Love for Sail

by Charles Dougherty

  By the time he joined her, she would have the assurance of having skippered the vessel without anyone to serve as a crutch. "At the rate I'm going finding crew, I may do the voyage solo," she said, surprising herself when she vocalized her thoughts. She had spent too much time alone, lately. She would have to watch that when she found crew for the trip. It wouldn't do to give voice to every stray thought when she was in the company of strangers.

  She had just finished her wine and hors d' oeuvres when she noticed a dinghy approaching. There was a young couple sitting up forward, and the man at the tiller looked familiar. Connie thought she had seen him on one of the neighboring boats. As the helmsman brought the little boat to a smart stop inches from Diamantista's rail, the young woman called, "Hello, Diamantista!"

  "Good afternoon," Connie said, noticing that the couple, if they were a couple, looked mismatched. The woman looked to be in her early twenties. She was well groomed and had an air of assurance about her. Connie pegged her as a college kid. The man was a few years older and looked as if he had made some token effort at cleaning up his appearance. He looked uncomfortable in his obviously new clothes, and she could see from the pale skin around his hairline that the haircut was recent, although his hair was still on the long side.

  "Are you Connie Barrera?" the woman asked as the man running the dinghy held onto Diamantista's rail.

  "Yes."

  "I'm Kirsten Jones and this is Jimmy Dorlan. We'd like to talk to you about the crew openings."

  "Great. Come on aboard." Connie stood up and stepped to the side deck, offering Kirsten a hand as she negotiated the step up. Jimmy scampered aboard and turned to thank the man who had dropped them off.

  "Have a seat in the cockpit," Connie said, motioning for them to precede her. Before she sat down across from them, she paused. "Can I offer you anything to drink?"

  "No, thanks," Kirsten said, frowning at Jimmy.

  Connie noticed that she shook her head as Jimmy started to open his mouth. After a second passed without his answering, Connie said, "How about for you, Jimmy?"

  "No. I'm good," he said.

  She saw the smirk that he threw Kirsten's way and wondered what their relationship was. "Did you have any trouble finding Diamantista?"

  "Not really," Kirsten said. "We just told the water taxi driver. He spotted you not long after you anchored. This is a beautiful boat. What is she?"

  "A Taswell 56, built by Ta Shing Yachts."

  "Pretty. Are you the owner?"

  "Yes, I am. Why do you ask?"

  "We checked on a couple of other boats, and they had paid captains. They couldn't really decide anything about when they were leaving; it was kind of up to the owner, and they, like, didn't know yet."

  "I see. I'm the owner, and the captain. Diamantista's ready to go. We just need to provision for the passage. As soon as I settle on crew, we'll make an overnight shakedown run to Norfolk. Figure we can take care of any last-minute stuff there and leave as soon as we've got a couple of days of decent weather to get across the Gulf Stream."

  "But what about for the rest of the trip? It's more than a couple of days, right?" Jimmy spoke for the first time, drawing another angry stare from Kirsten.

  "What do you mean, Jimmy?" Connie asked.

  "Um," he looked down at his hands. "I, er ... I was wondering about the weather for the rest of the trip. That's all."

  "We'll take what we get once we're across the Stream. I want settled conditions and no strong northerlies for the first day or two. After that, it won't matter; we'll have plenty of sea room to ride out whatever weather Mother Nature throws at us."

  "How long do you think we'll be at sea," Kirsten asked.

  "A couple of weeks, give or take a few days, depending on the wind. Tell me about your sailing experience, Kirsten."

  "I grew up sailing weekends and holidays with my family. Dad's got a Cape Dory 36 on Long Island Sound. And I'm on the sailing team in college, but that's mostly dinghy racing."

  "Where do you go to college?"

  "St. Mary's University."

  "And are you on some kind of break? How long is your schedule clear?"

  "Oh, I'm taking some time off. I'm thinking I'll go back in the spring. I kinda wanted to kick around a little before my senior year. Once I start interviewing for jobs and all, it'll be tough to do this kind of thing, so I figured now was the time."

  "What's the longest sailing trip you've made?"

  "We did the Newport to Bermuda race once when I was in high school. Took us six days; we didn't win." She smiled ruefully.

