I’m grateful for this visit. If I hadn’t come here, I would remember Solitude Bay as something it isn’t any longer. Our time has come to an end; certainly, my time with Stan has come to an end.
I don’t know how to say goodbye. I don’t have a plan, but I need to honor him. I need to do something to respect his life. How do I do such a thing? The chairs where we spent many evenings smoking cigars and drinking rum are still half buried in the sand. My heartbeat changes as I gaze at the two empty chairs sitting crooked in the sand.
I know where the key for the restaurant is hidden. I let myself in and find a bottle of rum and, to my delight, the box of cigars.
“There we go,” I say out loud when I find what I am looking for.
I close the restaurant door and make my way to the chairs sitting crooked in the sand.
“Hope it’s not too early for you, Stan,” I say to the empty chair. “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” I add as I take my usual seat.
I set the two glasses in the sand between the chairs and fill them with the dark rum.
“It’s been a hell of a few days, Stan. I think it’s fair to say we deserve a drink.” I smile. “I guess it’s finally time for me to sail away. My boat has a slight problem, though, so I’ll be sailing on Tenn’s boat.” I set a full glass of rum on the wooden armrest of the empty chair. “I guess we are both leaving Solitude Bay, aren’t we? I’m going to miss it here, Stan, and I’m going to miss you very much.”
The heaviness of the moment makes me slouch in my chair. I close my eyes and try to keep myself composed. I open my eyes and look at Crazy Lady floating in the bay. I light a cigar while I stare at the vessel that is to take me across the ocean.
“What do you think, Stan? Do think she can do it? She’s an old boat.” I set the lit cigar next to his glass, then light the second one for myself.
I sit there in silence for a few moments, smoking my cigar. Stan and I spent as much time sitting in silence as we did talking, and I swear I can feel him sitting next to me.
“Thank you for being my friend, Stan. Cheers.” I hit the corner of my glass to his. I take a drink and set my glass and cigar on the armrest of my chair.
“I better get going. Don’t drink that whole bottle.”
I stand and look at the two empty chairs, two glasses of rum, and two smoking cigars. I say nothing, my throat tight—I’m struggling with the moment. It’s strange to walk away.
I paddle back to Crazy Lady and climb aboard. Tenn doesn’t say anything, keeping herself busy in the galley making tea. I can tell she understands this moment is mine, and she is careful not to disturb it, although I can sense her urge to pull up the anchor and be on our way.
She puts a warm mug of tea in my hand and leaves me on deck alone.
She moves around the boat, careful not to make eye contact or get in my personal space, waiting for me to decide it is time to go. I set the mug down on a table and look over Solitude Bay for one final moment.
“Okay,” I say to Tenn in a soft voice with a slight nod.
Tenn stops what she is doing and puts her hand on my shoulder. She doesn’t hug me; she must be able to tell that would be too much. Neither of us say a word as we pull up the anchor. We stay silent as we fire up the motor and make our way out to sea.
There is so much to worry about. There are too many things that are obviously being overlooked. There is simply too much. So, we stay silent.
We hoist the sail.
Our journey has begun.
Thirteen
It’s been three days and two nights at sea.
Land is far behind us. Our plan is rather simple. Point the bow north and keep on sailing until we are just north of Bermuda, then head east across the Atlantic to the Azores Islands.
Crazy Lady is a big, heavy boat, and she moves slow, even in this stiff breeze. I’m on deck watching a golden sunset; there’s little for me to do but lie here and watch the sun slowly sink into the watery horizon. The sail is set, and there’s ocean in all directions as far as the eye can see.
Tenn’s not doing well. Her normal glow has dulled to a pale green and her eyes have the look of doom. She can’t keep anything down and spends most of her time in bed clutching her pillow. Seasickness gets most of us, some more than others.
Tenn’s poor health is by and large the reason we haven’t spoken a great deal since we left Solitude Bay. The rolling seas have been relentless, and I admit I have been grappling with some uneasiness, too. Although I feel I have my sea legs now, the last few days have been a challenge.
