The Chilling Tide

by T M Bashford

  Before leaving Samoa, George had learned how to teach Shae from his blind friend who’s also a sailor. Yesterday, he tested the new equipment, which will help her solo sail through a series of spoken prompts or alarms.

  “You must use your other senses and go slower to give you time to react in a situation, like if you’re on a collision course with an object or another boat. That’s wha’ it boils down to,” George says as he sits next to Shae on the bench seat. Finn and I are on the cabin roof, giving them space.

  “You might believe sailing is a visual pastime, but if you analyze how you sail, it involves your hearing just as much. Remember how you always listen for sounds which shouldn’t be there? And Sassy talks to you, doesn’t she? When you’re in the cabin, you know Sassy’s going well by the sound of the wa’er against her hull or the slant of her heeling over. When you’re helming, you’re steering no’ only by sight bu’ the sensation of the wind on your face. Think about when you’re coming off the wind and you sense the boat heel and the sails take the strain—you’re sailing the boat based on the pressure you feel on the helm and sails.”

  George shows her the compass and how its beep is quietest when the compass is aligned east-west. Each direction produces a different beep or ding-dong and has a different volume. It’ll remain quiet while she’s on course but will begin beeping if she veers off course. The other instruments are connected to audible devices. They speak their readings instead of Shae having to see the readings.

  I motor Sassy out of Vaucluse Bay and then the three of us sail her through the heads while Shae simply sits and listens to the winches, the cleats, the sails, and senses the wind, connecting what’s happening to how it feels and sounds. We aim north where craft traffic will be minimal on a Monday morning.

  When Shae finally takes the helm, she doesn’t appear nervous. I stand behind her, both our hands on the tiller to let her sense it while I steer. As we pick up speed, she leans against me. She adjusts her stance and straightens again but when we heel sharply, she rests into me again for balance.

  “Like old times,” I say into her ear. “The wind in our faces, together on Sassy, the ocean racing past us.”

  “Thanks for doing this, Drew. I’m amazed at how familiar this seems, and how I had always listened to what Sassy was saying when we sailed. She speaks a language I understand.”

  “Good to be back at the helm?” I ask.

  She turns her face to stop the wind snatching the words from her lips. Her mouth is inches from mine. “The best.”

  I have to look away.

  George eases himself into the cockpit, his knees giving him trouble again. “Have you got a hair tie?” he asks.

  Shae raises her wrist where she wears one as a bracelet and ties her hair behind her.

  “It’s good to put your hair up,” George says. “You can learn to steer a perfect course when you learn wha’ the wind feels like on your neck and face. Drew’s going to le’ go. You’re the skipper.”

  Her grasp on the tiller is determined, her expression busy with concentration. She listens to audio voice prompts, to the beeps of the compass, to the sounds of the water as Sassy’s hull slices through the waves. I settle next to her, ready to jump in if I need to. At first, she stands, then sits, our legs pressed together. She stands again and it doesn’t take long for her to break into a smile, her ponytail whirling behind her. I get the urge to sketch her. I haven’t drawn anything in months.

  When her confidence improves, she takes on the skipper role naturally and gives orders to Finn and George on the main and jib. She listens to the sounds of their movement and senses how the boat reacts.

  “All okay?” I check.

  She nods. “I prefer to stand though. I can feel the way Sassy’s moving more accurately, and I sense the angles and appreciate the position of the hull in the water better. And I can hear the sail tensions.”

  I squint against the sharp sunrays to watch her. She doesn’t need to squint—all she can see is a uniform black.

  Shae

  While I’m sailing, I visualize the ocean like reliving a memory I can hear, feel, smell, and taste. Taking control of Sassy grounds me to the extent I know the old Shae is inside me somewhere.

  The next morning, Drew has gone to the office before I make it to the breakfast table. Jamison reports he left at six-thirty and would be home late.

