“Okay, let’s try this again. If you please,” I say to her, motioning to the briefcase.
Tenn grabs the top and looks at me before she flips it open. The look seems to imply that this is the last moment we have together before everything changes.
The entire case is packed tightly with American dollars.
We stand still, looking down at the open case on the table. I don’t know why, but I’m frightened. I can tell by Tenn’s energy that she’s having the same reaction. There’s something about this that has gotten even more real. The cocaine in the hull was surprisingly easy to forget about, perhaps because it was tucked away and out of sight.
“So, now what?” Tenn asks.
“I don’t know, should we count it?”
“That’s a lot of money, darlin’.” Tenn pushes her hair back and takes a deep breath. “Maybe we should keep it in the case until we sail away from here.”
Tenn has become a real sailor — real sailors fear land, not the sea. I agree with her. It would be unwise to litter the cabin with cash. Sailors are nosy, and we’re surrounded by them.
“Good idea. Let’s hide it until we are clear of Azores,” I agree, and begin to close the case.
“Wait, we can at least do an estimate.” Tenn wrestles one of the bundles of hundred dollar bills out and sits on the edge of one of the two chairs.
She begins to count, her forehead furrowing in concentration. It’s clear that this will take some time because the crisp bills are packed so tightly together. I take a seat across from her, moving slow so I don’t distract her and cause her to lose count.
She finally finishes with the stack and turns her attention to the case. “Ugh, I need a paper and pencil,” she says, waving her hands around.
I open the long drawer next to the chart table and start rummaging through the contents, finally finding what I’m looking for. I set them on the table in front of her and return to my seat.
Tenn scribbles on the paper, then turns her attention back to the case. She removes a few wads of bills from the corner to see how deep it goes. She leans over with her butt in the air and bites her tongue while she makes a few more calculations, then slams the pen on the table and stands up.
“One-hundred-thousand dollars,” she says.
I look at her, then back down at the case.
“Wait, ugh, I’m so stupid,” she says, then leans over, sticking her butt in the air again. She stands back up quickly.
“One million,” she says, her eyebrows raised. Her hand shoots up and pushes back her curly hair. “Wait, no. Holy shit, Vince, this is two million dollars.” She says it like she just got punched in the stomach.
I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure why, but I’m more frightened than anything else. I had a taste of wealth after the success of my novel, but two million dollars is another level. Of course, my little taste of wealth also gave me a little taste of what it does to people. I now realize the source of my fear—I’m afraid this will change Tenn. I almost wish the case was empty.
“Two. Million. Dollars,” Tenn says again, her eyes round and her mouth in a broad grin.
I remain sitting, with Tenn hovering above me. I don’t know how to react; I have never been great in moments that call for big reactions — the bigger the moment the more I tend to internalize. There is two million dollars sitting on the table — this is a big moment, and I shut down.
“Oh my gosh, Vince, say something.” She talks like she just got off a wild ride at an amusement park.
I can’t find the words, so I raise my hand in the classic high-five posture.
Tenn leans down and gives me a quick, cheeky high five, her mouth in an open smile. Then she begins to do a silly dance and sings a song that is obviously made up.
“We have two million dollars! We have two million dollars!” She can barely say the words because she is making herself laugh.
She makes me laugh. Something about her reaction makes me hope this sudden wealth will not change her. She grabs my hand and pulls me up, encouraging me to dance with her.
“We have two million dollars!” She sings as if she is teaching me the lyrics. I begin to sing with her. We dance like idiots and we laugh.
“We have two million —”
Knock, knock, knock.
The three hits on the side of the hull don’t sound friendly. The loud knocks freeze us mid-dance.
Tenn skips over and stands on a chair to peek out the port window. “It’s the police.” She mouths the words as if she were screaming, but no sound comes out.
I close the case with the damaged latches and carry it to the forward berth to hide it away.
“Wait Vince, here,” Tenn says, holding out the cash she had counted.
