by Trish Doller
Taylor thinks about night sailing, bridge jumping, drinking boot water, and ‘Make your own luck.’ She answers without hesitation. “We’re in.”
Willa’s eyebrows hitch up over the top of her sunglasses. “We are?”
“It’s what Finley would do.”
“Okay.” Willa’s sigh is skeptical, but she nods her assent. “We’re in.”
Dale chooses the next casino on the boardwalk and leads the way inside. The atmosphere is busy, it’s noisy, and there are people everywhere. Families pass through from the boardwalk to the hotel. Poker and roulette players cluster around the gaming tables. And there is an army of slot machines lined up in rows. No one asks to see their IDs. No one even seems to notice them at all.
“We should probably avoid the tables.” Willa keeps her voice low. “Too many people and too much time for them to realize we’re not legal.”
Taylor feels a tiny twist in her stomach, but she ignores it. “Good point. So maybe we should try the slots?”
Except the machines are loud, flashy, and kind of complicated. And there doesn’t seem to be a good place on the casino floor for a group of teenagers to remain invisible. After the boys have chosen their machines, Willa splits away to a different row and Taylor follows.
“What do we do now?” she asks.
Willa feeds a five-dollar bill into one of the machines. “I have no idea.”
Taylor chooses the slot machine beside Willa’s and puts in ten dollars, which gives her one thousand credits. She follows the instructions on the screen, making bets on each spin, but she’s reckless and before long all her credits are gone. The novelty has worn off and she’s about to suggest they go look for the boys when Willa’s machine goes crazy. Jaunty music plays and WINNER flashes on the screen above a total of $751.76.
“Oh my God!” Willa looks a little dazed. “I think I just won.”
“You think?” Taylor laughs and snaps a quick photo of the machine. She tucks her phone into her pocket as the slot attendant comes over to verify the win. Taylor stands as tall as she can, trying to look older, more . . . legal.
“I’ll just need to see your ID,” the man says to Willa.
She hands him her fake license. He studies it for a long moment, then glances up, comparing the ID photo to the girl standing in front of him. Taylor’s heart climbs into her throat and sticks there as she waits for his verdict.
“I’ll be back shortly,” the attendant says, and walks away, taking Willa’s ID with him.
“I’m starting to think this was a bad idea,” Taylor whispers as a bead of sweat trickles down her spine. Across the room, the slot attendant is talking to another hotel employee. He gestures in their direction. “Maybe we should leave.”
“You can’t be serious,” Willa says. “I just won seven hundred and fifty bucks, and that ID worked just fine in Canada.”
“I know, but my parents are already upset about the credit card thing. If we get caught—”
“This was your idea,” Willa says as the slot attendant and the other man disappear through a door marked CASINO STAFF ONLY. “It’s what Finley would do, remember?” She gives Taylor a bitter look. “Maybe it’s no big deal to you, but I could buy a decent laptop for college. I can’t just walk away from that kind of money.”
“If you get arrested, do you honestly think Case Western is going to let you in?” Taylor says. “I’m still a minor, Willa, but you’re not. So take those odds if you want, but I’m getting out of here.”
Willa is still standing beside the slot machine as Taylor walks away. She moves toward the exit quickly, trying hard not to break into a run, trying not to draw attention to herself. Taylor doesn’t stop until she is out in the warmth of the summer evening, down the boardwalk. She goes into a souvenir shop to buy a bottle of water. Despite the icy chill of the casino, her underarms are sweaty and her heart rate has not returned to normal.
Along the boardwalk, the lights are starting to come up as the day fades into night. The amusement park rides are outlined in light and Taylor thinks about how pretty the grand carousel will look in the dark. Alone, she walks down to the Steel Pier and buys a ticket.
Taylor climbs the stairs to the carousel’s upper deck and chooses a brown horse with a black flowing mane and a saddle painted with flowers. The carousel begins to turn, and with each revolution, the foolishness of the casino recedes, until Taylor feels more like herself again.
