A Thousand Shades of Blue

by Robin Stevenson

  “It’s no big deal.” She looks at me curiously. “I know you have a hard time with your dad, but, to tell you the truth, he actual y seems like a pretty good guy to me.”

  “I guess you didn’t get any of his inspirational speeches,” I say.

  108

  A Thousand Shades of Blue

  “Actually, I got the one about hard times making us stronger in the long run. I remember that one from my grandmother.” Becca laughs. “Oh, and he quoted Lord Byron too: ‘Adversity is the path to truth.’”

  Truth. Whatever that might be. I shrug, feeling tired.

  “Wel , thanks.”

  “No problem. Like I said, he was pretty nice about it al . He obviously wants you to be happy.”

  “You think? Then why doesn’t he ever listen to me?

  How come he’s been too busy with his screwed-up clients to even notice that his own kids have moved on from kindergarten? I mean, he didn’t even bother coming to my grade nine grad.”

  Becca looks uncomfortable. “Look, I didn’t mean to hit a nerve.”

  I stand up. “It’s okay. Just, nothing is what it seems, you know? Nothing is what it looks like from the outside.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Becca says.

  109

  Sixteen

  Becca’s boat, Sister Ocean, is smal and sleek: a narrow-hul ed twenty-six-foot Contessa with a dark blue hull. She’s anchored in Red Shanks, like we were before we got hauled out. I’m tooth-chattering cold by the time we arrive—it’s cold and dark, and all I have on is my T-shirt and shorts.

  Becca ties her dinghy to a stern cleat, and we scramble aboard.

  “I forgot,” she says. “Terry’s coming around tonight.”

  “Terry?”

  “Yeah. From the boatyard, you know? The guy who’s fixing your rudder.”

  I think back to this morning. “The really tall guy?”

  She laughs. “Yeah. That’s him.”

  “So…I mean, is it going to be okay that I’m here?”

  Becca unlocks the companionway hatch and slides the wooden boards out. “Yeah, don’t worry. It’s fine.”

  She steps inside and beckons to me. “Come on in.”

  110

  A Thousand Shades of Blue

  It’s pretty basic down below: none of the clutter of Shared Dreams and none of the tidy coziness of Flyer. I’m short enough to stand up inside, but Becca’s head brushes the cabin roof. It’s all smooth varnished wood except for the narrow blue cushions on the berths. A sleeping bag and a book are tossed up in the V-berth, where Becca obviously sleeps, and a few faded photographs are neatly taped above a tiny navigation table.

  “What do you think?” she asks.

  “It’s great,” I say.

  “There aren’t many boats this small that are seaworthy enough to cross oceans,” she says. “I’d trust this one with my life.”

  I nod. “Do you mind if I ask you…wel , you said you’d been planning this trip for years, right?”

  “Right.”

  “But you’re only nineteen. How did you afford to do this? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  Becca shakes her head. “It’s okay. Everyone asks that question. My dad died when I was fifteen and left me quite a lot of money. I mean, not like millions or anything, but enough to buy a boat and put off going to college for a couple of years.”

  “Jeez. I’m sorry. I mean, about your dad.” I wrap my arms around myself and wonder if Becca would lend me a sweatshirt.

  “Yeah. It sucked.”

  I wonder what it would be like not to have a father. No family mission statements, no schedules, no inspirational 1 1

  Robin Stevenson

  speeches. Much as I hate all that stuff, trying to imagine life without my father makes me feel sort of dizzy and disori-ented. I shiver and hug myself tighter. “How did he die?”

  “Car accident. He was drunk. As he was most nights.”

  “Jeez.” I sit down on the starboard berth. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah. I was pretty messed up for a while there.”

  Becca shrugs. “I saw one of those kiddie shrinks, like your dad, you know? He really helped a lot. Plus I went to Al-Anon, which was good too.”

  “Wow. I didn’t know that. You always seem so…

  together.”

  Becca notices that I’m shivering and lifts a sweater out of a locker under the port berth. “Yeah. Like you said, nothing is what it looks like from the outside.”