  Disappointed, I pick at my eggs, but the thought of sailing with Finn and George today soon rouses me. We stay out on the water all day and this time, I do some of the sail work and even navigate through the heads without help. It’s not as hard as I believed it might be. It helps that I remember Sassy inside and out, and I know her voice. When we were apart, it was her voice I missed—the base sound of her hull as she reached, the clink of her rigging, the way one cleat sticks more than another, how she hums when we’re on the right tack. Had it been a different boat, I doubt I’d have learned so quickly.

  “How’s Ariel?” I ask Finn.

  “Still up in Townsville. Brody’s working on her. Are you saying you want her as well?” he jokes.

  Dinner is a sedate affair. Finn carries on with his story about pirates off the African coast. The whole time I can sense the gap—the space—that’s there instead of Drew. Miss Tiger said I’d become used to sensing space, but I’m not sure she quite meant that.

  Boomer is a comfort, and I love having him. Though I have never seen him, he reminds me of the dog Drew and I rescued in Samoa—his size and the texture of his fur. I feed him titbits from the table, despite Jamison’s disapproval.

  After dinner, I pull my weary body up the stairs for a shower but snatch up the cell Drew gave me when it rings, hoping it’s him.

  “Shae?”

  An ice-cold hand clutches my gut.

  After a few seconds, I raise the phone back to my ear. “Brett? How on earth did you get my number?”

  “Are you okay? I miss you. But I’m calling to let you know you should visit your mom. She’s not well at all. She needs you.”

  “My family has nothing to do with you, and I don’t have anything to say to you after what you did. Drew told me everything.”

  “I figured you’d be mad. But you’ve got to understand my side of things. It’s not black and white. Love never is.”

  My blood boils through my veins. “Did you or didn’t you tell Drew that I loved you?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then that’s all I need to know. I can’t trust you, Brett. You need to back off. You—”

  The phone is snatched from my hand mid-sentence.

  “Brett? You’ve had your last warning,” Drew spits. “Stay away.” Drew drops the cell onto my bed. “How did he get your number?” He sounds angrier than I’ve ever heard him.

  “He wouldn’t say. My mom? Brody? He knows she’s not well. He must’ve got in touch with them. He said I need to visit her. Could he be in Townsville?”

  Drew paces the room.

  “Can you block him on my phone?” I ask. “I don’t want another nasty surprise call.”

  George and Finn sail with me all week. Each day I grow in skills and confidence, but I miss Drew. He’s gone before breakfast and home late every night. I start to wonder if he’s avoiding me—if it’s impossible for him to spend time with me because these emotions are hard to fight. Have I pushed him away once too often, and like Sienna warned, this time he’s not coming back? I find myself crying into Boomer’s fur.

  I decide it’s not possible for me to fly to Townsville, so Finn returns home to support our mom. George stays for another two weeks and we sail together every weekday. Each weekend, Drew comes with us. I wish I could see him though, read his eyes, because there’s something not right. He’s distracted and quieter than normal. I hear him and George urgently murmur on the cabin roof while I helm Sassy. I’m doing it alone and they have nothing to do but be my safety eyes. I’m guessing they’re talking about me.

  On the morning George is due to leave for Samoa
, I’m crushed. I walk him out the front door and we rest on the bottom step waiting for Arnold to drive him to the airport. Drew already said goodbye before he left for the office earlier today.

  “By the way, when I was sor’ing through your stuff on Sassy, I found a gun and ammunition,” George says.

  “That’s odd. I hid it on Ariel.” Brett had clearly gone through Ariel’s lockers at some point because he retrieved Drew’s drawings—the ones he used to convince Drew I had moved on. Brett must’ve discovered the gun, too.

  George shrugs. “It’s locked in Sassy’s cockpit locker now. I hope you have a license.”

  “It belonged to my dad. He’d have done the paperwork, but I guess it’d need updating. I’ll talk to Brody.”

  “Keep practicing. Keep being fearless, Shae. You’re lucky to have this se’ up with Drew.”