When I try to take the money from her hand, I lose my hold on the case and it drops, hitting the edge of the table on the way down. All the cash spills onto the floor of the cabin.
Knock, knock.
I start cleaning up the bundles of money. Tenn bends down and frantically starts putting bundles back into the case.
“Go, keep him out of here!” she scream-whispers, and points to the exit.
I nod and make my way up the steps. I look back at Tenn trying to get the money back into the case. It was packed so tightly before that it seems impossible to get it back in. From where I stand, I can see the police officer, and he can see my head poking out. I smile and climb the rest of the way up the steps, greeting the man standing on the dock.
“Hello there,” I say in an overly friendly voice.
“This is in regard to you arriving in Horta with a dead engine. As you know, we cannot let you leave until it is fixed. If you have fixed the problem already, we can take care of the formalities.”
The officer has a strong air of authority with his wide stance and crossed arms. His voice is confident and slow.
“Yes, of course. It was just the starter motor, and I have a replacement. So we’re golden,” I answer. I climb down to the dock. I don’t want this conversation to be on the boat.
“Fantastic. If you can please start the motor for me,” the officer says, motioning to the boat.
“Yes, well, I’ve just got the component this afternoon and I haven’t installed it yet,” I tell him.
The officer sighs. “If you have the component, I suggest you install it now while I am here. We will make sure everything works and we can close the file.”
“Right, of course.” I try to think of an innocent way to get rid of the officer, but my mind is blank. “It’s only four bolts. I can have it done in minutes.”
“Fantastic,” he answers flatly.
We both stand on the dock for what feels like an eternity.
“After you,” the officer says, motioning for me to climb aboard Crazy Lady.
I wait, dumbfounded, trying to think of something to stop this from happening, but there’s nothing I can do but follow the officer’s lead.
“Of course,” I say with a smile.
I delay for a moment before slowly climbing aboard. When I’m on deck with the officer, I hold out my hand. “Stark, Vince Stark. Welcome to Crazy Lady.”
He shakes my hand, his grip too firm to be friendly. He responds with his name, but my mind is racing, and I miss it.
“That is an interesting name for a vessel.” He seems annoyed to have to go through any pleasantries.
“She’s a great boat. She’s kept us safe, and she is our home.” I try to keep the conversation going on deck to give Tenn as much time as possible to clean up.
“She is a lovely boat. Now, Mr. Stark, if you please.” The officer motions to the companionway door.
“Of course, of course. I’m sure you have other business to attend to,” I answer.
I fiddle with the door more than is necessary, to give Tenn fair warning that we are coming. I swing it open and climb down into the cabin. The officer follows very close behind.
Tenn sits on the bench with her feet up, looking like she is rea
ding a book. I notice immediately that the book in her hand in upside down.
“Officer, this is Tenn, the captain of the ship,” I say.
“You must be the Crazy Lady.” The officer’s tone is different when he speaks to Tenn.
“That’s what they tell me,” Tenn says with a wink. “Can I make you a tea?” she offers.
“Oh yes, please,” the officer replies. Tenn is getting a much friendlier version of the officer than I did.
“I will get to it then,” I say, pulling up the steps to expose the motor. They start chatting as if I’m not even in the cabin. All the better, I suppose. Tenn is doing a good job keeping him occupied, and I feel rather confident that we will leave this predicament unscathed. Until I notice the bundle of hundred-dollar bills stuffed under the cushion where he sits. Then I notice another bundle in the spice rack in the galley. I look around and suddenly it seems like I’m surrounded by bundles of hundred-dollar bills. They are stuffed everywhere and anywhere possible. Tenn did a poor job of hiding the money.
I grab my wrench and start working quickly. I focus on what I’m doing, but I can’t help noticing Tenn ramping up her flirting just behind my back. I know it’s keeping his attention on her rather than the money that virtually surrounds him, and the alternative is a life sentence, but I’m still a little bothered by the attention she is giving him.
As I thought, the Taylors didn’t touch the engine, so I change out the starter motor in what I assume to be record time.
