by T M Bashford
That afternoon, I’m running through some checks and small repairs when I notice the main’s halyard sheave is stiff. With a minimum of sixteen days of racing left, I mustn’t ignore it. I decide to go up the mast to lubricate it. The day is fairly calm with a twelve-knot wind and clear skies.
I unpack the bosun’s chair. It’s apparently safer than using harnesses as I sit in the seat, strapped in for safety, similar to a toddler’s swing. Then I use a pulley system to lever myself up and down the mast.
When I near the top of the mast, I let myself hang there to rest my straining arms and gape out to sea. It’s spectacular. The mushrooming ocean curves, making it seem like I’m on the edge of the world.
I lubricate the sheave and check on the halyards, spreaders, and pins, and then it’s as if Gambit sails into a brick wall. I hear a thud and the bosun chair jerks and swings wide, completely out of control. I spin in the air like a diving, whirling kite. When I look below, the shadow of a whale drifts past us. Had we hit it? Momentum flies me toward the mast, and I reach to brace for a hit but my bony spine slams into it. My skull strikes it with such force a murky ink spreads through my brain until everything is dark and slow and quiet.
Consciousness creeps up on me alongside nausea and a splitting headache. I’m hanging over the edge of the bosun’s chair, swinging around the mast. I straighten, but it’s like swaying with a bag over my head because I can’t see a thing. I widen my eyes but there’s nothing to see. Fear pecks at me. I must’ve been hanging here for hours; there are no stars or moon tonight. My pulse shatters through me as I search for the end of the rope to lower myself. It’s so dark I can’t even make out my hands in front of my face. It’s as if we’re gliding inside a bowl of blackness. Something’s not right. I’ve sailed into a blackhole.
When my feet hit the deck, I unstrap myself and crawl to the companionway, my head thumping with pain. Below deck, seawater sloshes above my ankles. I search for a Coleman lantern to determine why that might be and realize none of the instrument lights are lit. Groping for the switch, I flick on the running lights, but nothing happens. My feet splash through what’s like a pond and I remember the whale. We’re taking on water. I resume my search for a lantern, but the gloom is too thick, and the collision will have knocked it out of place.
If I could see, I wouldn’t have panicked, but when it takes an age to find a bucket, fear becomes heavy inside me. I can barely breathe. I bail water but I can’t check how effective I’m being. I have to admit defeat. I grasp for the emergency beacon which will alert authorities as to my position. It’s securely in its bracket and I remove it and press the button.
This is it. My race is over. We’re sinking.
There are no lights on the beacon though. It makes no sense as even if the entering water has affected the electrics, the beacon is battery-operated. I search for the inflatable dinghy, harness it, and send it overboard, ready to jump into if I have to. Then I go below with the bucket. Nausea overwhelms me and sleepiness gnaws at my bones. I fight it, recognizing I probably have a concussion. The next time I chuck a bucket of water into the ocean, I throw myself forward and vomit into the sea. I stop and wait for the wave of queasiness to lessen.
“Come on,” I say and stand, tottering and dizzy. My brain is fuzzy, making it hard to think.
I keep bailing water, but I’m too slow and the level doesn’t reduce. I must. I must. Unused to having communications onboard, I remember my sat phone. But will it work? Despite the numbers not lighting up, they beep as I press each one to dial Brody. The line crackles. I wriggle my fingers but can see nothing. Then I hear Brody’s sweet voice.
“Shae. Are you okay?”
“No. I’ve hit a whale and I was knocked unconscious when the bosun’s chair smashed me into the mast. I don’t know where I am or what time of day it is. All the lights are out, and it’s pitch dark. No moon. Not a single star. We’re taking on water and I don’t think the emergency beacon is working.”
Brody keeps me talking, disregarding the cost. He’s in touch with the rescue authorities who have picked up my signal. A merchant ship has diverted its course to pick me up.
“What if it hits me? None of my lights work and I can’t find the lanterns in the pitch black.”
“Hang on, Shae.” I listen to him type.