  “Thanks.” I take the sweater from her and pull it over my head. It’s made of rough blue wool that feels scratchy against my neck. The sleeves are about a foot longer than my arms.

  “Rachel? Can I say something without you getting mad?”

  “What is it?”

  She hesitates for a moment, like she’s choosing her words carefully. “Well, my dad had his problems, but I’d give anything to have him back.” She sits down across from me. The boat is so narrow, our knees almost touch.

  “I know you’re pissed off at your father, but at least he’s trying to be there, you know?”

  My eyes are stinging. “Bit late.”

  112

  A Thousand Shades of Blue

  “Maybe. But not that many guys would take a year away from their jobs to go traveling with their family.

  Couldn’t you…” She breaks off and grimaces apologetical y. “I don’t know, just give him a chance?”

  “He practically ignored me and Tim until this year,”

  I say gruffly. “That doesn’t just get wiped out because he has a mid-life crisis and decides he wants to get to know us. It doesn’t work like that.”

  “No, I know.”

  This whole conversation is making my stomach hurt.

  I don’t want to talk about my dad anymore. “So…anyway.

  What time is Terry coming?”

  She glances at her watch. “It’s seven now. Anytime, I guess. Do you want something to drink?”

  “Sure.” I roll up my sleeves and watch while Becca pours two glasses of water and stirs in a scoop of orange powder. Tang. It’s the only way to make the brackish town water here taste okay. Awhile back, Dad started adding bleach to our water tanks and now our water not only tastes slightly salty, it also smells like a swimming pool.

  “Hey, Becca? I told Col last night I’d come see him again. You think I could give him a call?”

  She spins around. “I knew it. You so have a crush on him. Admit it.”

  I groan. “Okay, okay. I guess I do, a little.”

  She shakes her head. “Be careful, okay? Remember what I told you about him.”

  “I know. I just want to see him, that’s al . And I can’t 113

  Robin Stevenson

  even call him from my own boat because there is never a moment’s privacy.”

  She passes me a handheld vhf radio. “All yours.”

  I feel shy calling him and even shyer because Becca is standing there watching. “Thanks.” I press the button and call, “Flyer, Flyer, this is Sister Ocean.”

  Col’s voice answers almost immediately. “Becca? Try seventy-two, then up one.”

  I switch to 72, but it is being used by a woman passing on a recipe for conch curry, so I go up one channel to 73.

  “Flyer, this is Sister Ocean. Over.”

  “Sister Ocean, Flyer here. Over.”

  “It’s Rachel, though. I’m on Becca’s boat. Over.”

  There’s a moment’s pause before he replies. “Rachel!

  That’s great. I was starting to think I wasn’t going to hear from you. Over.”

  “It was kind of a crazy day. What are you up to? Over.”

  “Not much. Want to come hang out? I could pick you up. Over.”

  My heart leaps. Yes, yes, yes. I’m about to reply when Becca puts her hand on my arm and shakes her head.

  “I told your parents that I’d take care of you,” she says. “I’m not covering for you while you spend the night with Col.”<
br />
  “I wouldn’t do that,” I say defensively. “I just want to see him.”

  “Wel , you can do that here. Invite him over.”

  It’s better than nothing, though maybe not a lot better if Becca is going to start acting like my parents and monitoring my every move.

  114

  A Thousand Shades of Blue

  “Sister Ocean, you still there? Over.”

  “Yes. Sorry. Look, Becca says why don’t you come over here and hang out? Over.”

  “Sounds good,” Col says. “I’ll see you soon. Over.”

  I wonder if he’s at all disappointed that we won’t be alone together.

  Z

  If I’d been thinking clearly, I would have stopped off at the boatyard to get my things from Shared Dreams before coming over here. As it was, I’d just wanted to get away as fast as possible. Becca takes pity on me and lets me borrow some eyeliner and even finds me a spare toothbrush to use.

  At least her boat has a decent mirror.