“Alright, the moment of truth,” I say as I climb on deck to the ignition key.
I close my eyes and pray the batteries have enough power to start the motor. I turn the key. It chugs, spits, and groans. Then, with a puff of smoke, she fires up and hums along. I hear Tenn and the officer both cheer.
They both join me on deck, the officer with forms in his hand.
“That will do. You can turn it off now,” he says, scowling at the smell of diesel smoke.
We sit at the cockpit table and sign where he tells us. Before leaving, the officer kisses Tenn’s hand. “It was a pleasure,” he says, and climbs down to the dock. He leaves without giving me a look.
With every step he takes away from us, I am increasingly relieved. I always found it strange how law enforcement stumbles on criminals when they aren’t looking for them, like those huge busts that seem to happen all the time from routine traffic stops. I think we found ourselves in one of those situations. If only he knew how close he was to being the officer that made the bust of the year. But he was too distracted by the charm of a woman to notice. Wars have been lost this way, and of course, they have been waged for this reason, too.
I look at Tenn with an expression that I can only imagine conveys emotional exhaustion. She matches my expression, her shoulders drop, and she sighs. “I think I need a drink,” she says.
“You are the worst hider ever,” I tease.
“Hey, I think I just saved out butts right there!”
She’s right. She put that man under a spell and kept his attention away from everything we didn’t want him to see.
“Alright, well, shall we then?” I ask.
“Go to Pete’s for a gin and tonic? Yes, yes we shall,” Tenn says.
“I was thinking of leaving for the mainland.”
“Are you kidding me? We were just at sea for a month. We’ve barely been here for two days. Oh, Vince, baby, give me one more day on solid land,” Tenn pleads.
I feel strongly that we should go. There’s little reason for us to stay, and many reasons for us to leave. The look on her face is hard to argue with though — she isn’t ready to go. I’m not alone anymore, and there will be times that I need to compromise. Perhaps there is little difference between leaving tonight or leaving tomorrow, and it will give us a chance to provision tomorrow morning before we push off. More importantly, it will keep Tenn happy. I would throw that suitcase overboard and sink it to the bottom of the ocean if that’s what it took to make her happy.
“Let’s go to Pete’s,” I say with a sigh.
“Yayy! I’m going to drink all the gin, I’m going to drink all the gin,” she sings, then changes to a whisper but keeps the tune, “We have two million dollars, we have two million dollars.”
I give her a look that implies she should stop singing those words, but I bob up and down doing the same dance she is doing.
“Pete’s,” I say.
“Pete’s,” she agrees.
After a quick clean-up and carefully locking up the boat, we walk to Café Sport, better known as Pete’s.
“Two gin and tonics,” I say to the same bartender we pestered last night.
Twenty-Four
I have only made bread a few times. I’ve wanted to in the past but felt like it was Tenn’s thing, so I usually left it for her. This morning I decided to have at it. The sun isn’t up yet; in fact, I am not sure if this is technically morning or still night, but either way I can’t sleep and figure I will get a head start on things. Warm bread out of the oven is wonderful to wake up to. I do my best to get it in the oven without banging around too much.
We closed Pete’s again last night. I tried to take it easy, but Tenn drank enough for the both of us, so we kept our bartender busy. Tenn tipped him a crisp hundred-dollar bill at the end of the night. We made grand plans and solved many of the world’s problems. We decided that a bottle of rum would be enough for our provisioning and would leave early this morning. We have plenty of food stored and as much fresh produce as we can eat before things go bad.
I’m determined to have the bread and coffee ready when I push off the dock. I know Tenn is weary about heading out again, and the worst part is the moment before you jump, so I plan to take care of that part for her.
I have a coffee alone on the deck. Finally, I see the faint light of the morning sun begin to appear. I breathe slow, deep breaths and visualize motoring up to the dock at Lisbon, Portugal, and I imagine Tenn’s excitement when we arrive after only a week at sea. I visualize a calm, peaceful passage. Over and over I think of all the parts of sailing that I love. Something in me disconnects from the land. I’m free; all that is left is untying the lines and away we go.
