheels of a freight train grinding along uneven steel tracks; the sharp pain is climbing the back of my neck and doing a loop around my skull.

  I’m angry.

  I hug the exposed mast as if it were a dying friend. Tenn has stopped shouting and holds onto a cushion that has floated to the surface. Her face is wrinkled with stress as she fights some kind of internal battle. She’s the reason my home is forty feet under water. She brought this travesty into my life. She seduced me with her charms and has probably been using me all along. I allowed this foolish woman into my life and I’m paying the price. I don’t know what I was thinking, getting involved with this secretive woman.

  Normally when I’m lost or don’t know what to do or where to go, I would gravitate to my boat; my home was always my safe place. I miss my simple life, my solitary life. I am nothing without my boat. Do I swim to shore? What happens when I get there? One thing I do know is I will not be going to Crazy Lady. I’m done with Tenn. This foolish game is over.

  “Okay, Vince. We ca
n’t do anything here. It’s time to go,” Stan says from somewhere behind me.

  His voice is sobering, and I realize I’m still hugging the mast like it were a dying lover. Stan gives me a moment, then tries again.

  “Come on, my friend. We’ll figure this out.” His calm voice pulls me further into reality.

  My cheek presses against the mast, and my eyes are shut tight. She was not only my home, she was my best friend. She’s taken care of me. We crossed oceans, fought storms and high seas together. She gave me the best years of my life. In all those countless remote anchorages where I was the only boat, I was never alone because I had her. She provided a comfort I had never known before.

  Tuuli represented something to me. I escaped a life I hated. After Lydia and her lawyers were done with me, and her internet followers had done their best to pick over the pieces like digital vultures, this sailboat was all I had. Tuuli was the perfect escape. Tuuli represented what I had accomplished, but more than a trophy, she was my protection. When I sailed away from the dock in Seattle to leave for my grand voyage, I knew Tuuli would take care of me for whatever lay ahead.

  After all she has done for me, I have let her down. My friend, my companion has been murdered and lies on the sea floor.

  “Okay, Vince. Okay,” Stan says as he pulls my arms from the mast.

  I feel a pang when I release my hold and float away. Stan and I have our elbows on the paddleboard and start to slowly make our way to shore. Tenn is in tears as we swim away, and at no point do I look at her. I am done with Tenn. I can see in my peripheral vision that Stan gives her a consoling touch on her shoulder before we leave her behind.

  Neither Stan nor I say a word on our slow swim to shore. We gently kick our feet, and eventually we feel the sandy beach under us. Still, no words are spoken as we walk up to the restaurant. I take a seat at one of the high stools that looks over Solitude Bay; the few feet of the exposed mast can clearly be seen from here. Tenn is sitting on the forward deck of her boat, and even from this distance I can see she is sad. I know she is responsible for this, but I don’t hate her. I find myself staring at Tenn, wondering what her story is and how it has come to this.

  The whistle of a boiling kettle takes me out of my head. Stan puts two steaming cups of tea on the bar and pulls up a stool beside me. The angle of the early sun finds its way to where we sit, and it feels warm on my skin. I pull the tea in closer and let minty steam wisp up my nose. Stan has a wet cloth over his shoulder that he passes to me, which I use to clean my superficial wounds. He sits beside me in silence and sips the hot tea. As I grieve my boat, I find comfort in having someone like Stan in my life. He truly has become a father figure to me.

  Stan is the easiest person I have ever been around. Even in this moment he is able to keep his cool. There are no uncomfortable silences. I clean my face with the damp, warm towel, and for a moment I feel some relief from the impossible strain inside me.

  “Thank you,” I say quietly from behind the towel pressed to my face.

  “Vince, my man, someone is trying to kill you.”

  “I know. Should we call the police?” I ask.

  “No, this isn’t Seattle. The police will only complicate things. They’ll take your money. You’ll end up locked up and broke if you’re not careful with the police in this part of the world, my friend. There will be no calling the police.”

  I feel naïve for making the suggestion. Everywhere in the world, except small western towns, the police are treated with a different kind of respect. The same kind of respect you would have for a bear or any large predator. Don’t approach, don’t run, back away slowly, basically don’t act like food. I remember as a young child being taught to run to the police anytime you’re in trouble. There would be a cartoon drawing of a smiling tall man in a classic blue uniform. The police represented everything good. Of course, in other parts of the world they are taught to respect and fear the police, but if you’re in trouble, don’t run to the police because they can be more dangerous than what you are running from.

  “At least we know who the enemy is,” Stan says between sips of tea.

  There’s something in his calm tone that strikes me. Stan is an old man with a history I know very little about. Something tells me he was a soldier at one time. Of course we know who the enemy is. The tea is helping to clear my mind, but I am far from able to make any kind of plan of action.

  Stan and I both put our teacups down and fixate on the horizon.

  The enemy returns.

  The powerboat races into the bay, and I stand up like a fighter rising to the sound of a starting bell.

  “Easy, my friend,” Stan says.

  My chest rises and falls in long, controlled breaths. My eyes narrow and fixate on the boat. On my enemy.

