Page 74 of If All Else Sails
Just like there will be no escape for the weeks you’re on this boat with him.
“How comfortable are these beds?” I ask. “I mean berths.”
“Either one is fine. Try it out.”
I do, if only to get some space from Wyatt. But lying in a bed while looking at him standing just a foot away does nothing to help.
“Not bad,” I say. Sweat beads on my forehead. “Is there AC on this thing?”
“There is, but we won’t run it much. It uses up a lot of power,so we’ll run it for a few hours later in the day, then turn it off at night. Some of the windows open, but they’ll just let humidity in. And mosquitoes.”
“Wow. You’re really selling me on this.”
Wyatt stretches his arms up, grasping the doorway as he leans forward, grinning. His biceps strain against his sleeves, and I wish I could slap him with some kind of fine whenever he does something like this.
“Too bad you already entered into an agreement,” he says. “There’s no getting out now, even if you wanted to. You’re stuck with me.”
The thing that bothers me most about this is that I think I want to be.
“When can we actually go out?” I ask when we’re back on deck and I can breathe again. Even if it’s humid summer Virginia air.
“We could motor out anytime. But I wouldn’t feel comfortable actually sailing until I’ve got this thing off.” Wyatt nods down at his boot.
“Like now?” I ask, and Wyatt surprises me with another full smile. They’re going to lose value if he keeps giving them out at this rate.
“If you want.”
“I want!”
My squeal and hand clapping wake up Jib, who barks once like she’s telling me to keep it down and then promptly goes back to sleep. That is, until Wyatt starts the motor. Then she bolts awake and stands at the very front like she’s recreating her ownTitanicmoment as we cast off and pull away from the dock.
“I’ll never let go,” I say in a falsely high voice.
Wyatt snorts. “Are you going to quote bad movies about boats or the ocean the whole time?”
“Like maybe ‘We’re going to need a bigger boat’? Or ‘The sea was angry that day, my friend’?”
“Yes, like that. But what’s the second one from?”
“Seinfeld. My parents’ favorite, and they indoctrinated me early. Ever watch it?” He shakes his head, and Itsk. “You’re missing out on a big piece of nineties pop culture. That quote is from a classic episode where George lies about being a marine biologist and Kramer hits golf balls into the ocean and—you know what? Never mind. Maybe sometime I’ll indoctrinate you.”
“You knowJawsinspired the name of the boat,” Wyatt says, and when I look confused, he says, “After Quint. The shark hunter.QUINTessential. Get it?”
“Huh. I always thought his name was Quin.”
“Nope. Quint.”
“Did your uncle name her?” I ask.
“The previous owner. It’s bad luck to change a boat’s name, but thankfully, my uncle lovedJaws.”
Wyatt goes quiet after this, and I get distracted as we head out of the little cove and into Dividing Creek. I only know the name because I have a chartbook I’ve been studying along with another book I got from Amazon about the Intracoastal Waterway.
We pass docks and see a few other smaller boats tooling around. I’m fully baking in the sun by the time we reach the mouth of Dividing Creek and see the open water of the bay.
Normally, this is where we’d shut off the motor and sail, Wyatt says, but not today.
“Neither of us is wearing sunscreen, and we don’t have drinking water.”