  I study my reflection and wonder what it would be like if Col kissed me. I’ve had boyfriends before, but they were nothing like him. The last one was at the beginning of grade ten: Paul McCoy, my chemistry lab partner. We used to go for walks at lunch and hold hands, and sometimes at parties we’d make out. He always shoved his tongue in my mouth, and I always wondered what the big deal was. We didn’t go very far. I mean, he touched my breasts but not under my clothes. He used to squeeze them like he was trying to figure out if they were ripe or not. I wanted to have a boyfriend, but I didn’t real y like Paul touching me.

  I slip off Becca’s sweater, lift up my T-shirt and look down at myself. My bra is very white against the freckled skin of my chest and shoulders. I unsnap the front clasp 115

  Robin Stevenson

  and study my breasts. They are smal , and against my sort-of-tan they look almost as white as the bra. It’s strange to think that someone might want to touch them.

  I don’t think I’d mind if Col wanted to.

  Z

  Terry arrives before Col. We hear his engine approaching; then his dinghy bumps against the hul . Becca leaps up and goes up to the cockpit to welcome him aboard. I can hear them whispering outside for a minute or two before they climb down the steep stairs into the cabin.

  “Hi,” Terry says. “You’re the one from the boat in the yard, right? With the cracked rudder?”

  I nod. “Yeah. Rachel.”

  He ducks his head—he has to hunch way over in Becca’s little boat—and shakes my hand. “Good to meet you again.”

  Becca puts on some music, and she and Terry chat about fishing. My family hasn’t done any fishing on this trip, though I remember Dad buying some fishing gear before we left. It sounds like Becca does a lot though, and she keeps asking Terry questions about what kind of reef fish are safe to eat.

  “I read that you can cook barracuda with a silver coin inside,” Becca says. “If the coin turns black, the fish is contaminated.”

  Terry laughs. “Nah. That’s an old story, but I wouldn’t count on it.” He folds his legs underneath him on the 1 6

  A Thousand Shades of Blue

  berth. “I’ve had ciguatera poisoning once, and it’s no fun at al . I was sick for months. I couldn’t walk a straight line.

  I’d take a sip of beer, and it’d taste hotter than coffee. It’s the weirdest thing.”

  “Too bad,” Becca said. “Barracuda are so damn easy to catch. I’m always tossing them back in, and it seems such a waste.”

  There’s a lull in the conversation, and I ask Terry something I’ve been wondering about. “What’s it like to live here? I mean, it’s beautiful, but it’s so isolated.”

  “Isolated? From what?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Cities, I guess. Just—being on a little island with water all around.”

  He laughs. “I can hop on a plane and be in Nassau in an hour.”

  “I guess so.”

  Becca looks at me. “Terry went to university in New York,” she says.

  I try not to look surprised. “You did? So why…?”

  “Why am I back here working at the dockyard?”

  He laughs again, his eyes crinkling. “I like it here. And there aren’t a lot of jobs for graphic artists, though I do what I can.”

  “Terry does website design,” Becca explains.

  I feel oddly disconcerted. I’ve been so angry with Dad for his attitude and assumptions about the Bahamians, but I’m not much better.

  “Ahoy, Sister Ocean,” a voice cal s.

  “That’s Col,” I say. I’m not sure whether I should go 117

  Robin Stevenson

  and greet him, since I called him, or whether Becca wil , since it’s her boat.

  Becca grins at me. “If you two want to sit out in the cockpit and chat, we won’t be offended.”

  “Thanks,” I say, surprised. Then I notice how close Terry is sitting to her, and the way she keeps looking at him, and I realize that she’s the one who wants some privacy.

  Z

  Col climbs aboard. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I say.

  It’s a dark night. The moon has slipped behind the clouds and the wind is picking up, clanking the halyards against the mast and rippling the water even here in the protection of Red Shanks.

  “It must be getting rough in Kidd Cove,” I say.

  Col nods. “Looks like another cold front is moving through.”

  We stand there awkwardly for a moment. “Becca has a friend over,” I tell him. “We can go down below if you want, or we can sit out here.”

  “This is cool,” he says. “I’d rather be outside anyway.

  Want to go up to the foredeck where we can real y feel the wind? Or will you be too cold?”

