Sailor's Delight

by Charles Dougherty

"But Paul said it's an easy sail to the Tobago Cays — just a couple of hours?" Luke said.

  "And the reefs are better to snorkel there," Julia added.

  Connie laughed again, and surprised herself by winking at Paul. The good humor was infectious; she couldn't help being swept up in it. "So, an early dinner, Mr. Russo? Sounds like we need to get under way first thing in the morning."

  "But I thought it was a short trip," Julia said.

  "It is. No problem," Connie said. "But I'll have to go ashore here and clear us out of Grenada, and then we'll have to stop at Union Island — that's it, right over here through the salt haze — to check in with Customs and Immigration for St. Vincent and the Grenadines. The Tobago Cays are in a different country, you see."

  "Awesome," Julia said. "But they're so close!"

  "Yes. It's still a pretty quick trip, but we should shoot for arriving in the Cays about noon, so we'll be able to see the reefs well enough to work our way in. Besides, that'll give you better light for snorkeling. And Paul's right; the reefs there are amazing for snorkeling."

  Connie was listening to Paul's breathing, waiting for him to fall asleep. She was tired from the sail; she knew she wouldn't be far behind him. Then he spoke, and she felt herself jerk to full wakefulness.

  "Connie? You still awake?" he whispered.

  "Barely," she said, in a worried tone.

  "I need to tell you something."

  "Paul, this isn't the time. The guests ... "

  "Shh!" he said. "I just want you to know that Julia and I were talking, and we agreed that you're 'awesome' — you're really 'down' with this sailing stuff, and she wants to be just like you when she grows up."

  "Oh," she sighed, her voice cracking.

  "Whatever's bothering you, we'll sort it out," he said, reaching an arm out to snuggle her against his side. "Quit worrying and enjoy the company. The Regans are good people."

  She felt herself relax, feeling safe and sure for the first time in days. She was barely conscious of her cheek resting on his T-shirt, its fabric damp with her tears, as she drifted away.

  7

  "My gut tells me we need to get away from this part of the islands for a day or two, Linton."

  "Not a bad idea, boy. Wanna just keep goin' north?" Linton was at the helm, looking down at the compass.

  They had just traded the Hill sisters for cash off Chateaubelair — $10,000 for the pair, and a $2,000 bonus for having brought sisters.

  "To St. Lucia?" Troy asked.

  "Yeah. How far's that place with the all-inclusive resort?"

  "Rodney Bay?"

  "Yeah, that sounds right."

  Troy spread the chart on the cockpit seat, holding a small flashlight in his teeth. He put his thumb on their approximate position and his index finger on the indentation on St. Lucia's northwest corner that marked Rodney Bay. Moving his hand to the edge of the chart, he looked at the part of the latitude scale between his thumb and finger.

  "Fifty miles, give or take," he said. "Course looks to be around 20 degrees. How fast we goin'?"

  "Six and a half, seven knots," Linton said, consulting the handheld GPS that hung from a lanyard around his neck.

  "Seven, maybe eight hours, then," Troy said. "What time is it?"

  "One," Linton said, looking at the GPS again.

  "So we'll get there about nine o'clock in the mornin', then," Troy said.

  "Get us some breakfast and see what's happenin'," Linton said.

  "We'd have to clear in with the authorities," Troy said.

  "Maybe. What're they gonna do if we don't? They'd have to catch us, anyway."

  "Yeah, but they might catch us. They could take the damn boat."

  "We could just play dumb. Check out that resort I was readin' about in the guidebook," Linton said.

  "Thought you said it was a 'couples resort,' or somethin'," Troy said.

  "Yeah. So?"

  "So we'd have to be real dumb-shits to snatch a broad from a couples' resort. What about the guy she's with?"

  "Might be some single women. Maybe even dyke couples. We can just check it out," Linton said. "There's a couple other places just across the bay — regular beach resorts."

  "Yeah, but they're pretty close to town, Linton."

  "Don't get yourself all worked up, pretty boy. We'll jus' look, okay?"