The ride slows to a halt and Taylor leaves the Steel Pier, backtracking for her bike. She wonders if she will always be the boring friend, if she’s immature for preferring carousels to illegal gambling. Except today wasn’t boring. They were having fun until they went to the casino and Willa turned into someone Taylor didn’t recognize.
She arrives at the marina to find Willa’s bike lashed to the bow of the sailboat. The engine is running, the mainsail cover has been removed, and the winch handles are tucked in their pockets in the cockpit—all things they do when they’re preparing to leave.
“Were you going to leave without me?” Taylor demands as Willa comes up from the cabin.
“Of course not.”
Taylor maneuvers her bike aboard. “What happened at the casino?”
“Nothing,” Willa says. “When you’re done stowing your bike, would you untie the spring line, please.”
“The police aren’t after you, are they?”
“Don’t be dense.”
Taylor has so many questions, but Willa is coiled so tightly she looks like she might explode. Taylor secures her bike to the lifelines, then goes back to untie the rope that connects the middle of the boat to the dock. “Where are we going?”
“Away from here.”
“What happened to the boys?”
“Could you get the bow line now?”
“Are you mad at me for leaving the casino?”
“God, Taylor, is it not obvious that I don’t want to talk about this right now?” Willa shouts. “I just want to get the hell out of this place!”
Taylor scurries up on deck and removes the bow line. Willa backs the boat slowly out of the dock. With a cloud of weirdness hanging over the boat, they motor silently down the Absecon Inlet. Past the breakwall. Out into the dark ocean.
Willa
ATLANTIC CITY SHOOK WILLA TO the core and she ran from it, putting distance between herself and the monster who’d stood in the casino, snarling and greedy for something that didn’t really belong to her. They sailed all night to Cape May, topped off the gas cans at first light, and sailed up Delaware Bay to the eastern end of the Chesapeake & Delaware Canal. They divided their days into four-hour shifts, and Willa’s interactions with Taylor were of the ships-in-the-night variety, sharing information about weather and wind conditions. Never anything personal. And certainly not what happened in Atlantic City.
Now the boat is tied to a dock at the Delaware City marina, and Willa doesn’t want to confess that she watched the CASINO STAFF ONLY door with the unwavering stare of a junkyard Doberman. That when the slot attendant came out, he brought a security guard. That Peyton was correct about what happens to underage gamblers. That being escorted to the front door and told never to return was the single-most embarrassing moment of Willa’s life. That she’d left her fake ID and most of her dignity at the Tropicana.
So she says nothing. Instead, Willa puts out fenders and double-checks Taylor’s knots. Docked in front of Whiskey Tango Foxtrot is a big bulky trawler called What’s Next with a Great Loop flag fluttering on the bow. An older woman with a tiny Yorkshire terrier waves. “Hello! Are you Loopers, too?”
“Um, sort of . . . ,” Willa says. “We’re on our way to Key West from Ohio, but we’ve basically been following the Great Loop route.”
The woman’s cheeks form plump dumplings as she smiles. “I’d say that’s close enough to count.”
It isn’t strictly true—only people who have completed the entire loop get a flag—but if this lady is a typical Looper, then Captain Norm wasn
’t wrong about them being friendly people. She has happy eyes and her hair color matches her dog’s. Willa wonders if it’s deliberate, like Finley’s neighbor who dyes her hair exactly the same tawny gold shade as her Afghan hounds.
Taylor comes up on the bow as the woman asks, “Are you girls making this trip all by yourselves?”
“Yep,” Willa says. “We can’t do the whole loop because we start college in the fall.” She doesn’t want this lady to feel sorry for them, so she omits the part about Finley.
“A few years back we met a couple of gals who were sailing the loop together, but they were older than you,” the woman says, then speaks into a two-way radio. “Norm, honey . . .”
Taylor’s eyebrows shoot up and she whispers, “Norm?”
Statistically speaking, there are thousands of men in the United States named Norm, but this is the Great Loop, which means the probability of this Norm being the Captain Norm is higher than in the ordinary world.
“. . . what were the names of those two gals who sailed the loop?” the woman says into the radio. “The ones who were interviewed by all the magazines.”
