“Margaritas. My favorite part of sailing,” Ruthie said.
“The only muscles that aren’t sore on the ones on my face,” said Judy.
“Lead the way, Lois,” Nancy replied.
Lois called ahead and had Chris fire up the blender and ready the hot tub at their Manhattan Beach house. The Mermaids wandered in, exhausted, at eight PM. It became a nightly ritual over the next ten days. With every training sail, the girls became more comfortable being tossed on rough seas while executing Nancy’s orders—flawlessly. It turned out you could teach old dogs new tricks.
At the end of those evenings, sitting in the hot tub under the stars, the soreness melted and gave way to laughter as the Mermaids recounted their funnier moments on the water. The long days of working toward a common goal seemed to turn back time. Instead of recalling old memories, they were making new ones. It felt like the best time of their lives.
But on the last night of training, Ruthie didn’t show. Nancy waited at the dock, ready to go, along with Judy and Lois. She checked her cell phone twice, but there was no message. She rang Ruthie, but it went straight to her voice mail. She finally called Pete, thinking perhaps Ruthie had gotten seduced by drinks on the back of his boat. His phone rang twice and then he picked up.
“Hi, Nance,” Pete said. “What’s up?”
“Hiya, Pete. Any chance Ruthie is with you?”
“No.” There was tinge of sadness in his voice. “Haven’t seen nor heard from her in a fair bit.”
Nancy frowned. Weird. “Tell her I’m looking for her if you see her.”
“Yep. You do the same.”
Nancy hung up the phone and looked at Judy and Lois. “She’s not home. She’s not on Pete’s boat. Any clue?”
Judy and Lois looked at each other and shook their heads. Then Lois said, “She bailed on me last week because Otis had to go to the vet. Maybe it’s something with the pup?”
Nancy nodded. That dog was Ruthie’s life. If Otis was sick, the world could stop spinning and Ruthie wouldn’t notice. “Yeah, that’s probably it. Well, we need a backup.”
“How about Charlotte?” Lois offered.
“We could ask her.” Nancy hesitated. She could call Charlotte directly. Or go through Stella. After the spectacle at the hospital, she wondered if she should. She stared at the phone and finally hit Stella’s contact number. She cleared her throat.
Her daughter picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Mom.” She sounded sullen, sad.
“Hi, Stella.” There was silence between them for a moment. “Hey, I was just wondering if Charlotte could come for a sail with us tonight.”
“Oh. I thought you were calling to—doesn’t matter. Um, I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her.” Stella called out for Charlotte, and Nancy could hear Charlotte bounding down the hardwood stairs. She came to the phone breathless. “Hi, Gran!”
“Hey, kiddo,” Nancy said. “Was wondering if you wanted to join the Mermaids on their last training sail before the big race. If it’s okay with your mom, that is.”
Nancy heard Charlotte cover the phone and mumble something to Stella. Then she came back on. “Wouldn’t miss it. I’m hopping on my bike now.” Charlotte handed the phone back. Nancy stayed on the line.
“Thanks for letting her come, Stella.” She paused. “I know we have a lot to talk about.”
“Maybe we can talk this weekend?”
Awash with tentative relief at the return of her daughter’s gentle voice, the one without the edge in it, Nancy said, “Of course we can.” But then she remembered the race and added, “Oh, wait, no. We leave Friday morning for Newport. The race starts Saturday afternoon.”
“Oh, of course. My head is a mess. I forgot about the race.”
“Will you be there to see us off?”
“I don’t know,” Stella said. “Sam and I have counseling.”
“I think that’s good, honey.” She knew that was a big step. Stella and Sam had talked about going for a year, but making an appointment and actually showing up was another story. It could mean things were getting better between them. Or it could mean things had gotten much, much worse.
Stella sniffled on the phone; it sounded like she’d been crying. “Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re going to be okay, hon,” Nancy said.
Silence.
“Hey, maybe I can be in Ensenada when you guys come in,” Stella offered.
“I’d love that.”