“Shae, based on your location, it’s nine o’ clock in the morning there. How can it be dark?”
A spike of fear ricochets through me. “I sailed into a black hole when I was unconscious. Is there something similar to the Bermuda Triangle out here?”
“No, of course not. When you were knocked out, it might’ve affected your sight.”
Nausea overwhelms me and I vomit onto the deck.
Is it possible for a blind person to solo sail around the world?
Drew
Shae sits propped up in the bed, staring through the wall ahead of her. While I tell her what Brett did, how he manipulated and deceived us both, her demeanor barely changes. In fact, her expression hasn’t changed from vacant since they brought her into the hospital a week ago.
Outside, the London traffic hums and it’s the only sound in the room. I wish I was a mind reader.
Staring blankly, Shae uncrosses her arms. “I’ll deal with Brett.”
That’s it? What about us? What about our future?
Shae presses the button to lower her bed. “I’m tired. I need some sleep.”
I’m aware she has a lot on her plate. She’s questioning why her sight hasn’t returned, and the doctors aren’t sure why either, or even if her vision will return, but shouldn’t she be turning to me rather than pushing me away now she knows the truth?
“I’m here for you, Shae. I never stopped loving you. Please, lean on me. Let me help you through this.”
“My mom’s here. You should go back to Sydney.” She stares through the ceiling, her arms stiff by her sides. “I’m sure you have work to do, pressing deadlines.”
I recall Lucas and how I should be at the office to discuss any new developments. I’d decided not to tell Shae about him. His claim didn’t affect her, or us.
“Did you hear anything I’ve said?” I ask. “I don’t want to be apart from you anymore. I want to build a future with you, and now that the truth is out, we can. Can’t we?”
“I’m not the same person,” she replies. “I’m not Shae the sailor, the adventurer, the Gotta Go Girl. I’m not the person you fell in love with. I’m blind. I’m an invalid. A liability. Why discuss us or the future? I have no future.”
“Don’t, Shae. This is simply another blip and we’ll get through it. I’ll find the best medical experts and you’ll regain your sight—”
“My eyesight is the one thing your billions cannot buy. No, I’m not risking getting in deep again. I won’t be the burden you have to live with. The burden you’re guilted into staying with because how could you leave a blind girl?”
Finally, her expression changes and her mouth twists. Tears swell and she blinks them away.
I rush to comfort her, but it’s like hugging a mast. A moment later, she pulls back.
“You’re not helping,” she says. “I can’t deal with ‘us’ right now. Please, give me some space. What if I can never sail again? What job can I do if I’m blind? Where will I live? I don’t have room for what you make me feel.”
Hope blooms. “But I do make you feel?”
She tugs the covers over her body to her neck as if to hide from me. “Do I have to call the nurse to get you to leave?”
Shae
How many times is the universe going to tell me love is not for me?
Outside the hospital room, a bird cries out as if calling for me. It sounds like a bigger bird. A hawk? I lean forward to sight it before realizing that’s not possible. I can no longer admire the circling sea eagles or see the stars or moon to navigate by. When Drew and I are parted again, I won’t be able to find Sirius.
The truth about Brett isn’t truly a shock. I had s
een and ignored the signs of his possessive nature. He had refused to leave me alone or give up on making me love him. I’d trivialized how he had lost his temper or sulked when I didn’t respond to his gestures in the right way. At least he wasn’t drinking and partying. I shouldn’t have kept the incident with the gun in Samoa from Drew, but I hadn’t wanted him to fight with Brett. That’s where I went wrong. If I’d told Drew, he might’ve questioned Brett’s lies. Why didn’t I take Brett’s behavior more seriously? I’m always accusing Drew of being too soft on Brett, but I’m worse. There’s something wounded about Brett though—and both Drew and I wanted to heal him.
Later, I ask to borrow Mom’s cell and call Emily.
“You’re all over the news again,” she says. “You gave me a near-heart attack. But you seem to have nine lives, like a cat.”