Norm’s reply is inaudible, but the lady nods.
“That’s it. Katie and Jessie. They were from Michigan, as I recall,” she tells Willa and Taylor. “Anyway, I admire you young women who do brave things like this. I couldn’t go without air-con—oh, good heavens, where are my manners? I’m Amy.” She switches to the kind of baby talk people reserve for toddlers and pets. “And this little schweetie is Sunshine.”
For the first time in days, Willa’s heart feels light and she dimples into a smile. “I’m Willa . . . and this little schweetie is Taylor.”
Amy has a hooting laugh, which cracks them up. Willa hopes she doesn’t think they’re laughing at her, but she smiles again as she says, “Aren’t y’all just the cutest things? Listen, would you like to join us for dinner?”
The thought of having a home-cooked meal is almost enough to make Willa cry, especially after two days of nearly nonstop sailing. Taylor’s head practically nods off her neck as she answers for them. “We’d love that. Thank you.”
“Come on over in an hour,” Amy says. “We’re having lasagna with salad and garlic bread.”
“Can we bring anything?” Willa asks.
“Just yourselves.”
“So . . . are we ever going to talk about Atlantic City?” Taylor asks as they clean the cabin and gather their dirty laundry. “Are you okay?”
“They threw me out of the casino,” Willa says, folding her comforter.
Taylor blinks. “Wait. That’s it?”
“I’ve never been thrown out of anywhere in my life!” Willa exclaims. “The security guard led me out by the arm like I was some sort of criminal, and the boys . . . They took off running. The guard told me if I ever come back—like ever—they’ll have me arrested.”
“Which is better than actually being arrested,” Taylor points out.
“I know. It’s just—I’ve spent the past two days dying of embarrassment. I knew you were right to leave, but the idea of having that much money prickled under my skin like a fever and . . . I was awful.”
“You were a little awful.”
Willa tries not to laugh, but when Taylor crinkles up her nose and smiles, Willa knows all is forgiven. Still, she apologizes. “I’m really sorry.”
“The good thing about being alone was that I had some time to think,” Taylor says. “Finley talked me into doing a lot of things I might not have done, but I think—well, I want to have my own adventures now, even if they’re boring by her standards.”
Willa nods. “So maybe we need to stop trying to figure out what Finley would do and just do what we want to do.”
“And if one of us feels uncomfortable, we talk about it,” Taylor says. “Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“Right now I’m asking myself what Taylor wants, and Taylor wants lasagna.”
Willa cracks up laughing. “Come on, schweetie. Let’s go eat dinner with Captain Norm.”
“Hang on. There’s something I want to do first.”
While Taylor is gone, Willa empties Pumpkin’s litter box—something she swore she’d never do, but it’s the last thing left to clean—and a few minutes later Taylor returns with a small bouquet of red tea roses.
“Where’d you get those?” Willa asks.
“I might have taken them off a bush in someone’s yard.”
“You know that’s something Finley would totally do, right?”
“We shouldn’t go empty-handed. It’s bad manners.” Taylor has the same mischievous grin as her brother, but Willa can’t help laughing.
“I love how you justify theft with proper etiquette.”
“Hey,” Taylor says. “My mom raised me right.”
Willa is still giggling as they approach the trawler. A man with a white Hemingway beard comes out onto the back deck and waves a hand in greeting.
“Do you think he looks like the guy in the book?”
“Not sure,” Taylor whispers back. “Maybe.”
Norm opens a little gate to let them onto the boat. Through an open double doorway, the cabin looks as if a Cracker Barrel gift shop exploded. Candles. Antiqued bird knickknacks. A galvanized tray full of shells. Paneled walls are covered with framed pictures of smiling children and vintage-look wooden signs that say things like BETTER TOGETHER and BLESS THIS BOAT. Country plaid cushions adorn the settee. It’s not really Willa’s style, but she has to admire Amy’s commitment to the theme.
Amy stands at a counter, chopping yellow peppers in a galley with a proper oven, a small fridge, and even a microwave. After a month of food unevenly warmed on the camp stove—or just eating meals cold—Willa would sell her soul for a microwave.