  "And how about you, Jimmy?"

  "Don't know much about sailing small boats. I was in the Navy for four years, though, right out of high school. I got a lot of sea time, but on ships. I was an Able Bodied Seaman. Deck crew. I can stand watch okay."

  "Let me show you around Diamantista," Connie said, buying herself a few minutes to think about her decision. She led them below and encouraged them to look around on their own as she watched to see what they did. Kirsten checked out the galley and the staterooms, poking into lockers and opening drawers. Jimmy wandered aimlessly, eventually finding his way to the engine room, where he rummaged a bit while Connie balanced her desperate need for crew against her instinct that something was off about this couple, particularly Jimmy.

  "It's really nice, Ms. Barrera," Kirsten said after a few minutes.

  "Thanks. Connie will do fine. You think you want to do this?"

  "Oh, yes. I surely do. Um ..."

  "What?"

  "I just wondered if you had any other crew for the trip."

  "No. It would just be the three of us. Why?"

  "Just curious, that's all."

  "I saw you checking out the galley. Can you cook?"

  "Pretty well. Basic stuff, though, nothing super fancy. That was my main job on the Bermuda race."

  Jimmy emerged from the engine room, wiping grease from his hands onto his new-looking khaki slacks. That made Connie smile.

  "And how about you, Jimmy?"

  "Me? I can't cook so good. Eggs, maybe. Stuff like that. Mostly I eat sandwiches, or McDonald's."

  "No McDonald's in mid-ocean, I'm afraid. I didn't mean could you cook. I wondered if you wanted to do this trip."

  "Oh. Well, yeah, I guess. Whatever, you know."

  "Do you have references?" Connie asked.

  "I thought you'd probably ask," Kirsten said, producing an index card with four neatly printed names with telephone numbers. "The first two are mine; the last two are for Jimmy."

  "Thanks." Connie took the card. "We've got a day's work to get ready for the leg to Norfolk. We need to make a grocery run and stow everything for sea. When could you two start?"

  Connie watched as they exchanged glances. "Whenever you say," Kirsten offered.

  "Eight o'clock tomorrow morning?" Connie suggested.

  "Sure."

  "One duffle bag each; bring your own foul weather gear. No drugs without a prescription, and U.S. passports. Can you both handle that?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Kirsten said.

  "Whatever," Jimmy nodded.

  "Good. I'll see you in the morning. We'll get you settled and go to the grocery store. Once we get everything stowed, we'll leave for Norfolk. You need a ride ashore?"

  "No, that's okay. If we can use the VHF, we'll call the water taxi. We're staying out near the mall; he can take us around to Ego Alley and we can catch the bus," Kirsten said.

  ****

  After Kirsten and Jimmy left, Connie called the people on the card Kirsten had given her. Kirsten's references were both connected to the sailing team at her university, and Jimmy's were former shipmates. Connie had hired enough people in her life to know that reference checks were meaningless most of the time, and these were no exception. No applicant ever listed a person who would give a bad reference, but it never hurt to call.

  She poured another glass of wine and picked up her cell phone, taking both to the cockpit. She set the wine on
the fold-out table in front of the steering pedestal and punched in Paul's number.

  "Hey, Connie. You back afloat?" Paul answered.

  'Yes, and I'm glad of it. I've had enough of being a dirt dweller. How're you doing?"

  "Okay. This stupid case is taking just enough time each day to keep me tied down. I'm not sure what it is lawyers do all day, but they keep asking the judge for extra time."

  "Don't forget they get paid by the hour."

  "Right. So how did the yard do with all the repairs?"

  "Great. Diamantista looks like new; ten coats of varnish on all the bright work sure changes a boat's appearance. Now I'm scared to touch it, though. After paying the bill, I understand why Dani threatens to kill people who scratch the varnish on Vengeance."

  "Get yourself an old nail polish bottle and clean it out, especially the brush. Then fill it with good varnish and keep it in your pocket. That way, you can touch up every scratch as soon as you notice it. If you don't, the moisture gets into the wood and lifts the edges of varnish around the scratch. Then you get to start over."