  "Okay. I guess we done pretty good so far. We got near $12,000, even after all the money for dope and groceries."

  "Shit, yeah, man. Who knows? We might score somethin'. If not, it ain't far to Martinique from there. We could snatch us some Eurotrash chick. That oughta be a piece of cake for you."

  "Okay," Troy agreed. "Rodney Bay here we come!"

  "You and Paul are really lucky," Julia said, as she took the helm from Connie. She had just dropped the mooring pennant while Connie got the boat underway. When she returned to the cockpit, Connie had shifted her position to the left and raised her eyebrows. Julia had slipped in beside her and taken the helm as naturally as if they had been sailing together for years.

  "Just steer for the town over there," Connie said. "We'll drop the anchor close to the town dock so I can go in and get our outbound clearance."

  "Okay," Julia said.

  "So what makes you think Paul and I are so lucky? Because we're living on the boat?"

  "Well, that too. But mostly because you seem to like the same things, and you're able to spend all your time together. Monica and my dad envy the two of you; they don't get to see much of each other during the week, and sometimes she's gone on the weekends for work."

  "I see," Connie said. "I guess we are lucky that way. What kind of work does Monica do?"

  "She's a consultant. She has to travel a lot."

  "That would be tough," Connie agreed.

  "Yeah. I mean, she likes her job, and traveling's kinda cool, but she and Dad miss one another a lot. Did you work before you and Paul got Diamantista?"

  "Oh, yeah. I worked from the time I was younger than you."

  "What did you do before?"

  "I was in business for myself, mostly. I paid my way through school working as a beautician, because that was all I could do before I got out of high school. Then I ended up with my own shop for a while, and sold it after I finished college. I worked in sales for a while. Then I started a business with someone I knew. I got lucky after a while and was able to take some time off. That's when I learned to sail and decided I wanted to do this."

  "How about Paul?"

  "What about him?"

  "Were you guys together then?"

  "No. I met him about the time I got interested in sailing. He's a retired police detective."

  "Oh. I thought you'd been together forever from the way you get along. Were you married before?"

  "No, I never found anybody that I wanted to share my life with until Paul."

  "Cool. But you had boyfriends?"

  Connie smiled. "A few. None that I was really in love with, though. How about you?"

  "Me?"

  "Yes. Do you have a boyfriend back home?"

  "No. My best friend does, though. I've gone out with them and one of his friends a few of times, like on a double-date."

  "But he's not a boyfriend, huh?"

  "No. I mean, he's an okay guy. He's nice and all, but ... I dunno. He's just not ... "

  "Yeah. I know what you mean. There are a bunch of those in every girl's life. Better that than jerks, though."

  "My mom dated jerks. She was married to one before she died. He creeped me out. I'd never go out with somebody like him." Julia's face took on a distant look.

  Connie nudged her gently with an elbow. "Hey, we're almost there. You want to pick a spot and stop the boat while I go forward and drop the anchor?"

  "How do I do that? Stop the boat, I mean. Looks like one place is as good as another, to me."

  "Throttle back to idle speed. The throttle's that lever on the right side of the steering pedestal." Connie watched as Julia followed her instructions.
"Now shift into neutral. That's the other lever. Straight up and down is neutral."

  "It steers differently under power," Julia said as they coasted forward. "With it in neutral, it feels more like sailing."

  "That's right," Connie said. "Good for you, noticing that. It's because when it's under power, the propeller is forcing the water past both sides of the rudder. When you turn the helm, you feel that thrust, and it makes the steering more responsive."

  "So how do I stop her? This looks like a good spot."

  "Pull the shift lever all the way back. That puts her in reverse."

  "Okay, but it's still going forward."

  "Open the throttle a bit," Connie said. "That's what we use for brakes. It'll make the stern swing to the starboard, so don't be surprised. Once you think she's stopped, throttle back to idle and take her out of gear."

  "I think we're stopped," Julia said, after a moment. She throttled back and shifted to neutral.