“Charlotte’s getting on her bike now. Have a good sail.”
“Love you,” Nancy said, but Stella had already hung up.
Nancy turned to the girls. “Charlotte is on her way.”
“Everything good with Stella?”
“No.” Nancy hesitated for a second and answered. “But it’s not hopeless. Seriously, Ruthie can’t even call?”
* * *
On the final training sail, Jerome declined to join, letting the crew understand they could sail just as well, maybe even better, without his guidance. Their youngest Mermaid protégé, Charlotte, showed off just how aptly she was suited to the job. Apparently, a good haul of the sailing books Judy had acquired weeks ago had ended up in Charlotte’s possession, and she’d put them to good use too. The girl knew what she was doing, and just like her grandparents, her gift for sailing was as natural as breathing.
Once safe back in their slip, Nancy raised her glass and said in a thin, unsteady voice that she and the crew of the Gypsea were “as ready as we’re ever going to be.”
“Praise indeed,” Lois said wryly, as she sipped her wine.
“My nerves are getting to me.” Nancy shook her head, as if to shake off the bad mojo.
Judy said, “I think Jerome really brought our sailing to the next level.”
“That’s oddly reassuring, coming from you,” Lois said.
The crew put the sail covers on, organized the lines, and got ready to take off for the evening. Judy and Lois headed off for their well-earned hot tub at Lois’s house. Charlotte stood on the edge of the boat before hopping off. She squeezed Nancy’s arm and looked her in the eye.
“Gran, a boat is always safe in the harbor.”
Nancy looked at her curiously.
Charlotte continued, “But that’s not what boats are for. A man named John Shedd said that. Just heard it in AP History. Good luck out there.”
Nancy smiled. Charlotte gave her a big hug and jumped off the boat. She hopped on her bike and peddled off. The fading rays of the sunset illuminated the back of her beach cruiser, and Nancy realized the last remnants of her granddaughter’s purple-dyed strands were fading. Her gorgeous honey-blond mane was coming back. And Charlotte was letting it.
As soon as she turned north toward home, Nancy called Ruthie, who picked up on the fourth ring.
“Hey,” Ruthie said.
“Pray tell, where was our fourth tonight?” Nancy asked.
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry I missed the sail tonight. I had something I had to do.”
“It’s fine; it’s just not like you to be a no-show. Is Otis okay?”
Ruthie paused before answering. “If you call a lump of fur that burps and farts all night okay, then yes, Otis is fine. Same old.”
“Oh. Well, if it wasn’t Otis, I don’t understand …” Nancy didn’t know where to go from there, upset at Ruthie’s absence and then her purposely vague response. “We needed you—”
“I’m sure you did fine without me. I’m not exactly the strongest crew member.”
“Ruthie, I needed you. Not because of your sailing expertise but for all the other reasons. I’m not strong enough. I can’t go into this thing alone.” Nancy could feel her emotions running loose like frightened horses in the dark.
“Nancy—” Ruthie interrupted sharply, but then softened. “Listen, I know. I’ll be there. I’ll always be there for you. I just had a thing. I’ll tell you about it later.”
Nancy got ahold of herself and finally said, “I’m sorry, I just … I need you.”
“You don’t actually. You don’t need me. But I get why you think you do,” Ruthie said.
Nancy stammered, and it all came out at once. “I can’t catch my breath sometimes, Ruthie, and my heart races and I can’t sleep. I’m scared of being alone. I’m scared of not being alone. I’m afraid I’m going to make some horrible mistake I can’t undo.”
“Too late.”
“What’s too late?” Nancy asked.
“You already made the horrible mistake.”
“I did?”
“You married Roger. And look at you, undoing it all.”
Nancy stopped and smiled. “True.” She wiped her tears away and chuckled. “See? I need you. See you Friday morning?”
“Bright and early,” Ruthie added. “Call me if you can’t sleep.”
“Okay. Oh, by the way, Pete wants you to call.”
“Hmph,” she responded, then ended the call.