  "That's a good idea. It'll have to wait, though. I'm running out of time here. I'm probably off to Norfolk late tomorrow."

  "You found crew, then?"

  "Yeah, I think so. Two kids -- they wouldn't be my first choice if they weren't my only candidates, but I'll see how they do between here and Norfolk."

  "Want me to check 'em out?"

  "Sure. Can't hurt. I'll email you with the details late tomorrow after I get their passports. All I've got right now is their names and a couple of references each."

  "Did you call them?"

  "Sure. Both of them walk on water; they could probably jog to the Virgin Islands and carry the boat. You know how that goes."

  "I wish you had more time. It'll take me a day once I get the particulars. How long are you going to stay in Norfolk?"

  "No longer than I have to. Right now, the weather's looking good for crossing the Stream any time in the next few days. We'll spend the night there day after tomorrow in the anchorage at Hospital Point. If nothing breaks on the way down, I'll top off the diesel tanks and leave the next morning."

  "Think you'll be able to sail to Norfolk?"

  "Probably not. The forecast is for a light southwest breeze on the Bay, but that's okay. It'll give me a chance to shake down the engine, just in case."

  "Right. Well, send me the details on those two and I'll run them as fast as I can. If I get anything worth knowing, I'll send you a text message on your sat phone; you'll probably be out of cell phone range by the time I've got anything."

  "That's fine. I'm sure they're okay. They just seemed to have an odd relationship -- kind of mismatched. Given that there're only three of us and we'll be standing four-hour watches, they won't see much of one another anyway, so it won't matter."

  "Okay. Well, be careful, and don't forget to turn the tracker on so I can follow your route. Wish I was coming with you."

  "I do, too, Paul. I miss you. I realized this afternoon that I've started talking to myself again."

  They both chuckled at that.

  ****

  "She's hot, for an old broad," Jimmy said.

  "She didn't look that old to me."

  "Thirty, at least. Maybe thirty-five. Them Mexican women, they don't show their age much."

  "Your red neck is showing."

  "What're you talkin' about? You don't think she's Mexican? She's some kinda beaner, for sure."

  Kirsten shook her head and took a deep drag on the joint, holding the smoke in her lungs as she passed it to him. She exhaled with a long sigh. "That's good stuff," she said. "Think we got enough to last us to the Virgin Islands?"

  "Yeah. We got plenty, but the capitán, she say we can't bring no drugs on her sheep."

  In spite of being disgusted by Jimmy's bigotry, Kirsten found that incredibly funny. Encouraged by her fits of dope-induced giggles, Jimmy took another hit and passed the joint back to her. "No drugs without prescriptions," he said in a falsetto voice, pulling at the chest of his T-shirt to make it look as if he had breasts. "Or jou weel be keyholed an' walk on zee plank."

  "Keyholed!" Kirsten squealed, laughing until tears ran down her cheeks. "It's keel-hauled, you moron. And she doesn't have an accent."

  The ringing of Jimmy's cell phone intruded on their high. He fumbled it out of his pants pocket and looked at the caller i.d. "Shit. It's him," he said, sitting up straight as he thumbed the green button. "Yeah, what?" he growled.

  Kirsten bit down on her right index finger to keep from laughing as he struggled to maintain his tough-guy voice. She could hear the other party, but not well enough to understand the conversation.

  Jimmy grunted into the phone several times. "No," he barked. "Can't get there that quick." He listened for a moment, the other person's inflection rising in anger. "An hour. Okay, man. Chill. I'm on my way." He disconnected the call. "Asshole," he muttered as he slipped the phone back in his pocket.

  "What's happening?" Kirsten asked.

  "He's got it, but he won't bring it here. Gotta play spy games -- meet him on the third bench out on the north side of Ego Alley. He'll have a folded newspaper under his arm. Don't talk to him or nothin'. When he sees us, he'll put the newspaper down and get up and leave. I take his seat and pretend to read the newspaper for five minutes, then if nobody pays me any attention, I pick up the duffle bag under the bench and walk away. Anything's wrong, he's gonna leave and take his friggin' paper and duffle bag with him."

  "I'm hungry," Kirsten said. Let's eat a big dinner in one of those restaurants on the water after you meet him."