It happens. Tenn will be okay. I can’t do anything for her, but I can give her space. She seemed marginally better today. She may have even had a solid sleep this afternoon.
It’s possible we’ll be on the open sea in this boat for as long as a month, just her and I. There is no need to rush anything. We’ll find our rhythm and routine soon enough.
I hear her banging around the galley bellow; hopefully her appetite is returning. From where I’m lying on deck, I can see her putting on the kettle. Her hair is loosely tied up, and she looks like she just woke from a long sleep. Her loose pants have fallen halfway down her hips past her tan line, showing a part of her white bum. She has worn the same light long-sleeved shirt for a couple days. It’s wrinkled and twisted around her. As the kettle whistles loudly she looks up, catching me staring at her. She smiles and turns her attention back to the whistling kettle, switching off the burner. She pours hot water in two mugs, then drops a diffuser filled with loose tea in each of them. Tenn has a collection of loose tea that she mixes together. I think her large collection of herbal teas is a part of what makes the cabin smell so delightful. She begins to make her way up the steps with the mugs in hand.
“Here, pass them up to me,” I say, leaning toward her and taking the steaming mugs.
“Thanks,” she replies, and climbs on deck.
Tenn sits across from me cross-legged and wipes her tired eyes as she surveys the sea around us. I put both mugs on the table between us to let them cool.
“Beautiful,” she remarks, looking over the sunset’s final act before night takes over.
I’m not watching the sunset. I’m watching her.
“You look like you’re feeling better,” I remark.
“I’m getting there. Hopefully one more sleep and I’ll be back on track. Sorry I haven’t been much help so far,” Tenn says.
I’ve always sailed alone, so it doesn’t make a difference to me. It can be a strange feeling to take a nap while the boat sails blindly in the night. On my boat I would have alarms to tell me if another boat was nearby, but Crazy Lady is not so well equipped. But still, I’m at ease sailing her at night alone. Her motion at sea is slow and easy, and although she is an old boat, her thick wooden hull is strong.
“So, Mr. Stark, it looks like it will be just you and me for a while.” Tenn tucks her knees in and wraps her shirt around them. “Are you scared?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Why would I be scared?”
“I don’t know. Are you afraid you made the wrong decision? Are you afraid the boat isn’t up to snuff? I mean, yeah man — I’m scared.”
“Of what?” I ask.
“Well, the dark for one thing. It freaks me out, sailing at night.”
“You’ll get used to it,” I answer honestly.
“You’re telling me you have no concerns about the boat, about me, about where the hell we’re going?”
“We’re going to Azores,” I tell her.
“I mean … okay, then what? Look, I don’t know, darlin’. I’m a little freaked out. I don’t know why. I just am.”
I lean over and grab the mug closest to me. It’s still a little too hot, so I blow over the surface to cool it. The steam smells of lavender and mint. I was never into tea before I met Tenn, so this is a new evening ritual for me, but a very welcome one.
I can feel Tenn’s fear. An uneasiness radiates from her and compels me to join. Fear is contagious. Thankf
ully, it’s something I’m immune to when at sea. Everything I fear is on land. The open ocean is the safest place in the world for me.
“You just need some rest, and a good meal, then you’ll feel better. Your boat is beautiful and strong and has probably crossed this ocean many times, considering her pedigree and age. It’s the right time of year, so there’s no reason to worry about nasty weather. And, let’s not forget the one thing you have that guarantees you will be safe.”
“And what might that be?” Tenn asks.
“Me,” I say with a smile, and a raise of a mug.
“Is that right? Well, I appreciate your confidence, Stark,” Tenn says playfully. “Is this the first time you have had a first mate?”
“I guess it is,” I answer.
“So…”
“So what?”
“How do you like having a first mate?”
“Well, you’ve been in bed or puking your guts out over the side of the boat for three days.”
“Hey! Low blow, man,” she says with a squint. We both smile and focus our attention back on our teas.