“Yes, I’m alive,” I say, though I feel dead inside. We discuss the race, the accident, and how my drink was spiked. The media doesn’t know I’ve lost my sight yet, and I don’t mention it now, either. I’m not ready to deliberate over it or have people sympathize and pity me. I change the subject to Brett, needing to explain how she should avoid being alone with him. “Have you hung out with Brett much lately?”
“I haven’t seen him since you left,” Emily says. “He only comes around to be with you anyway. He’s clearly besotted.”
I had intended to tell her how unpredictable he is, how he attacked me, the incident with the gun, how he’d caused the rift between me and Drew, and to warn her off him. But I realize she’s completely safe from Brett—it’s only me he has eyes for.
“When will you be home?” Emily asks.
Her question throws me, not only because LA doesn’t feel like home, but because I can no longer picture how my life in LA will be. How will I take a flight as a blind person? How will I get a job, move from place to place? Can I even go back there? Tears clog my throat. “I’ll text you. But I’ve got to go.”
Every dream I had is gone. The happiness I was trying to find through sailing can never be. I have to let it all go. But I won’t allow Drew to sacrifice his life and happiness for me. Friendship is all we’re destined to have. I’d also promised myself that I’d never get trapped in a relationship like Mom did. Being with Drew as a blind woman would entrap me. I need to do this by myself.
I always believed I was meant to sail this world alone. Except, now I can’t even sail.
Drew
Through the window, I track the circling flight of some sort of falcon above the vast grounds of the London hospital. It reminds me of Shae’s sea eagle tattoo though its ‘hyaik-hyaik’ call cuts through the silence like an alarm. I pull in a lungful of air as if I just remembered to breathe.
“I can’t bear seeing Shae so defeated,” I say. “She’s a shell of herself. All her spirit has drained away.”
Shae’s mother leans over the table and covers my hands with her cool, thin fingers. “Shae’s strong. She’ll get back on course. It’s only been two weeks.” From the way her expression buckles, I know she’s not convinced. “Cup of tea?” She reaches for the teapot she ordered from the near empty hospital café. She resembles Jamison—a cuppa is always the answer to a crisis.
“An eye specialist is talking to her now,” I say. “He’s got a flawless reputation and is reviewing her case.” I’m hanging all my hopes on him.
Kathleen flattens her palms against her chest. “Drew, we can’t afford him. Not unless Ryan’s insurance covers it.”
“I’ll cover it. Don’t worry.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“We want the best for Shae, don’t we?”
She purses her lips, then sets to pouring milk and tea and stirring. “Why did you leave Shae in Samoa?” she asks. “Shae never talked about it. She said you’d chosen different paths. But you’re here now—even before I could get here.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Long story. Brett manipulated us… he came between us.” I pause and add, “He betrayed us both.”
“No! How awful. Does Shae know?” Kathleen passes me a cup and saucer, her eyes wide with surprise.
“Thanks,” I say. “Yes. She does. I told her a few days ago.” Not that the truth changed anything between us. I take a sip of the scalding tea.
A small man with a neat white beard, wearing a doctor’s coat over a pinstripe suit, strides directly toward me and Kathleen.
“You must be Dr. Carlton?” I stand and accept his handshake.
“And you must be Drew Vega and Shae’s mom?” Kathleen nods. “We’ve completed further tests,” he adds, “and I have some promising news.”
Kathleen clutches my arm.
“Shae told me she had eye pain and blurry vision before the accident. She believed it was the result of her drink being spiked a few days before the race started.”
Kathleen sucks in a breath, frowning at me. I doubt Shae told her about the incident.
“Her symptoms previous to the incident on the boat, along with my tests, indicate the vision loss is not due to the accident. Unfortunately, the hospital staff jumped to the wrong conclusion, but my diagnosis is this is a clear case of optic neuritis.”
“Which means?” Kathleen says, naked with hope.
