Page 91 of If All Else Sails
But she is still holding my hand. So there’s that.
“What I was trying to say earlier is that you did a great job yesterday.”
She scoffs, shaking her head. “Yeah, me and my one mistake.”
“You’ll probably make more today,” I say. Once again—a swing and a big miss. I groan. “That was supposed to be encouraging.”
Josie laughs. “You really do have foot-in-mouth disease.”
“I’m practically touching my tonsils at this point. But in all seriousness, mistakes happen. I meant to reassure you that it’s not a big deal.”
“Do you make mistakes?” she counters.
I nod. “The first time I went sailing with Tom, he let me take the wheel and I ran us aground.” She laughs. “Twice.”
“That does make me feel better,” she says. “Wait—how old were you?”
“Eight.”
She groans. “Okay, now I feel worse. You were doing all this when you were eight?”
“My uncle taught me through the school ofFigure it out or fall off the boat. He mostly let me do the map reading and GPS, especially after the running aground thing. One nightwe couldn’t get a spot at a marina, so we anchored in what I thought was an approved spot.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh is right. We woke up to the sound of a horn blaring. We were basically anchored in the middle of the Ditch, and a barge couldn’t get by. Tom had to get up and find another anchorage. One not in the very center of the ICW. Another time—on the same trip—I had him anchor in a spot that was too shallow. The tide went out and the keel caught on a sandbar. The whole boat was tipping sideways.”
Josie’s eyes go wide. “That can happen? The boat can capsize?”
“We were never in danger of capsizing. It wasn’t that shallow, and the keel is too heavy. The weight prevents it. But the boat stayed at an uncomfortable angle until the tide came in.”
Josie doesn’t look reassured. Then, her expression brightens. “Wait—is this where the expression ‘keeled over’ comes from?”
“Yep.”
“That’s cool.” She takes a sip of coffee, then glances over at me with a smile. “Except all your stories of mistakes you made are now making me think of more things that can go wrong. And I already had a long list.”
“Great. Maybe I should stop talking.”
Her expression turns soft. “Please don’t. I like you talking. Even when half the things you say are borderline insulting.” “More like a third.”
Josie only hums in response, and when I squeeze her hand again, she laughs.
Jib scampers up the steps, bypassing Josie to hop in my lap. Jib knocks my elbow and a little coffee sloshes onto the back of her outfit. Which is a tutu.
I set down my mug and pull the material away from hershaved grayish-brownish fur, not wanting her to get burned. Not because I care about her outfit. Thankfully, the coffee has cooled somewhat and Jib seems fine. But now there’s a coffee stain on her outfit.
“Wyatt,” Josie groans, “that tutu needs to be dry-cleaned.”
I glance down at the pink leotard and scratchy skirt. Ridiculous for a dog. Also, surprisingly cute. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m not.”
“A tutu doesn’t seem very practical.”
“Don’t judge,” she says. “Jibby hopes to star inThe Nutcrackerone day.”
I snort, and Josie puts a finger to her lips. “Shh! Do you want to be responsible for the death of her dreams?”