  “I’m in a bit of a bubble. At some point, I need to leave and tackle the real world.” The sound of tires on gravel approaches.

  “You can’t hide your heart, Shae. From Drew or yourself. Love is wha’ keeps the human race going.”

  “But look what happened to Fiona?”

  He stands and pulls me to my feet. “Drew will never be a Shaun.” He hugs me to him. “You must see you’ve go’ a good one there.” He chuckles. “Stop being so blind.”

  I half-laugh, half-gasp, then punch his arm, miss, and hit his chest.

  “I’m not joking, my little Sirène.”

  It happens when I’m swimming.

  I’m counting laps. Fifty-Nine. A flash of light, like lightning. I halt mid-stroke and cast around, but everything is black again.

  The doctor said I might begin to see streaks of light before my vision returns.

  I don’t tell anyone in case I imagined it.

  But during the next few days, the flashes return, especially at night. I stomp on the hope they spark but can’t help feeling excited. It’s been almost three months.

  Drew is still working long hours and acting distant. He might’ve concluded he’s done all he can for me. He’s given me Boomer and Sassy Jam and now he’s pushing me to move on... because he is.

  I’ve started to spend more time with Jamison and wonder if I should call on Colbie soon. I often eat in the kitchen, rather than alone on the deck or in the White Room. Today, I make my way there to find Jamison accompanied by the waft of roast beef. Boomer, as usual, is at my side.

  “Afternoon, Miss Love. Hungry yet?”

  “It’s Shae, Jamison… Shae.”

  “You and Drew are cut from the same cloth. Will you be eating here again today?”

  “Yes. Drew told me he spent many hours in this kitchen talking to you—or will I be in the way?”

  “Not at all. May I join you in a cup of tea?”

  I take a seat on the bar stool at the benchtop. “Given we’re in your territory, you don’t need to ask.”

  “I’m going to have to teach you a few things regarding the butler/employer relationship.”

  “I’m not your employer.”

  “There’s a plate of mini rolls in front of you—one’s egg, mayo, and salad, one’s prosciutto and pickle, one’s brie and cranberry.”

  “Thank you.” My fingers knock into a roll. Jamison clatters with something metal, and I recognize the clink of cups and saucers.

  “Drew and me...” I start. “He’s pulling away. We’re in the past. We’re just friends now. Therefore, I’m a guest, not your employer.”

  “You can fool yourselves, but you can’t fool me. May I speak freely?”

  “That’s a pretty scary question. But I guess so.” I nibble at the corner of a sandwich.

  “I’ve lived in many people’s homes, seen a great many sights, learned a lot through countless experiences, and I am utterly certain you two are not ‘just’ friends. I can give you examples of why that is the case and not wishful thinking, for I do believe you have a delightful effect on Mr. Vega. But I only need one example and it is this… when you two are together, the room is charged with an essence of calm while at the same time, there’s an excited expectation of something wonderful on the verge of happening. Yet, when either one of you is alone, the room has a sense of mourning to it—as if the air has stagnated.”

  “No one told me you were a poet. That’s pretty. But—”

  “Don’t insult me by denying it, Miss Love. But we needn’t discuss it further if you would rather change the subject.”

  I don’t know him enough to work out if he’s teasing or being serious. I hear him pour the tea, stir, and place the cup near my plate. Then he pulls out a stool and I assume he’s at the bench top with me. I take a bigger bite of my five-star restaurant bread roll, remembering how Drew said on some things, Jamison is not at all pliable.

  “Judging by your frown, you’re having an extremely solemn thought,” he says, interrupting our silence.

  “What you say might’ve been true a couple of weeks ago, but Drew’s preoccupied lately. Distant. He leaves early and returns late. I think he’s recently decided we’re not going to work out.”

  “Right now, he has a lot on his shoulders. Lucas is potentially mounting a hostile takeover of the Vega Corporation and since the media found out, it’s turned into a circus. There are also other issues Mr. Vega needs to deal with, but I’m sure they’ll reduce soon, and he’ll be back to himself.”