  "Yeah, okay."

  "What's the matter?"

  "He's just such a dick-head, that's all. One day I'm gonna keyhole that sumbitch."

  "It's keel-haul, dumb-ass," Kirsten shrieked, clutching her sides in laughter.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  Connie felt her fever-like pre-departure anxiety fade as she turned from Back Creek into the main channel of the Severn River. The relatively open water of the Chesapeake beckoned. It was late afternoon and the weather forecast for their trip to Norfolk was benign. The breeze was light and from the southwest, but there was not enough wind to make sailing attractive.

  They had 120 nautical miles to cover before they reached the mouth of the Bay at Norfolk, Virginia. A cold front was predicted later in the week; she wanted to get out of the Bay and across the Gulf Stream ahead of it. Then she could take advantage of the strong northerly winds that would follow.

  Connie's plan was typical. She would ride the northerly winds from the frontal passage to a point south of Bermuda, around 25 degrees North and 65 degrees West. Then she would turn south to pick up the trade winds. With a steady 15 to 20 knots on the port beam, the remaining thousand miles to the eastern Caribbean would be a fast, easy ride.

  The 600 miles in those first few days were the tough ones. Not only was the crew green, not yet into the rhythm of the sea, but they would be crossing the Gulf Stream. The legendary river of warm, tropical water flows north along the east coast of the U.S. at speeds as high as four knots. The width of the Stream could be close to a hundred miles at the latitude where they would enter it.

  With a southerly breeze, the crossing was usually a pleasant trip, the crisp fall temperatures moderated by the Gulf Stream's warmth. Conditions in the Stream could deteriorate quickly if the wind shifted to the north and picked up strength as it did with a frontal passage. The strong wind against the current would set up big, square-shaped waves only seconds apart, dreaded by generations of sailors.

  Cape Hatteras would be just to the south as they crossed the Stream. The effect of those square waves piling up on the relatively shallow waters that extended far out to sea from the cape was responsible for the area's reputation as the graveyard of ships.

  Connie reined in her thoughts before she worked up another bout of anxiety. First, she had to get to Norfolk. Then she could worry about crossin
g the Gulf Stream.

  Right now, her biggest problem was whether she could rely on Kirsten and Jimmy to stand watches. Tonight would give her some idea of their skills and dependability. She was more worried about Jimmy. His lack of sailing experience wouldn't matter tonight. They would be under engine power, following a direct course along the western edge of the well-marked ship channel. With the autopilot preprogrammed to follow a course a few hundred yards outside the channel, the only problems would arise from encountering other vessels doing the same thing.

  She would take the first watch, from 8 p.m. until midnight. Kirsten would take the watch from midnight until 4 a.m., leaving Jimmy with 4 a.m. until 8 a.m. Connie had chosen the schedule thinking that as they got farther south from the Baltimore-Annapolis area, the traffic would get progressively lighter and more spread out. Not only that, but the Bay got steadily wider to the south. By the time Jimmy came on watch, they would be out of sight of either shore and their chances of seeing other traffic would be minimal.

  She watched Jimmy as he scrubbed the foredeck, washing the mud from the anchor chain over the side. He was giving it a halfhearted effort at best. Connie reminded herself that she needed to check his work. She wasn't worried about the mud, but she had told him to secure the anchor in its chocks by tying a short length of line from the anchor shackle to the nearest cleat.

  Trivial as it seemed, she knew what could happen if several hundred pounds of anchor and chain came adrift in unexpectedly rough water. At best, you would have to fight the elements and gravity to try to retrieve the ground tackle; at worst, the anchor could swing back into the hull with enough momentum to put a hole below the waterline, endangering the boat and her crew.

  She didn't trust Jimmy; he had a shifty air about him. Also, the way his eyes moved over her body when he thought she wasn't looking annoyed her. She was determined to get the boat to the islands before winter weather made it a tougher trip, so she was going to make this work with Jimmy and Kirsten.

  She didn't want a confrontation now; they might jump ship in Norfolk. Once they were at sea, though, she intended to sort Jimmy out; she knew his type. She'd grown up amidst predatory males; he wouldn't be the first one to regret leering at her.