Nancy poured another glass of wine and headed out to watch the moon. The call to Ruthie had quelled her jangling nerves.
CHAPTER FORTY
ALL HANDS, AND FURNITURE, ON DECK
On Thursday morning, the day before the Mermaids were to set sail for Newport, Santiago arrived on M dock bright and early armed with his tools, a crowbar, and a large dolly. To her surprise, some extra hands also showed up to help. Shep Wallace stood there gallantly, hands in the pockets of his camouflage overcoat. Peter Ellis was in attendance, armed with a rum and OJ in his Mount Gay tumbler, and even Mac and Tony showed up with warm smiles.
Tony said, “There’s our favorite girl!”
“Mac! Tony!” Nancy happily greeted them with a hug. “I think its crap that Roger didn’t invite you to crew the race.”
“Ah, just as well. Roger’s not himself these days,” Mac said as he smoothed his moustache down.
“I know Roger. He’s probably already celebrating,” Nancy guessed.
“I don’t know, Nance. We know Roger too,” Tony said. “He’s idling a little high.”
Nancy looked at them both like they were nuts. “Impossible.”
Mac confirmed it. “You just might be making him nervous.”
“As he well should be,” Santiago added.
“You guys are nutso. Roger is not afraid of me or my, as he put it, crappy tugboat.”
As Santiago predicted, marina gossip traveled faster than a sex scandal in Congress. Everyone had heard about Roger, the bet, and the fact that he was behind the Bayside Urban Renovation Project, or the Big BURP, and his devious plan to pave over King Harbor. People felt betrayed by one of their own. How could he, a fellow sailor, so easily agree to ruin their beloved marina for a huge concrete parking lot? It stank of unscrupulous greed, given the sheer scale of the project and blatant disregard for the locals.
Nancy stood there with a pirate’s crooked smile and looked around at the grizzled band of liveaboard rebels willing to fight against the Evil Empire of Roger and his BURP.
Santiago called the small crew to attention and said, “Our goal is to lighten up the Gypsea. But not so much to make her unlivable. The girls still have to rest and eat during the race. So, we are going to take out everything unnecessary unless it’s structural or indispensable. That should lighten her up enough to give her the advantage she needs.”
“Got it,” Peter Ellis said.
“Can I borrow that crowbar?” Mac asked Santiago, who handed it over.
“I’ll get the dolly,” Tony offered.
“I have in my possession one battle-tested beer cooler to replace the fridge,” Shep Wallace added.
The boys all got to work stripping the boat of its nonessentials. One by one, anything that didn’t make the Gypsea faster or keep her afloat came out of the boat and was set down on the dock. The boys removed three dollies’ worth of boat-slowing ballast, including all of Nancy’s candles, wineglasses, cat toys, dog beds, and other creature comforts that made the Gypsea her home.
At one point, Turk wandered over to see what was going on. “Smart,” he said to Santiago. He took one look at Nancy and added, “My money’s on you, kid. Keep the wet side down.”
Nancy gave him a salute and a nod. “Aye, Cap’n. I’ll do my best.”
The whole of the work was complete by four that afternoon, at which point Nancy offered to take her demo crew to the Blue Water Grill for stiff drinks and cups of hot clam chowder.
After the second round of dark ’n stormies, the guys began to talk about the race. Each had his own piece of advice. Some of them had raced back in the 1970s when it was more of a free-for-all, while Mac and Tony had done it as recently as last year—and won. All their advice came as wise, time-tested stories and helpful hints.
“The Border Dash is famous for stalling winds just past the cliffs off San Elijo.”
“The starting line is tricky because of the number of boats. Best to stay clear of the pack before heading for the inside line thirty seconds before the horn with a full head of steam.”
“Squalls are common, so be prepared for them. They come up from the Southern Ocean and catch you unawares. One minute you’re cruising at eight knots, the next you’re drenched and reefing sails.”
“Stay your course, unless the wind dies. Then get creative.”
