Page 80 of If All Else Sails
“Are you coming?” he asks a little abruptly.
A secret softie wrapped in porcupine quills.
I hop onto the boat, saying goodbye to land for the next few weeks.
Okay—that’s slightly dramatic. It’s not like some ocean passage where we won’t actually set foot on solid ground for days or weeks at a time. According to our plan, we’ll get off the boat almost every day. We have to, at the very least, for Jib to go to the bathroom. Wyatt swears she’ll learn to use the little patch of synthetic grass he bought for her—and he givesmea hard time about buying her outfits!—but so far on our test sails out to the Chesapeake Bay, she’s proven she won’t.
All things considered, the trip down to just south of Savannah and back should take us around three to four weeks. Barring any delays, Wyatt likes to remind me. And we really need to avoid delays. There’s still plenty of summer left, but I never intended to be gone more than a week. And if Wyatt’s ready, he’ll head back to preseason training camp in Boston.
Neither of which are things I want to think about.
When I asked him what kind of delays we could have, Wyatt said, “It’s life. There are always unplanned issues, whether you’re on a boat or on land.”
True. But because I like to be prepared, I googledWhat can go wrong on a sailing trip?and now unfortunately have a whole litany of disasters to worry about. Despite my growing excitement, this trip is so far out of my comfort zone it’s not on my comfortplanet.
Throw in the idea of storms or the boat breaking down and my brain goes to a bad place.
And yes, I know I take the kinds of trips with my brother where he’ll text me an address and I’ll show up, but that’sJacob. We grew up together. Shared life, shared memories, shared DNA. I might not know the details (and honestly, his track record for these trips is horrible), but I know I can count on him. It’s not comfortable, but I’m more used to it. To him.
With Wyatt, there are so many unknowns.
We’ve shared a house, shared a trip to the hospital, and shared some nice moments lately. Like, for example, last night after my nightmare. (And after he recovered from me kicking him in the baby-making parts.) But...
But.
But.
But.
I still think this whole thing could blow up in my face.
We’ll see, I guess—because after taking a deep breath, I get on the boat.
“What can I do?” I ask Wyatt after stowing my backpack in my cabin.
Jib is at the prow of the boat, lying down on the little grass patch she’s supposed to use as her bathroom, while Wyatt frowns at his phone. He glances up and slides it into his pocket.
“Nothing. We’re ready. If you’re ready.”
It’s a statement, but there’s a question in his voice. I can hear the unspoken offer.It’s not too late to change your mind about this.
But I smile and tug on the brim of my baseball cap. “Let’s hoist the anchor, raise the sails, and bon voyage!”
Wyatt shakes his head. “Please stop with the sailing terms. You sound like someone who spent the last few weeks researching sailing.”
“That’s exactly what I did.”
Lo and behold—Wyatt chuckles. “I know. But technically we’ll be motoring a lot of the way, so what you’re saying is also wrong. We won’t raise the sails until we’re in the bay, depending on this fog.”
“Sheesh. Batten down your hatches.”
He waves a hand toward the front of the boat. “Help me cast off.”
“Aye, aye—”
“Don’t say it, I beg you.”
“Captain.”
