The Unimaginable

by Dina Silver

  “Yes, but it’s not about the people . . . There’s no bargaining power with people. The US and many countries will not negotiate with pirates. Period. It’s the companies that own the ships that end up paying large ransoms to get their cargo back. They pay for the cargo, not for the people. I just feel better having someone on board with a little more experience.”

  “The person you gave it to, is it a man?”

  He nodded. “He is a man.”

  I sat back in my chair and folded my hands in my lap. “I understand.” And I did. I couldn’t fault him for wanting someone with a little more experience and testosterone. “What more can I say? I’ll just have to dust off my thumbtacks and get my flyer back up on the board,” I said.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

  “You said yourself that hundreds of boats make this crossing each season without incident. There’ve been crew notices posted on that bulletin board for as long as I’ve lived here.”

  “Yes, I did say that.”

  We locked eyes for a moment before he looked away and checked the time on his phone.

  “I’m sorry I won’t get a chance to sail Imagine.”

  “Maybe when we get back you’d like to come aboard and check her out.”

  “I would love that,” I said. “By the way, I keep meaning to tell you how much I love that name, Imagine. It’s such a fantastic name for a boat. How did you think of it? Are you a John Lennon fan?”

  He shook his head, then fixed his eyes on the floor for a second, lost in thought. “It just sort of came to me,” he said after a long pause.

  “Well, it’s lovely.” I smiled but was disappointed. Yes, I could post my notice back on the board at the marina, but my desires had changed. I wanted to sail with him. “So when are you planning on leaving Thailand?” I asked.

  “We’ll probably stay in Phuket another few weeks or so and head out mid-January.”

  Just then Grant got a text and checked his cell phone. “Quinn wants to know where we are,” he said, and then looked up with a crooked smile. “And if you’re wearing a bikini.”

  I let out a laugh. “Tell him yes, and that we’re on our way.”

  Grant and I reached the pool deck to find Quinn in the water surrounded by a group of Swedish women. He waved us over.

  “Should we crash his party?” I asked Grant as we placed our towels on two pool chairs.

  “I can’t see why not.” Grant lifted his shirt over his head. His tan, muscular arms glowed in the bright sun, and I could hear my mother’s voice telling me not to stare. He tossed the shirt on the chair and looked up at me just as my eyes were making their way back to his face.

  I cleared my throat. “I’ll meet you over there.”

  “I’m in no hurry.”

  Glancing away from him, I made a slight turn with my body and reached to untie my sundress.

  “Allow me,” I heard him say as he stepped behind me.

  My spine tingled as his fingers brushed against the base of my neck. For a second I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin as the straps tumbled off my shoulders. I placed my hand on my chest to catch them. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” He walked back around as I quickly stepped out of the dress and pulled the rubber band out of my hair.

  I watched his eyes go from my face to my hair and then back again. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you again.” I blushed and loosely crossed my arms.

  “Shall we?” He extended his hand.

  Chapter 14

  The next day we all woke up with different agendas.

  “I went online before we left and made sure to print out the top ten things to do in Bangkok,” I told Grant and Quinn as we were sitting on the veranda having coffee.

  Quinn gave me a blank stare.

  “What?” I said.

  “We’re here on vacation, to relax and hit the pool, not to don fanny packs and snap pictures,” he responded.

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m here to explore.” I paused and looked over in Grant’s direction. He was refilling his mug. “Grant, would you care to join me?”

  “I’d love to,” he said without hesitation. “What did you have in mind?”

  Quinn shook his head and stood. “See you two later. If you need me, I’ll be sucking on complimentary frozen grapes in the deep end.”

  I folded my legs up on my chair and turned toward Grant with my piece of paper in hand. “Okay, well I admit to being a bit of a tourist. I’m not the type who likes to visit the back-road treasures that only the locals know about. I like the big, shiny, crowded ‘you can’t go there without seeing this’ type of spots.”

  He leaned back and crossed his legs.