Nancy was taking mental notes when she noticed Santiago remained surprisingly quiet. She considered that perhaps the conversation of racing yachts was making the boat mechanic uncomfortable, beyond his knowledge.
At around six in the evening, the friendly gathering broke up with everyone wishing Nancy good luck in the race. They all ambled off in the directions of their boats, but Santiago offered to walk her back to hers.
As they wordlessly strolled, Nancy felt warm in the space between her and Santiago. His gentle energy made her relax. There was no need to ramble on about meaningless topics. Instead, there was an easy calm. It was a balmy night; a waning moon was rising from the east as the breeze rustled the palm trees overhead. Seals barked in the distance, and the dock creaked beneath their feet. The familiar sounds of seals barking in the marina, a light chain clanking against the dock master’s flagpole, the gentle lapping of water against boats—now all of these sounds gave her comfort.
Santiago seemed to be studying the horizon in the twilit distance. Then he finally said, “Nancy, the wind has its own soul, just like each one of us. The Winds of Yamagaia are the bringer of both dawn and darkness. It is a ferocious spirit of change. It can whip itself into a warning and then a rage. You must be able to read it as it changes. If not, you are doomed to fight against it until exhausted and defeated. But, if you let the wind surround you and let it take you, embrace its energy …” Santiago grabbed both of her hands and cupped them in his, his eyes fixed on hers. “Listen to its song … it will change you and every direction you go.”
She felt like she was floating off the dock, lost in his eyes and his poetry of the wind.
“Plus, I know something about that race.” Santiago said this so matter-of-factly that it broke her dreamy spell.
“You do?”
Santiago gazed out over the horizon before answering. He took a deep breath and said, “I am a descendant of the great Portuguese navigators.”
“Portugal. I knew it.”
Santiago raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Okay, I never guessed Portugal.”
He grinned and continued. “I learned how to navigate by the stars, thanks to my grandfather, who taught me everything he knew when I was a boy. Sailing has always been in my blood.”
Nancy was impressed, with both his history and his sudden desire to share.
“Also, I won the Newport to Ensenada race a time or two in the seventies.”
Nancy stood awestruck. “You won it?”
“Si. Four times. So, I know something about it.”
“Four times.” Nancy stood agape at first, her surprise slowly turning into awe.
Santiago looked sheepish under her admiring gaze, then nodded. “I had a good
crew,” he said, trying to shift responsibility.
“You had a good crew …” She mulled that over for a second. Then she figured it out. “Wait a minute, you’re saying it was your boat?”
“But of course.”
“I thought you were a—and please don’t take this the wrong way—a boat mechanic.”
“I am,” Santiago said. “But I also own a few boats.”
“How many boats?”
“Well, I have three Hobie catamarans that I use to teach students in my sailing school, and then three fishing vessels. My sons run my commercial fishing business down in San Diego.”
“You own six boats, a sailing school, and a commercial fishing business?” Nancy looked at him, incredulous.
Santiago smiled as if delighted at her reaction.
“Then why do you live so—” Nancy struggled to find an appropriate and not totally insulting way to say it. “Why do you live like this?”
“Like what?” he challenged her gently. “Surrounded by the pelicans and dolphins instead of men in suits? Teaching at-risk kids how to navigate the sea on a sailboat so that hopefully one day they can navigate their own destiny? Completely free to skinny-dip off the back of my boat rather than sit on a crowded freeway?”
“You skinny-dip?”
He nodded, “During the full moon, usually.”
“Good to know,” she said, and smiled. “When you put it like that, I see your point.”
“We all build our own cages, and then we walk right in.”
She sighed, thinking about the life she’d left behind, and said, “Even if gilded, they’re still cages.”
“Life is unpredictable and scary and wonderful all at once,” Santiago added. “That is why I live like this.”
She felt that warm, glorious breeze gently blow her silvery blond hair back. She felt the strength and the steadiness of it. She wrapped her arms around herself and then asked a question as much to the universe as to Santiago.
“What if I lose?”
“What if … such a short sentence, such a big question.”
Beware the Mermaids Page 23