  “Vince, they probably think you are dead. Even I thought you were on your boat. Your skiff was tied up. You’ve slept in your boat nearly every night since the day you arrived here. There’s no reason for them to think you weren’t on your boat last night, to think you didn’t go down with the boat this morning. Don’t let them know any different.” Stan speaks quietly, as if they could hear us from across the bay.

  “I can’t stand here and do nothing,” I say, still staring at the powerboat that is sidling up to Crazy Lady.

  “I’m not saying that we do nothing. But right now, you have the element of surprise. Do not ruin that.”

  “What if Tenn tells them I alive?”

  “She won’t.”

  I don’t argue. Deep down, I know he’s right. I have lost any trust I had for Tenn, but for some reason I know she’ll pretend I went down with the ship. I take a few steps back, away from the open façade so I’m not seen.

  They don’t tie up to Crazy Lady. After a few words with Tenn, they slowly motor toward where the mast of my boat is sticking out of the water. After a brief drive-by, they push on. It may be my imagination, but I swear they share a laugh as they look down at my boat in its watery grave.

  “I think it’s time that we have a talk with Tenn,” Stan says as he watches the boat power out of the bay.

  I can’t help but notice Stan keeps on using the word “we” and I find it comforting. It’s a subtle thing that’s usually reserved for family.

  I head toward the beach where Stan has a few skiffs and larger rowboats. We drag one along the white sand and into the water. Stan runs to his shop and returns with a sun-faded pack over his shoulder. I look at it with concern but don’t question what he is bringing along.

  I row us to Crazy Lady as quickly as I can, using long, powerful strokes that make the bow bounce out of the water with each stride.

  Tenn’s nowhere to be seen on deck. Stan and I tie up and board the ship, the companionway doors open. We see Tenn in the cabin below. I lead the way down and Stan follows. Tenn is in tears, her knees tucked into her chest, her hands covering her face. Her body language is a mixture of fear and shame. I don’t say anything for the moment, just sit across from her and wait for her to unfold from her protective position so I don’t talk to her knees and forearms. Stan sits next to me, and we wait in silence.

  Tenn takes a deep breath, wipes her tears away, and pushes her hair back. Finally, she looks up at me. Her eyes seem honest and vulnerable, and her face shows her exhaustion. There’s a glimmer of fear when her eyes meet mine, and it changes me. I realize how intensely I was looking at her and turn my head away to realign my approach.

  “Do they know Vince is alive?” Stan asks.

  “No. They think you were on the boat,” she responds, looking directly at me.

  I don’t know why, but I believe her. I can tell Stan believes her, too.

  “When do you expect them back?” Vince asks.

  Tenn lightly blows her nose and shakes her head. “They’re not coming back, and I’m leaving,” Tenn says with a shaky voice.

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  Tenn looks at me and smiles. A smile can mean so much; there are thousands of
emotional layers that can be behind a smile, and oftentimes, happiness and joy are nowhere to be found. It’s clear Tenn means she is leaving for her crossing.

  “When?” Stan asks.

  “Now.”

  “Now?” I say.

  “I’m sorry for everything. I promise, when I leave, they will never be back here.”

  “Not good enough.” I feel anger welling up inside me.

  “What do you want from me?” she cries, her eyes shut tight, her hands in fists.

  “The truth!” I yell.

  I’m on the edge of the bench and notice her deflate in reaction to my aggression.

  “My home is at the bottom of the ocean. Your friends tried to murder me. I have nothing left because of you.” I stand and walk around the table that separates us. Tenn looks up at me, the defeat in her eyes obvious.

  “Tell me what’s going on, Tenn. What are you involved in? What have you got me involved in?” I ask.

  “I don’t know where to start. It’s complex.”

  Tenn pushes a few blonde curls away from her face and takes a moment to gather her thoughts. I can’t tell if she’s trying to think up a lie or the truth.

  “Bad news,” Stan says with concern, peering out a port window.

  Tenn stands on the cushion where she was just sitting and looks out to see what concerns Stan. I don’t need to look. I can tell by Stan’s voice and the grimace on Tenn’s face. I can hear the faint sound of the powerboat approaching.

  “No, no, no.” The desperation in her voice is sincere, and I know she was telling the truth when she said she wasn’t expecting them back.

  Tenn paces back and forth. I sit down. My heart is easy, and my breaths are slow. I notice Stan clutch the bag that hangs off his shoulder. Stan and I make eye contact, and for first time I see something I’ve never seen in him — fear.

  “Stay here. Hide. I’ll try to keep them on deck. Oh god, they’re here. Hide damnit!” Tenn’s voice has the tone of a whisper but the volume of a shout.

  Before she climbs up the teak steps, she takes a slow breath and tries to compose herself. I don’t move from my seat. I can see the profile of her body as she greets them off the starboard side. It would take nothing for them to see me below, but I don’t care. The only reason I don’t go on deck and take vengeance is because I want to learn as much as I can. I want to hear how they talk when they don’t know I’m here. It’s amazing how much you can learn by listening.