  I continued. “According to TripAdvisor, the top three attractions in Bangkok are Wat Arun, also known as the Temple of Dawn—I’m sure you’ve seen pictures of it; it’s one of the more recognizable structures in all of Southeast Asia—The Grand Palace, and Wat Pho, the house of the famous Reclining Buddha . . . Oh, and the Floating Market. I’m dying to see that. The first three are all near each other, by the river. Also, The Bridge on the River Kwai would be cool too, but that’s a couple hours away.” I placed the paper in my lap and looked up to catch him smiling at me.

  “We’d better get a move on then,” he said, and slapped the armrests on his chair.

  Grant and I grabbed a taxi and headed first to The Grand Palace, which was about a twenty-minute ride from our hotel. The driver dropped us off on Na Phra Lan Road in the old city, close to the main entrance of the mammoth structure, where we stood and marveled while I read him some details about the palace from my printout and then grabbed my camera and began taking some pictures.

  “Will you stand over there?” I asked Grant. “I like having people in my pictures.”

  He gave me a blank stare and folded his arms over his chest. “I’m not really one for posing,” he said.

  “No posing necessary. Feel free to stand there and look as grumpy and annoyed as you’d like. It’s not like you’re in Thailand walking around some of the world’s most renowned—and shiny—architecture with the world’s most charming tour guide . . . but whatever.”

  He dropped his arms to his side and positioned himself in front of my camera with The Grand Palace at his back.

  “Say ‘I’m cheesy’!” I yelled.

  Grant lifted his arms up in a V formation and gave me a huge grin.

  “Thank you very much; that was fantastic.” And it was.

  “I thought maybe if I did one good smile, I’d be given reprieve for the rest of the pictures. And besides, you’re much more photogenic than I am. Let me take them of you instead.”

  “Deal. And by the way, it’s the compliment just now that won you the reprieve, not your two-bit impression of the Cheshire cat,” I said, and handed him my camera.

  The air was balmy that day, not stifling like it had been before, but warm and humid. Much like summer in Indiana. We took a few pictures outside The Grand Palace, which is so much more than one royal temple. It’s a series of buildings and pavilions boasting bright red and gold hues, with the traditional multitiered peaks atop the roofs made to look like hands in prayer formation, pointing toward the sky. Surrounding the palace were lush gardens and courtyards filled with people walking and resting and ogling.

  We spent close to two hours there, with me reading to Grant from brochures and posing for pictures all over the place. From there, it was a short ten-minute walk to Wat Pho, the Temple of the Reclining Buddha, where we removed our shoes and went inside.

  “I think I may refer to Quinn as the reclining Buddha from here on out,” Grant said as soon as we approached the statue.

  “Oh. My. God,” I said. “It looks like an enormous gold Slip ’N Slide. I can’t imagine how they got this thing in here. Maybe they built the building around it.”

  “It’s incredible. How long is this thing, Jess-ipedia?”

  I scrambled through my bag for the broch
ure. “Says here it’s forty-six meters. Oh Lord, I’m terrible with metric conversion . . .”

  “That’s about a hundred fifty feet long.”

  “Holy cow, that’s half the length of a football field,” I said.

  Grant turned to me, impressed. “But you can convert feet to yards? Either that or you’re a football fan.” He looked me over from head to toe. “Or former cheerleader maybe.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Ah, no and no. My ex-boyfriend played,” I started as he was forming a smile.

  He placed his hands in his pockets. “Go on.”

  “How about instead I tell you a little bit about this massive, golden, lounging Buddha? Says here that the Buddha is an impressive fifteen meters tall, forty-six meters long, and that his feet alone are five meters long and exquisitely decorated in mother-of-pearl.”

  “Thankfully, he can’t wear shoes in here. He’d never find a pair sixteen feet long.”

  “Very true. It also says that there is a famous Thai massage school in the building. Maybe we should check that out.”