“It means her optic nerves are swollen. The causes are somewhat unknown—possibly it’s an autoimmune response or possibly it’s due to some sort of bacterial infection. We comprehend little about what triggers the condition, but we do know she’s liable to regain her sight. The neuritis is often a pre-cursor to multiple sclerosis, but the tests show no markers for the disease, therefore once the inflammation reduces, her vision should return.”
“How long will it take?” I ask.
“Anywhere from three weeks to three months, sometimes longer.”
“What treatment does she need?”
“The long and short of it is, nothing. Some use intravenous corticosteroids for a while but there’s no proof it changes the final outcome and the side effects can include depression, gut problems, and insomnia. I’d say, given the concussion, rest and time is all she needs.”
“She’ll definitely regain her sight?” I could run to the moon and back.
“In most cases, yes. But there’s a small chance her vision won’t return, or of reoccurrence.” Dr. Carlton shrugs. “It’s unusual to occur in both eyes simultaneously, but I see no reason why she won’t fully recover.” He smiles at Kathleen, then me.
“Thank you, doctor,” Kathleen says. She pumps his handshake, then hugs him. He grins in a good-natured way. “Nice to give you better news.”
After he leaves, we abandon our tea and return to the ward. We flank Shae’s bed. She resembles a corpse—unmoving, expressionless, blankly staring. Kathleen leans in to kiss her cheek and hug her.
“It could be six months, Mom,” Shae says, her expression frozen. “Or I might be one of the unlucky ones and never recover. Don’t fool yourself.”
“But we have hope, Shae.”
I long to touch Shae, to reassure her. But it’s not the right time. She’s still saying we should take it slow. She hates feeling useless—she called herself pointless—and wonders how I can even love her. This has cut her off at the knees and I’m wondering how many more times she can survive being felled.
“Hello, George. It’s Drew.”
“Hey yup, son. How are you? I was hoping to hear the latest. I saw the news abou’ Shae. How is she?”
“A bit of a train wreck but alive at least. She could have drowned out there.”
“I heard i’ was a close call—boat was going down? Is she there? Can I talk to her?”
“She’s not. I’ll get her to call you soon, but I wanted to speak to you first. You might be able to help. Shae has an infection of the optic nerves. She’s temporarily blind.”
George sighs deeply before a flat voice asks, “What do you mean, temporarily?”
“It should return, once the inflammation reduces. It could take weeks but probably three or four
months.”
“She must be devastated. Someone like Shae… jeez. How will she cope without sailing? It’s who she is. She resembles me. It’s what grounds us and makes us feel as if we have a place in this world.”
I agree with what he’s saying, and recall how sailing has helped me, too. For Shae, it’s a lifelong thing though; for me, merely months. “That’s why I’m calling,” I say. “If she can somehow sail while recovering it could make all the difference. I’ve never seen her this defeated… like a lifeless doll. Do you believe it’s possible she can skipper a yacht while blind?”
“Of course. Takes a bit of learnin’ but I have a friend who’s a sailor and can’t see farther than the end of his nose. Where are you calling from?”
“London. But she’s agreed to stay in Sydney with me.” Reluctantly.
“You’re back together? What happened? She told me you left Samoa without a word. I’m meant to be mad a’ you. You hurt my girl.”
“Yeah, I’d be mad at me, too, if I were you. It was a misunderstanding. Brett convinced me that he and Shae were into each other, and I should clear out for her sake. He said I was putting her in a terrible situation, making her choose between him and me. He’s a bloody credible liar.” I recall the sketches he showed me, with her handwriting and how she desecrated them. “Then he followed Shae to LA and made it seem as if they were living together.”
The line goes quiet again, and I can hear the soft sound of the ocean crashing onto the beach outside George’s cottage.
“I told Shae he was trouble,” George says. “Would she listen? Tha’ boy’s capable of anything to get wha’ he wants. Where is he now?”
“Last I heard, he was in LA.”
“I haven’t said anything before because I didn’t realize Brett was in her life. But the reason I wasn’t on the beach welcoming you both back after she went out to rescue you was because Brett attacked me. Knocked me out. Cracked my skull and I ended up in hospital.”