  I glance down through the open companionway and see Terry and Becca down below. She’s snuggled up beside him, her head on his shoulder. He’s talking, but I can’t hear 1 8

  A Thousand Shades of Blue

  what he’s saying over the wind and the music drifting out of the cabin.

  “I like the foredeck,” I say. “It’s my favorite place on my boat. It’s the only place where I can get any privacy.”

  I blush. “I mean, you know. From my family.”

  Col follows me up to the foredeck. We sit side by side, our backs against the hard white fibreglass of the cabin roof. It’s a tiny spot we’re sharing, and our hips and shoulders touch lightly. Around us, the anchorage is still and dark, the outlines of the islands black against the sky.

  A few anchor lights glow dimly on distant boats. The wind whips my hair straight back and fil s me with a wild, reckless excitement. “I love this weather,” I say. “You know, I didn’t even want to come on this trip.”

  “You didn’t? How come?”

  I wrap my arms around myself and tuck my hands inside the long sleeves of Becca’s sweater. “Didn’t want to leave my friends or miss school.” I remember I’ve told him I’m eighteen. I keep talking, hoping he’ll just assume I meant college. “I don’t always get along so well with my folks and being stuck on a boat…wel , you can imagine.”

  He nods. “Yeah, that’s why I travel solo. Living on a boat can put a real strain on any relationship.” He looks at me and his face is only inches from mine. “It gets kind of lonely though, sometimes.”

  I swallow hard and am glad of the darkness. “I guess it would.”

  “So what are your parents like? Had they done much sailing before this?” he asks.

  119

  Robin Stevenson

  I shrug. “Before this trip, Dad was always working.

  He sailed on weekends, some. But this is something he’s always wanted to do.”

  “And your mom?”

  “I don’t think she was so into it, but you know parents.

  They always have to pretend to agree on stuff even when it’s obvious they don’t.”

  Col laughs. “You think? Mine sure didn’t.” He sticks his hand in h
is pockets. “They didn’t bother to pretend, I mean. It might have been more peaceful if they had.”

  “I hate pretending,” I say. “I hate lies. I hate it when everyone acts like everything is okay when it’s not okay at all.”

  “Whoa.” He leans back and looks at me. “I just meant that sometimes going along to get along is better than fighting all the time.”

  I picture Mom in Wil ’s arms. “It’s dishonest,” I say. “If people real y don’t agree, why do they stay together?”

  Col shrugs. “Lots of reasons, I guess. People are pretty complicated.” He pul s a small plastic bag from his pocket and shows it to me. “I didn’t know if you smoked, but I got this from a guy back at Norman’s Cay. It’s pretty good.”

  I’ve never smoked pot before, but I don’t really want to say that. “Umm. Not much. I mean, I’ve tried it, but…”

  He pul s a skinny joint out of the bag. “Wel , we’ll just smoke a little. It’ll keep us warm anyway.” He pulls his knees up in front of him and cups his hands, trying to 120

  A Thousand Shades of Blue

  shelter the cigarette lighter for long enough to get the joint lit. He’s wearing shorts, and his legs are tanned a smooth dark brown against the whiteness of the deck.

  I wonder what would happen if I touched him. If I just reached out and put my hand on his thigh. The hair on his leg looks soft as silk. I look away and suddenly wish we were in a house somewhere, and I could run into another room and call Jen on my cel .

  I know what she’d say. She’d tell me to go for it.

  121

  Seventeen

  I tak e a few cautious drags on the joint. It’s okay.

  I kind of like the smel , but nothing much happens, which is actual y a bit of a relief.

  Col leans back and closes his eyes, and in the same movement he stretches one arm out behind him and drapes it across my shoulders. It’s so casual, like he’s just put his arm there by mistake, or because it’s a comfortable position.

  I can barely breathe.

  “So,” I say, “how long are you going to be cruising for?

  I mean, do you have to go back the States in the spring?”

  He keeps his eyes closed, and I watch his face while he talks.“I’ll go back for a while. Hang out at my parents’ place in the Hamptons and catch up with some friends there,” he says. “I’ll probably fly back though. Leave the boat here.”