  Grant walked over, placed his hands on my shoulders, and squeezed. It was a simple gesture really, but I shivered when his palms met my bare skin. He kneaded my neck and arms for about twenty seconds—during which I nearly lost consciousness—and then stepped in front of me.

  “There. How was that?” he asked.

  My eyes were closed. “I’m going to need, like, fifty-nine more minutes to give you my honest opinion.”

  “Let’s get out of here and find some spicy noodles and cold Thai beers to recline with,” he said.

  After a late lunch, we grabbed a cab and headed back to the hotel, where we met Quinn for a drink in the lobby.

  “Have you told him?” I said to Grant.

  “Told him what?” Grant asked.

  “That you gave the crew job to someone else.”

  Quinn looked over at Grant and then at me. “Of course he told me. I guess the old man’s not such a sucker for a pretty face after all.”

  Grant rolled his eyes.

  “I’m teasing you.” Quinn winked at me, indicating all was right in the world.

  “Just out of curiosity,” I started, “is that route you’re taking—the one that seems to be giving everyone so much concern—the only way to get to the Mediterranean? I mean, if there’s such a threat of danger, why not go around?”

  Grant finished tapping out a message on his phone before answering. “There really isn’t any other way into the Med from where we are, and it’s always been part of the plan—my plan, anyway—to sail through there and make stops in Greece, Spain, and Italy. Otherwise, there are other options, like going south by way of Madagascar and circling down around Capetown. But that would add another year. Or we could forgo the Med altogether and head east toward Japan, but that would add more time and take me off course as well. Once you go that route, it’s good-bye Europe, hello Alaska.”

  “Brrrrr,” I said, shivering.

  “Even colder with no one to warm you up at night,” he said, smiling at me.

  I blushed and noticed Quinn giving me a quizzical look as the waitress approached Grant. For a moment I was concerned that I might have misread Grant’s comment, so I looked away.

  After he ordered drinks for the table, Grant continued. “The dangers we and other boaters are facing have been prevalent for years now, with the highest risks being in the Gulf of Aden, a narrow passage between Somalia and Yemen that is highly populated with commercial traffic. It’s at this point that these Somali gangs started to realize that owners and insurers of unarmed crews would sooner pay a large ransom than risk damage to their shipments or a delay in their business. But in recent years and months, these pirate gangs have been spreading out beyond the gulf and far into the Arabian Sea.” He exchanged a glance with Quinn. “We’re hoping that we can get to the western tip of Oman and then set up a convoy with some other boats so that we can sail the Gulf of Aden together.”

  After cocktail hour, we met up with Adam and Angela, and everyone got ready for dinner. As soon as we were dressed—me in a black cocktail dress and heels—we took the elevator up to the top floor of the hotel and entered an executive suite, where a dining table was set near a large window, treating us to views of the city. Grant had the hotel prepare a traditional Thai dinner for us with dishes like fried snowfish with garlic and red chili sauce, beef curry with sweet potato and onion, and stir-fried vegetables in oyster sauce. As soon as Grant took a seat, Quinn pulled out the chair next to Grant and offered it to me.

  “I’m guessing you’d like to sit here,” he whispered.

  I looked into Quinn’s eyes and narrowed mine ever so slightly.

  “What?” he asked. “I figured you’d be thanking me.”

  Grant was talking with Angela as Quinn and I stood behind the chair. “Thank you,” I said.

  “Quinn knows all.” He tapped his index finger to his forehead. “Quinn sees all too.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Quinn know you hot for the old turkey.” He snorted out a muffled snicker, and we both laughed as I gladly took the seat next to Grant.

  The amount of pleasure brought on by hours of eating and drinking and laughing and storytelling was immense. I said very little during dinner because I was so keen on hearing about everyone else’s journey at the table that night.

