Page 123 of If All Else Sails
A breeze lifts my hair off the back of my neck, a momentary break from the humidity, which seems to have swelled since the sun went down. Then the night goes still again, and I feel sweat gathering at my lower back. In the distance, there’s a quick flash—lightning hidden by the clouds. The tension crackling between Wyatt and me mirrors what’s hanging in the air tonight.
“Anything on your mind?” Wyatt asks.
Lots. But nothing I want to say out loud.
“Sorry—I’m kind of rotten company tonight. It was good to see my brother, but I think I’ve got a Jacob hangover.”
My attempt at humor falls flat. Or maybe it’s just that Wyatt knows me well enough now to perceive there’s more to my mood.
“Do we need to worry about that?” I ask, waving vaguely toward the sky. The moon is visible for a moment, then disappears between wispy, fast-moving clouds. Far off, there’s another quick flash.
“This storm should stay to the east,” Wyatt says. “Though I think a more serious system is moving in tomorrow.”
“What do we do if there’s a storm? Like, what’s the protocol?”
“It wasn’t in your books?” he teases.
I elbow him, and for half a second, the tension eases between us. “Not really.”
The guidebook talked about a few spots you wouldn’t want to be in during bad weather. Mostly because of shoaling and muddy bottoms making it hard to hold anchor. Before this trip, I thought dropping anchor meant literally just that. But it actually involves dragging the anchor as the boat moves forward, trying to catch it securely along the bottom. Which is only as easy as the conditions of the channel bed. Some areas are too silty or muddy to hold.
I haven’t worried about this before now, and maybe it’s just the combination of the distant storm and my muddled thoughts, but there’s an uneasiness swirling in my gut.
“It shouldn’t be too big of a deal,” Wyatt says. “I’ve got us a spot booked at a marina.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to be at an anchorage? Away from other boats and solid things?” Images flash through my mind of boats splintering against one another or against the docks.
Wyatt shakes his head. “It’ll be fine. Just a few bumps.”
Somehow, I doubt riding out a storm on a sailboat will bejust a few bumps, but I guess I’ll find out.
When we set out in the morning, the awkward tension still lingers. Probably because I’m leaking it like oil from a damaged car engine. Even the conversation plotting our route over coffee felt stiff. I considered putting Jib in her new jersey and dressing to match but instead opted to put her in a striped shirt with an anchor on the front.
If Wyatt is disappointed, he doesn’t say it. The things unsaid seem to be stacking up like bricks in a wall. Or dominoes, ready to topple.
I’m grateful the passage today doesn’t allow us time to relax. There are a lot of boats combined with a narrow stretch of deep water. The current is fast, the wind is wicked, and everyone seems to be hurrying to their next stops ahead of the storms. It’s hazy and cloudless now, but by evening that should change.
We pass a number of wrecked boats, which only ramps up my nerves, though Wyatt assures me they washed up in hurricanes. Not normal travel. Still. They seem like some kind of sign.
Way to go, emo, I tell myself, trying to dislodge the negativity clinging to me.
Wyatt is, as always, patient, and I find myself wishing he weren’t. Part of me wishes he would take me by the shoulders, stare into my eyes, and demand I talk to him like a mature adult. He doesn’t.
Which makesmewant to grabhimby the shoulders, glare into his eyes, and demand he tell me that whatever’s happening between us is real and will last beyond this trip. I don’t.
What I do is call Jacob from my cabin after another awkward meal with Wyatt. The storm system, threatening all day, seems set to miss us completely with distant lightning and thunder lingering but not coming closer.
“Miss me already?” he asks in lieu of hello.
“Debatable,” I say, then pause. Because I’m not completely, one hundred percent sure why I called my brother instead of Toni.
“Still there?”
“I’m here.”
“And you called me because...?” I can hear him drumming his fingers on something.
“What if this ruins everything?” I blurt. “Or what if it doesn’t work? Or what if it doesn’t last and then there will always be this awkwardness between you and Wyatt or maybe your friendship will be completely destroyed?”