  “It’s because I love him that I have to push him away, Jamison. What if my sight never returns?”

  “Again, pardon me for saying, but your stoical attitude is admirable in a romantic heroine from a Jane Austen novel, but not the modern world. The real world contains real people with emotions that cannot be turned off because you say so.”

  “You sound a little mad at me, Jamison.”

  “I think I am a little. I’m sorry. But it’s a horrible waste of happiness I see before me.”

  “I didn’t make it happen though.”

  “But you’ve made the decision for both of you as to how this ends.”

  “We seem destined to remain ships passing in the night. Every time we come together, something comes along to rip us apart.”

  “The truth is you’re afraid to love. Which is shocking because you’re Fearless Shae, according to the press. You’re the girl who took on the Pacific and defended yourself from a violent man who threatened your life.”

  My legs kick rhythmically at the bench top and I reach to stroke Boomer. “You’re very forthright, Jamison. I thought you were meant to agree with everything the guest says.”

  “There are times when it’s critical not to agree.” His stool scrapes the floor and he tinkers in the sink with dishes and running water. I finish my food and take the last sip of tea, feeling as if I’ve been dismissed.

  “Love is never one thing or another,” Jamison says. His shoes clip closer so he’s opposite me again. “It’s never all happiness or all sadness. It’s the same with sailing, isn’t it? Some days, I imagine, are pure joy. The sky is cerulean blue, the breeze is just right, the sunshine warms your skin. Other days it’s hard work. You fight the ocean, battle with the wind, you are thrown around and bruised, so wet you could wring yourself out like a towel. But do you stop sailing?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You love sailing therefore you endure the hard days; you rise up to defeat another storm. The good far outweighs the bad and in fact, making it through the tough days makes you a better sailor. It’s the same with love. Do you love Drew enough to endure the bad days, to fight through the tough times because the good outweighs the bad? I know Drew loves you enough.

  “From what I’ve seen you’ll never give up on sailing, even though it’s nearly killed you—more than once—and blinded you. Yet you’re going to give up on love—on Drew—simply because you fear a broken heart?”

  Drew

  Lucas enters the conference room having kept the board waiting for twenty minutes. He sets his briefcase down next to the one vacant chair near the middle of the table, but h
e doesn’t sit. Instead, he paces to where I’m sitting at the head of the table, unbuttons his immaculate suit jacket, and stands beside me.

  “Hello, Drew.” I stand and we shake hands. “Good morning, gentlemen,” he addresses the room, then smiles at Elaine, the only woman in the room. “Good morning, Mrs. Arkwright. Thank you, everyone, for convening to meet me. I hope you don’t mind if I remain standing. I think better when I can pace.”

  He’s greeted with disapproving silence, which he ignores. I sit back down.

  “I’ll state straight up it’s not my intention to conduct a hostile meeting. I want to show you I’m willing to work with you, to build this company and make it even greater than it is. In fact, fighting is never helpful. I’ve given you the impression I’d fight for my place here, but that’s only if I have to. It’s my hope you’ll hear me out today. Listen to my concepts and strategies for Vega Corp.’s future, and then we can move forward in an amicable way while the legalities transpire.” Lucas paces as he speaks, capturing eye contact with each person at the table.

  “I understand a major concern is that Drew Vega will no longer have a controlling share if he has to split his shares with me. This leaves the company ripe for hostile takeovers from outside parties, not to mention a gamut of other weaknesses which can be exploited. I intend to address this today and then propose some future strategies.”

  He fetches a laptop from his briefcase and projects a presentation onto the screen.

  His knowledge of Vega Corp. is in depth and sophisticated, and he proceeds to coax questions and nods of approval from some of my colleagues. In turn, I feel like a naughty child who’s snuck into an adult’s world and I want to shrink into my chair. I remember how Shae often spoke of wanting an invisibility cloak, and I understand what she means now. I need one, too.