  Adam and Angela had bought a home in Auckland about a year prior and were trying to start a family. Adam was a salesman for Coca-Cola, which he only drank when he had to, and they were going to be living in New Zealand for at least four years. Angela was a former ballet dancer and was hoping to start a dancing school for little girls. She wanted a daughter, she said, and was worried she was getting too old—at thirty-four—to have children.

  I told her about my mom and how she had my twin brothers at age thirty-four and me at forty-two, and it brought tears to her eyes. She was a kind, thoughtful woman who reminded me of Caroline and looked every part the ballerina she was. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun, and her figure was slim and toned. She looked me in the eyes when we spoke, and I hoped that she would get the child she was wishing for.

  There I was in one of the most exotic cities in the world, sipping expensive wine in one of the finest hotels and eating a buffet of custom delicacies. It was a moment of quiet consternation and conflicting emotions for me, where I actually was slightly uncomfortable in my own skin. I thought of Caroline’s homemade mashed potatoes and saturated chicken salad, and even though I was immensely happy for the first time in a long time, I missed Indiana.

  After a few hours and countless bottles of wine, the combination of missing my sister and feeling sorry for myself about losing the opportunity to sail with Grant was about all my alcohol-fueled emotions could handle. Just past midnight I excused myself from the table and headed back down to the suite. As I was getting undressed, there was a knock on my door.

  “One sec,” I said, fumbling to get out of my dress and into my nightshirt without falling off the edge of the bed.

  Grant was standing there when I opened the door.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nodded.

  “You sure?”

  “I’m fine. I think I had a little too much to drink, and I was thinking about my sister and such, and I thought I was ready to turn things around . . . I mean in.” My speech was slurred. “I mean it was time to turn in.” I rubbed my forehead.

  He let out a muffled laugh. “All right. You seemed a little quiet up there, so I just wanted to make sure you weren’t upset or anything.”

  I lifted my chin and looked up at him. My inhibitions, along with my self-control, were nonexistent at that moment, and for some reason I burst into tears. I brought my hand to my face and walked away from him. He followed me to the bed, where I sat and wept into his shoulder as he ran his hand up and down my spine.

  “I don’t know why I’m crying,” I said quietly.

  “It’s okay. Sometimes that’s when it feels
the best.”

  I took a deep breath and sat straight. “Talking with Angela about having kids made me think of my sister . . . and myself, I guess, and how . . .” I wiped my eyes. “How little I’ve focused on family and what’s really important.”

  “Looks like there’s your answer as to why you’re crying.”

  I nodded. “I’m always so concerned with running away and finding something better.”

  “Is this about the crew position?”

  I shook my head.

  Grant placed his hand gently under my chin and turned my face to him. “I just went with my gut. It had nothing to do with you being a woman. I don’t doubt for a second that you could do the job.” He paused and scanned my eyes. “Nor do I doubt how much I’d enjoy having your company every day.”

  The room was dark, and my head was spinning. Staring into his eyes, feeling his breath on my skin, made me want him more than I’d ever wanted anyone or anything in my entire life. I kept my eyes focused on his face as he studied me. His expression changed from sympathy to desire in an instant. His head tilted, his lips parted, and his eyes narrowed as he leaned forward and placed his mouth on mine.

  Before I had a second to enjoy the softness of his lips, he was standing in front of me, running his hand through his hair, and the words “I can’t; my wife” were left hanging between us like a black fog.

  Chapter 15

  He was gone as quickly as he had appeared.

  I ran into the foyer just as Quinn was walking through the front door.

  “Nice jammies,” he said.

  I crossed my arms over my chest and looked over at Grant’s room. His door was shut.

  “Did I interrupt something?” Quinn asked.

  I didn’t answer.

  “Is everything all right?”

  I shook my head and then hurried back into my room. Quinn followed me and shut the door behind him.

  “I’m such an idiot,” I said, pacing. Hearing Grant mention his wife was more sobering than a cold shower.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” I said, and buried my head in my hands.

  “Hey, come on. Sit down. Tell me what’s wrong. Is this about Grant giving away the crew job?”