  "I'll go forward and drop the anchor," Connie said. "I'll give you a hand signal to go backward once it's on the bottom. You let us run backward at just a little faster than idle until I point my finger up and whirl it in a circle. That means I want you to gradually open the throttle about two-thirds of the way to dig the anchor in. We'll let her pull against the anchor for maybe thirty seconds to be sure the anchor's stuck, and then I'll motion with my hand across my throat."

  "That means kill the power, right?" Julia asked.

  "Right. When I do that, you throttle back and take it out of gear."

  A couple of minutes later, Connie shut the engine down and Paul climbed into the cockpit. "Breakfast is served," he announced. "I thought you'd call me to handle the anchor."

  "Nah. Some things are just better handled by women. You stay down there in the galley where you belong," Connie said, with a teasing smile.

  "I think my job is threatened. Can you cook, Julia?"

  "Not like you. There are some things that men can do better."

  "I'm in trouble," Paul said, handing them each a mug of coffee from the tray he had set on the bridge deck. "Don't dally, ladies. Your Eggs Benedict will get cold."

  "She's some gal, that Julia," Paul said. He and Connie were making the ten-minute walk from the Customs office in downtown Clifton, Union Island, to the airport where they would present everybody's passports to an immigration officer for St. Vincent and the Grenadines. Their guests were enjoying the sights in Clifton Harbor, sitting in the shade of the cockpit awning aboard Diamantista.

  "She's been through a lot," Connie said.

  "You mean losing her mom?"

  "Yes. Not just losing her, but losing her the way she did."

  "I didn't get that part of the story. What happened?"

  Connie repeated what she had learned from Monica. "And it was just a few months ago."

  "Jesus," Paul said. "That's pretty rough. Makes her emotional maturity seem even more amazing."

  "It does. She's still trying to figure out this girl-guy thing, though," Connie said, with a smile.

  "Yeah, well so am I, and I've been at it a lot longer than she has."

  Connie didn't respond, but she cut her eyes toward him, looking for hidden meaning in his body language. She wasn't ready to talk about Karen Gilbert just yet. She didn't have any idea what Paul's side of the story would be, but she knew it wouldn't take much to send her over the edge, and the charter was just beginning. She regretted having given him the opening. "She's turning into a real sailor," Connie said.

  "She's got a hell of a teacher. You're so patient with her; she doesn't stop singing your praises."

  "She's a sweet girl," Connie said. "And you're kind to pretend I know what I'm doing with the boat."

  "Bullshit, Connie. Don't give me that. You know how good you are."

  "But I've only been sailing for a little over a year. I feel like a fraud compared to people like you and Dani and Liz."

  "Well, don't be so impressed by time on the job. It's worth something, but not much when it's up against natural talent and the kind of determination you've put into developing your skills. I'd put you up against any skipper I've ever sailed with."

  "Thanks, Paul. That means a lot. I feel like you must be biting your tongue a lot of the time, letting me be in charge."

  "What do you mean, 'letting?' A ship only has one captain, and sometimes, the best man for the job is a woman."

  "You're a real suck-up, sometimes."

  "Yeah, right. You just stay the hell out of my galley with your peanut butter."

  8

  "We talked it over while you and Paul were ashore," Monica said to Connie after she and Paul had returned from Clifton. "We were looking in the guidebook, and Union Island sounds kind of interesting."

  "It is," Connie agreed. "It's a small place, really friendly. Everybody knows one another. You want to go ashore?"

  "Can we?" Julia asked. "It's not far from here to the Tobago Cays, right?"

  "That's right," Connie said. "In fact, after you walk the town and see what's what, we can either go to the Cays, or there's a nice anchorage on the west side of Union Island. Chatham Bay, it's called. It's even closer than the Cays, and it's got a beautiful beach and some great snorkeling. There're usually a few boats there, but there's a lot of room, so it won't be crowded. We could sail around there after lunch and chill out. There's a man there who'll do a barbecue on the beach with fresh lobsters for dinner, if you want. I can call him and make arrangements while you're ashore."

  "Wow!" Monica said. "That sounds pretty tempting. And we could still go to the Tobago Cays the next day?"

  "No problem," Connie agreed.

