Page 66 of Spindrift

“Ilove you too.” She slid the tear-dampened phone into her pocket.

“Whatdo you want to do today, Nell?” Big brown eyes widened hopefully at her tone.“Should we go for a sail? A real sail?”

Thedog tilted her head.

“Don’tworry. I bought you a life jacket.”

• • •

The skiff didn’tleak as she rowed them out to the sailboat with a bag packed with water,snacks, and a nautical radio. Nell sat in the prow with her ears perked forward,apparently accepting the fate that her human insisted on repeating this strangeactivity. The creak of the oars settled the pit in her stomach.This, atleast, I can do.She secured the skiff to the mooring without incident,hoisted Nell into the boat, and stood on the deck of theEmilia Rosawith the wind in her hair and salt on her lips.

“Okay,”she said to herself as she untied the ropes that bound the mainsail. Hoistingthe boom had been her father’s job, often accompanied by a few choice curseswhen the sail jammed, while she’d been in charge of raising the jib. She eyedthe sail with trepidation. The lines had been coiled and stowed neatly. Shegave an experimental tug on the sheet, hoping the sail would thread through thegroove without catching. It rose slowly. Wind snatched at it, and Nell slunkinto the storage space beneath the bow as the boom swung back and forth.Emilia’s arms strained, but at last the sail made it to the top, and she securedthe line on its cleat and stepped onto the prow to raise the jib.

Theline flew through her fingers in its eagerness to unfurl the smaller sail.Balanced on the prow, she felt thirteen again, almost too old to pretend to bea pirate, but still thrilling to feel the deck rocking beneath her and thecanvas billowing all around her.

Bothsails snapped loudly in the wind. Emilia reached down to loose the boat fromthe mooring, then paused. She’d promised Morgan she would tell someone beforeshe went out for her first real sail.

Idon’t owe her anything, and I have an engine.

Shealso had a boom. If she got knocked out cold and fell into the Atlantic, she’dwant someone to rescue Nell and retrieve her body. She sat with her legs overthe side, the mooring framed beneath her bare feet, and pulled out her phone.

ER:Hi. Taking the boat out.

Shedeleted the text and tried again.

ER:The skiff is seaworthy. I’m taking the boat for a sail.

Whatelse could she say? “I’ve been thinking about kissing you every minute of everyday since I last saw you?” That would complicate everything. “I want you and itscares the hell out of me” would be honest, as would, “I really shouldn’t getinvolved with anyone right now, but maybe you should come over tonight.”

Shedeleted her text again.

ER:Remember how I promised you I’d let someone know the first time I went for areal sail?

Shehit send. Morgan was probably busy. Waiting for a response could take an hourat the least. She was about to add more when Morgan began typing.

MD:I do.

ER:If you don’t hear from me by 5:00, will you come looking?

MD:Of course.

ER:And if I survive, would you want to grab dinner with me tonight?

Thethree little dots danced for a full minute before Morgan replied.

MD:I’d love that.

ER:Great. See you later.

Sheshoved her phone deep in her pocket, untied the sailboat, and leapt back intime to grab the lines and settle them more tightly around the winch as sheturned the tiller to catch the wind.

Nellraised her head from her bed of cushions in alarm as the boat took off. Emilialet some of the tension out of the sail to reduce how much they keeled. Therush that came with skimming over the water filled her chest with an almostpainful lightness. The harbor, with its lobster pots and lobster boats, openedits arms to them as she tacked down the Damariscotta River, doing her best toavoid the ledges and snags, past East Boothbay and Rutherford Island until thewaters of Johns Bay met the Atlantic. Her hand knew which way to tack. She’dworried the instinct might have faded over the years, but instead it roared tolife as if her father’s hand still lay over hers on the tiller.

Windwhipped around the point past Christmas Cove. She braced her feet against theopposite deck as the boat keeled sharply. Blue-green water hurled itself pastthem. She’d run her hand through this same water as a child, enjoying theinsistent pull of it against her fingers. Small swells rolled beneath the hull.Nell glared at her, then crept closer, her long nose burrowing beneath her legfor reassurance.

“You’vegot your life jacket on,” she told the dog. This did not seem to comfort her.Sighing in regret, she released more of the sheet and slowed their progress.The deck leveled. “Better?”

Nellsat up and looked around.

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