Darkness comes fast, and I can barely see her. I lean over and turn on the battery-powered lantern that lights up the cockpit. The soft light illuminates her face. I can see a childlike fear in her eyes. Fear is something you can’t hide. Tenn and I maintain eye contact in the new artificial light, an easy smile forming on her lips. I know what she’s feeling. I know what she sees. I’ll take care of her. I will not rattle. Now matter what, out here I will never break. She can count on me.
“You know what,” I say, leaning toward her, “there’s nowhere I would rather be than on this boat, with you, sailing through the Caribbean Sea.”
Tenn holds up her mug, and we ceremoniously say cheers.
The wind shifts and luffs the sails, the boat rocking back and forth.
“Time for a little adjustment,” I say as I get up to pull in the sail. “We’re halfway to Bermuda.”
“Does that mean we are in the Bermuda Triangle?” Tenn asks.
I cleat off the sheet and laugh off her question.
“I think we’re in the Bermuda Triangle. This isn’t good. This is not good.” Tenn shifts and looks around the darkness like she is expecting something to appear.
“That’s a myth,” I say dismissively.
“No, no, the devil’s triangle is no myth.”
I return to my spot. Although Tenn has been dealing with her health for the past few days, we have been establishing minor routines. For one, I sit on the starboard side bench and she sits on the port side.
“It’s a wormhole to another dimension.” The way the light of the lantern lights her face makes her look like she is telling a ghost story. “We are in it, man.”
“It’s not a thing. Besides, I don’t think we are inside the triangle.” I don’t know if we are or not, but I hope she believes me because her imagination seems to be getting the best of her.
“The three points of the triangle are Miami, Puerto Rico, and umm…” Tenn is tired, and her mind is weak.
“Really?” I question.
“The third point is…” She trails off.
I stifle a laugh. “We are talking about the Bermuda Triangle here, right?”
Tenn traces an imaginary triangle with the tip of her finger. “Miami, down to Puerto Rico, then…” I can see her expression change as her finger traces the triangle to the third point. “Oh my gosh, I can be dumb sometimes.”
“You’re tired. Don’t be so hard on yourself,” I say with some gentle laughter.
“Puerto Rico, Miami, and Bermuda. So we’re in it, man.” She turns herself toward me and overemphasizes the same words “We. Are. In. It.”
“Tenn, there are no wormholes,” I say, trying to calm her down.
“So, what’s your theory then?” she asks.
“It’s just a numbers thing. There are a ton of boats that travel these waters. A very tiny fraction of them run into trouble,” I say.
“And planes,” she adds.
“Sure, there are a lot of planes, too.”
“No way, darlin’, something is up. I mean, what theories have you heard?” she asks, her eyes wide.
I scratch my chin and begin to tell her a theory that I read about in a recent science article. “They say there is a weather phenomenon, a very concentrated area of extremely high winds that can take down planes and build waves fifty feet high. It comes from nowhere and then disappears. Something about the extreme high and low pressures that meet here. It’s kind of like a tiny hurricane that comes and goes without warning.”
I look over the darkness of the ocean while I speak. When I turn to look at Tenn, I see her jaw is almost on the floor, her skin is even paler than it was before, and her knuckles are white where she’s clenching her cup of tea. I immediately realize I made a mistake. I’m not good at social cues. I’ve been pretty good at feeling out Tenn, but this is a major misstep.
“That’s a fucking wormhole.” Tenn puts her cup down and stands. “What you described is a wormhole. We’re changing course,” she says with a sudden alertness.
“What. No. Tenn, we can’t,” I object.
“I’ll take the sails in. You fire up the motor,” she orders.
I feel rather foolish for telling her that theory about the triangle. I should be keeping her calm, not riling her up. I wasn’t thinking.
Tenn’s taking down the sail. We were moving along nicely, and the boat was perfectly balanced. When the boat loses its momentum, I feel my heart sink.