  "Let's do it, then," Luke said.

  "Gather up your stuff and I'll run you in," Paul offered. "There's a pretty good market in the town square. I'll see what kind of fresh fruit they've got while you scout the town."

  "We may be a while, Paul. Maybe even eat lunch ashore somewhere, if the fancy strikes. Wouldn't want to tie you up. Can't we take a water taxi, or something?" Luke asked.

  "No need. I'll give you a handheld VHF radio, and you can just call when you're ready for me to pick you up."

  "Super," Luke said. "And I'll call you by, let's say, around 11:30 if we decide to stay for lunch, so you don't have to wonder whether we'll come back hungry."

  "That will be fine, Luke. Take all the time you want. Connie and I can catch up on boat chores."

  "It's like a house, isn't it?" Luke asked. "Always something that needs fixing."

  "Yes. A cruising boat like this combines all the less desirable features of a house and a car."

  Monica and Julia reappeared from below deck, backpacks in hand.

  "Guess I'd better get mine," Luke said, eyeing the backpacks.

  "Want anything besides your camera and sunscreen?" Monica asked.

  "That's it," he said.

  "Then I've got you covered. Let's go."

  "Damn it, Greg! This is our honeymoon, not your dive vacation. I — "

  "Shut the fuck up, Tina. I'm going diving, and you can just sulk if you don't want to come."

  "But you know I get seasick," Tina said, trying for a reasonable tone. Greg was acting like a spoiled kid, and she knew better than to try to reason with an emotional child. Not for the first time, she wondered why she'd married the bastard. But then she remembered. Because he was Alvin Booth's only son, and the heir to the Booth fortune.

  "And how is your getting seasick my problem?"

  "How about because I'm your wife, you shithead."

  "You were the one who wanted to get married. I was happy — "

  "Just to get laid whenever you wanted," she screeched. "Well, that's not enough for me."

  "What is it that you want me to do, Tina?"

  "Stay here with me today and act like you're glad you married me."

  Greg forced a harsh laugh and shook his head. "Not going to happen. Conditions are perfect for diving that wreck. If I miss today, the weather's going to change and the wat
er will be too cloudy. We're here for two fucking weeks; give me a break. We'll play newlyweds another day."

  "Get out, you asshole! And don't look for me to be waiting around when you come back sunburnt and drunk."

  "Where do you think you're going to go?" He grinned at her.

  "I'm going to have some fun for a change. Without you, you miserable bastard!" She tried to slap him, but he blocked her blow with a muscular forearm. She was surprised at how much it hurt her hand.

  He laughed at her look of surprise and pain.

  "Leave! Now, asshole. And don't bother coming back! I won't fucking be here!"

  He was laughing as he left their suite, slamming the door behind him. She dove into the soft, king-sized bed face first, sobbing with frustration.

  She was angry with Greg, but angrier with herself. She had known exactly what she was getting into, but she had bought into her own unrealistic expectations. Imagining that Greg would change after they got married was her folly; she should have known better. Well, if Greg was going to enjoy their wedding trip without her, she might as well make the most of it herself. She forced herself to face up to the idea that this was the way her marriage was going to be. Accepting that, she decided that she would do just as she had threatened to do. She'd have some fun, and she'd keep having fun, all at Greg's expense.

  She got up, tossing her shorty nightgown on the bed, and went into the bathroom. After she washed her face in cold water to sooth her eyes, puffy from her tears, she turned to admire herself in the full-length mirror. She was pleased with what she saw — tall, blond, tanned, toned, and ready. She cupped her recently added breasts and turned to give herself a side view, enjoying the way they sagged just the right amount. Except for their slightly exaggerated size, they looked like the real thing. All she needed was a man that would appreciate her.

  A couples resort that catered to honeymooners might not be the ideal place to hook up, but the beach stretched on for quite a distance, passing a couple of other resorts and some public access areas. She knew she could score; she'd never failed yet, and she'd never looked this good before. She went back into the bedroom and opened the dresser, picking through her swimsuits, selecting the skimpy red string bikini.