“Come on in,” Amy says, gesturing at the large U-shaped settee with a table in the middle, as Norm settles in a recliner and picks up the remote for a full-size TV. Sunshine runs over to sniff the girls’ ankles. “Make yourselves at home.”
“These are for you.” Taylor offers Amy the roses.
“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” she says. “But they’re beautiful. Thank you. Norm, honey, will you fetch me the short vase?”
Even though he hasn’t been in the recliner long enough to get comfortable, he puts down the remote and joins her in the galley. Norm opens a high cupboard, takes down a clear plastic vase, fills it with water, and even arranges the flowers.
“Thank you.” Amy kisses his cheek. “You’re the best.”
He grumbles, but Willa catches a hint of a smile before he returns to his chair.
“So, um—where are you from?” Willa asks.
“I’m originally from outside Nashville,” Amy says. “And Norm is from Baltimore. We met out here on the loop several years ago, and the four of us—including our former spouses—became great friends. After my husband and I divorced and Norm’s wife lost a battle with pancreatic cancer, we kinda fell for each other.”
“That’s sad,” Taylor says. “And romantic.”
Amy nods. “It’s both. But I love the stuffin’ outta him.”
Norm just shakes his head as he changes the channel. “Same here.”
A timer dings and Amy pulls a pan from the oven, sending the scent of meat and tomato sauce wafting through the boat. Willa’s stomach rumbles.
“Taylor,” Amy says, “if you wouldn’t mind grabbing the salad . . . and Willa, hon, would you bring the garlic bread? It’s right there in the basket on the counter.”
Soon they’re all settled around the table with plates of steaming lasagna. Actual plates, not plastic. Silverware that matches. Drinking glasses with—sweet Jesus!—ice cubes.
“What we need is a trawler,” Willa says.
“Or maybe you could just adopt us,” Taylor suggests, making Amy hoot. Then, “Okay, I have to know. Are you the Captain Norm? The one who wrote Getting Loopy with Captain Norm?”
Amy claps her hand together and beams. “See, Norm,
I told you people would buy your book. You have fans!”
“I knew it!” Taylor exclaims. “Your book is super helpful. We use it every day.”
“No exaggeration,” Willa agrees.
Norm’s face is flushed as he offers them a closemouthed smile. “Thanks.”
“Maybe after dinner we can get a picture of you with the girls,” Amy suggests.
He rolls his eyes, but after Willa and Taylor help with the dishes, Amy pulls out her digital camera. Norm is patient as his wife snaps what feels like a hundred photos, each time saying, “Oh, that is just precious. Let me get another one.”
“Would you mind if I run back to the boat to get the book for you to sign?” Taylor asks.
“I s’pose that would be all right,” he says.
Willa waits until Taylor is off the boat, then says, “Tomorrow is Taylor’s eighteenth birthday. Would you be willing to let me borrow your oven to bake her a cake? We only have a camp stove and—”
“Oh, honey, of course,” Amy interrupts. “Do you need a cake mix because I have cake and frosting and—we’ll throw her a party. What’s her favorite kind of food?”
“She loves tacos.”
“Okay, so tomorrow morning we’ll have Norm keep her busy while you and I run to the grocery store for taco fixings and balloons and such.” Amy wanders toward the galley, talking more to herself than to anyone else. “We’ll need candles, I think.”
“Now you’ve gone and revved her up,” Norm says.
“How can you tell?”
He sniffs a laugh. “Good point. Taylor can help me scrub the hull.”
“I’m sad to miss out on that.”
He cracks an actual smile, which feels hard-earned. He levels a finger at Willa. “I like you, kid.”
“Thanks.” She laughs. “I like you, too.”
Taylor
HER BIRTHDAY ARRIVES AS UNCEREMONIOUSLY as every other day of the year, and as they eat breakfast, Taylor wonders if Willa even remembers. But before Taylor has time to read too much into it, a gruff voice calls out, “Hey, Taylor. I need you to come help me scrub the hull.”