Tenn makes her way back to me. “Fire it up, Captain,” she says with confidence.
“This could use lots of fuel and add days to our trip. Maybe even weeks,” I say frankly.
The boat rises and falls, rocking back and forth with the swells.
“You got somewhere to be?” she asks.
“No,” I answer.
“We have more than enough fuel,” she says, pointing to the yellow cans strapped to the deck.
“We do,” I tell her.
“Okay then,” she says, her eyebrows raised, awaiting my response.
I can’t find the words. Other than adding time to the crossing, it’s just not a route that makes any sense. The wind we want is waiting for us north. I’m navigating using a chart, a compass, a clock, and a pencil. It will be easy to lose our position if I’m not sharp. I take the blame for this one. Tenn was clearly letting her fears get the best of her, and I shouldn’t have gone on like I did. I will take more care with her fears as we sail across the ocean.
I lean over and turn the key. The engine coughs, spits, and lets out a cloud of dark smoke before it begins humming along.
“Turn twenty-degrees east,” I command.
Tenn steps toward me and kisses me on the cheek. “Thank you,” she says with an easy smile.
Tenn takes the helm and changes our heading, motoring straight for the middle of the Atlantic. We head dead downwind, so we’ll have to keep going until that changes. This is rather silly, but it’s my fault. The autopilot works well in these calm waters, so I set the heading and ease back into my seat. Tenn is lying down and already sleeping peacefully.
As I watch her sleep, I realize this change of course was the right thing to do. I’ve been thinking quite a bit over the last few days, about why I’m doing this, and I think I have come up with an answer. I want to share an experience with someone. I’ve been a loner for so long that I feared I was too far gone to be able to connect, but here I am, on this crazy boat with this crazy soul. All that matters are the moments we share. I think that can be said for anything — nothing really matters if it’s experienced alone. If you’re creating something, what you created is less important than the experience you had with whomever you created it with.
And I’m creating something with Tenn. It doesn’t matter where we’re going or how we get there. I’m sharing a part of my life with her, and her with me. We are creating memories that we will both have for a lifetime. It does
n’t matter if we take a long, silly route across the ocean, it matters that we are together. For this moment in time, I’m sharing my life with her, and I’m grateful.
It’s only day four. I have no idea how long this crossing will take. I think the only fear I have is what happens after we make landfall. I’m safe here, I have a beautiful woman with me who seems to need me. No one can find me. There are no books to write, or violent criminals to avoid. It’s just her and I on this beautiful boat and nothing but ocean as far as the eye can see. Nothing else matters.
My eyes are heavy, and my head begins to nod.
It does feel silly, charging into the night with both of us sleeping on deck. Two fools motoring into the dark night, both in a blissful ignorant sleep. But I have no choice, I feel sleep taking me.
I head down below to the chart table to make some quick calculations. I pencil in our position and our new route that takes us safely out of the wormhole zone.
Whether I like it or not, sleep is going to happen. My body is shutting down. I set my alarm for twenty minutes. I plan to make sure the coast is clear on twenty-minute intervals. At this speed, that should be plenty to spot a ship in our path. I set the alarm and fall asleep with it in my hand.
“No woman no cry, no woman no cry.”
I am woken. Not by my alarm, but by Bob Marley playing loudly through the speakers. I’m wrapped up in a blanket, my clothes are in a pile next to me, and the cabin is filled with sunshine. To say I overslept would be an understatement.
I feel a rush of concern. I slept right through the night and, judging by the strong sunlight, well into the late morning. My little clock is not on the table where I left it. Tenn is dancing to the music in the galley; she’s lost in what she’s doing and hasn’t noticed I’m awake.
She begins to sing along while she kneads bread on a butcher block. Although I’m in a deep morning haze, I can tell that my mind and body desperately needed that sleep. I feel new again. What’s also contributing to the peacefulness of the morning is the fact that we are under sail rather than motoring.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Tenn says with a smile when she notices I’m awake.
Uncharted Waters Page 15