Page 3 of All The Way Under
That’s the catch. Alone. Without a crew. That’s the record that hasn’t been broken before. It’s easy to do something like this when five people are taking turns. Everyone is well-rested and highly skilled. To do something like this alone is unheard of.
“Plan the spring mixer. There’s no reason we can’t do both, Bianca.” Dad waves his arm out to one side, fingers splayed toward the grand window. “Picture it. A seaside soirée, clinking champagne flutes, floppy hats, and crisp linen. Saylor’s boat will be anchored on our beach, right over there, and everyone can take a tour of the craft before she sets sail and smashes the world record. You can decorate it.”
I must hand it to him. He’s animated, convincing, and giving Mom exactly what she desires to make our lives easier.
“All our friends will be captivated by Saylor’s quest. It’s going to be fantastic. The party of the year. Nothing less than perfection. They’ll be chatting about for months.”
“When you put it that way, I think this could be a wonderful thing, darling,” Mom says, eyes twinkling with wild, albeit expensive, plans.
Dad winks at me, then smiles when he sees how happy Mom is. “It’s going to be fantastic. Sweet Pea, tell me all about your plan. What’s left of the checklist?” he says, holding out his arm to the hallway that leads to the kitchen.
We can’t talk about sailing in front of her, or all the tech projects we’ve installed, either. Tech bores her because it also confuses her.
We leave Bianca to her own devices, scribbling down ideas on a half-wet cocktail napkin she pulled out from under her novel. The piece of junk Dad is fixing clunks on the kitchen counter. Black dust leaves a film on the stark white marble. It doesn’t belong there. I don’t belong here. Dad doesn’t either, but he’s adapted like a chameleon.
“You’re going to have to take all the precautions that you can, Saylor. We’ve been talking about this trip for a long time, but now that it’s real, there are real conversations we need to have. There are protocols, and bail out spots, and not to mention the hostile waters you’ll have to travel through if you’re taking the agreed-upon route.” He clears his throat. “The world record-setting path,” Dad amends.
I’ve planned it all. There are plans and contingency plans. There are ports marked on my charts, and the highest quality of navigation gear is purchased and installed.
“I know. I’ll show you everything. I have it all laid out and written down in the passage plan. I’ll email it to you.”
He narrows his eyes as he slides a finger across the black dust to make a “t.”
“I overheard the conversation before I walked in,” he says, eyes flicking away from mine. “Archie wasn’t ever going to be your forever, Sweet Pea. I’m sorry you went through that with him.”
“It’s fine, Dad. I was just trying to do what Mom expects of me. Archie was a mere figurehead—a guy I knew she’d approve of. Figured if I could keep her happy in one area, she’d let up in the other areas, where I’m not reaching my potential.” I air quote the last word. “I delayed the master’s with work for longer than I thought possible.”
He cups my cheeks.
“You reached your potential the second you came into this world, Saylor Wyndham. The way you look at life is something I’ve always admired. You will be the one to follow your dreams and create a life so fantastical it will be beyond your wildest dreams. Archie wasn’t a man who deserved to be on that ride with you. You’ll know when you meet the right person. He’ll challenge you, but he will never break your trust, or your heart.”
I nod. “That’s it. She challenges you. That’s why you love her,” I say, drawing a circle in the black dust next to his mark. “Doesn’t it feel like a…a pain in the ass?”
Dad chuckles, eyes crinkling in the corner.
“She’smypain in the ass,” he replies, holding my wrist to stop me from spreading his mess. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. She brings my life full circle.” He laughs softly, his face wrinkling in a comforting way.
I think about what my mom said on my twentieth birthday.You’ll only regret the wrinkles you didn’t tap with Botox, darling. Nothing else that’s regrettable can’t be fixed.Here, Dad is in all his perfect, natural, wrinkle-filled glory, and no one loves Dad more than her.
Shaking my head, I move out of the way as our home chef bustles over to clean the counter where we’ve made a mess.
“Sorry, Angie. I didn’t realize this was that dirty.”
He picks up the piece of metal, and Angie wipes the marble, a smile playing on her lips.
“We’ll get out of your way.”
He grabs an apple from the fruit dish, and I follow him out to the garage.
“I’ve been working on this one all week,” he exclaims.
I see that it’s part of an engine he’s working on. A ride-on lawn mower. We might be wealthy, and Dad grew up wealthy, but this man still does everything he can on his own without hiring help. Sitting on a little stool, watching him fix things, is my earliest memory.
“A week? Not time to throw in the towel and buy a new one? It must bereallybroken.” I emphasize the really by raising my eyebrows.
Dad is a mechanical engineer, so this hobby makes sense. As a software engineer, it doesn’t bore me, but it doesn’t make me as excited as he is. I prefer code and virtual systems.
“Your mom only lets me mow the side lawn by the garden these days. The gardener does the rest. I have some time before it needs mowing, but I don’t give up on things when they’re hard,” Dad says, picking up another piece outside of the engine. He makes eye contact with me over his shoulder. “Never have, never will.”