“Okay, let’s do this thing,” I say out loud to no one.
I start the motor, which seems to be behaving slightly better than it had. Then I untie the bow, stern, and spring lines. The wind pushes us away from the dock. It feels nice to float freely. I allow the boat to drift on its own since it seems to be doing a fantastic job getting away from the concrete dock without help.
Finally, I put it in gear, and we motor out of Horta Marina and into the sea where we belong. The bay is long, and we must travel along Faial for some time before we are in the open sea. I engage the autopilot, and Crazy Lady cruises along effortlessly. With a quick scan of the water, I head below. I pour a coffee and prepare the bread with butter.
When I enter the aft cabin, she is lying awake. “I feel like I just got shanghaied,” she jokes.
I give her the coffee and the plate with the bread on it and kiss her lightly on her sleepy lips. “Morning, sunshine,” I say, then quickly turn to make my way back on deck to make sure we are not heading into danger.
I’m nearly out the door when Tenn speaks up.
“Vince?”
“Yo,” I answer, half my body out the door.
“Thanks,” she says after a delay. Her eyes are heavy and full of love and care.
I smile and nod. I feel like she wants me to climb into bed with her, but we are not in the open ocean, and we can’t motor in this busy bay blindly, so I make my way up to the deck to keep watch. To my delight, the wind is quite favorable, so I kill the noisy motor and put up the sails. I feel like a bird released from its cage finally able to spread its wings like nature intended.
We are on a broad reach, being pushed along in exactly the direction we need to be going, toward Lisbon, Portugal.
“Vincey-poo.” Tenn hasn’t used that name for me before a
nd it makes me laugh. She has a coffee in one hand and drags a blanket and pillow in the other.
“Are you coming to join me?” I ask.
“Yeah, it was getting lonely down there,” she says, and makes herself comfortable on the side where I usually sit. I assume that means she wants to cuddle.
The sun is high enough to color the sky in beautiful reds and yellows, but we cannot feel its warmth yet. There is a sailboat ahead motoring our way. I have the right of way, but I bear off anyway to be safe.
“Is there room for me?” I ask.
She gives me a big, silly smile and opens the blanket, welcoming me into her fortress of comfort. Tenn has a knack for making everything homey and cozy. I slide in, and we wiggle and nudge until we are both satisfied with how we are tangled. I hope I don’t have to get up to make any steering corrections because I’m perfectly comfortable, and this position would be impossible to replicate.
The boat that is motoring by passes a little closer than I think it should, but I still don’t get up to bear away. I can see that it’s a family. A man and a woman, around our age, and a young boy that is in his mother’s arms. I can tell they are a liveaboard family; it’s not uncommon to come across these families at popular hubs like this. The man waves and I wave back. Thea lady waves and Tenn waves back. The child waves, and we both wave back.
I assume they are just returning from an Atlantic crossing, and Tenn and I share a moment. We don’t say anything, but it is clear enough we are both wondering if one day that could be us.
We sail into the sunrise, around the island of Faial, past the island of Pico, and into the open ocean where we will spend at least the next nine days. It’s dinnertime before we know it, and then the sun is on its way back down, and we are once again sailing in the dark in the open ocean.
By the next morning, it’s like we never stopped in Horta. We have found our rhythm, and Tenn has lost her clothes. We make love, we sleep, we rest, we eat well, and we read.
It’s late in the morning of day three, the sun is unusually hot, and we are becalmed. The lack of wind not only means we are dead in the water, but there’s no breeze to cool off the boat. We laze around naked in the hot sun. I know I’ll start the motor soon — we have enough fuel to motor nearly the entire way — but I hate doing it. It’s noisy, stinky, and takes away from much of what I love about being on the water. Plus it’s hard to think with the constant hum of the motor.
Uncharted Waters Page 24