by Dina Silver
February 11, 2011
Dear Caroline & Sophie,
I promise to be better about writing. Anyway, we just spent three restful days anchored off of the island of Uligan, in the Maldives.
Talk about picture-perfect. I have never seen such a beautiful place in my entire life. No, Caroline, not even Fort Myers. The oddest contrast is that it’s a conservative Islamic country, so the women here are all in burkas, when they should be in bikinis. Very interesting. Also, the water is like glass and packed with fish. From our boat, we could snorkel amongst giant angelfish, triggerfish, and manta rays. And from the beach, we were entertained by over fifty spinner dolphins.
I wish you could see it one day, Caroline. I mean it. It’s the most lovely, peaceful, picturesque place in the world.
Great place to fall in love. Just saying . . .
I could probably spend the rest of my life here braiding hair for money, but sadly we are leaving tomorrow, making our way over to Oman and then eventually the Red Sea. Grant says it will be a long trip—possibly nine days at sea. More on dreamy Captain Grant later.
We are now traveling with two other boats that we met in Galle in sort of a convoy situation so that we can look out for each other. The more eyes, the better. Strength in numbers, blah, blah, blah. Anyway, lots of love to you both. Miss you like crazy. I will e-mail again soon.
Jess
The day after we pulled anchor and left the Maldives, it was my turn to sit on the night watch, and the waters on this passage were the first that were beginning to be truly threatening. I took a late afternoon nap, and Quinn woke me at about half past midnight when his shift ended. By about one o’clock in the morning, both of the guys were asleep. I might have said a prayer or two. One for safe passage, and one for smooth sailing.
I sat for a while with the DVD player watching When Harry Met Sally for the fortieth time until I realized that I was on the verge of falling asleep. I switched it off, did a few stretches, and then opened a Diet Coke before going about organizing the cockpit, which was always left in disarray after Quinn’s shift. I went to pick up some magazines off the dashboard when suddenly Grant’s leather book dropped to the floor, and the folded note fell out of its secure resting place between the pages. My eyes darted toward the stairs to make sure no one was coming, but who would be coming at this hour? They were both sound asleep. Still, I paused for a moment, thinking the commotion might have woken Grant, before carefully lifting both the book and the note from the deck and checking the stairwell again. The coast was clear, but just in case, I tiptoed to the bow with the book and note in hand and sat down with my back to the cockpit.
For about five minutes I held them in my lap, debating what I wanted to do against what I should do.
Just slide the note back inside, and place the book where you found it.
vs.
They’re both sound asleep; one little peek will satisfy your curiosity and do no harm.
It was pitch-black outside, but I always had my flashlight with me when I was on watch, so I switched it on and opened the book.
Emma by Jane Austen.
I smiled, remembering it was one of Caroline’s favorites. I read the first few lines aloud in a whisper.
“Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her.”
I took a deep breath. “Lucky girl, that Emma,” I said quietly to myself, thinking Grant’s wife must have considered herself lucky at one time too. I closed the book and placed it next to me before turning my attention to the folded piece of paper in my left hand. It was a standard white piece of printer paper. Quite worn around the edges and at the folds. I ran my thumb over the top of it, wondering how many times Grant had unfolded it and read it during the past couple of years. I wanted to read it—badly—but didn’t want to betray him in any way. Had anyone else ever read the letter? Would it give me some insight into what kind of person he was, or would it only give insight into how intrusive I was?
I quickly grabbed the book and the folded note and headed back to the cockpit. I stood, poised to place the paper back in the book, and the book back where I found it, when instead I unfolded the note. It was typed, not handwritten as I was expecting, and I quickly began reading it, not daring to move any part of my body except for my eyes.
You’re going to hate me for writing this letter, but I’m doing it anyway. I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk about my illness, but there are a few things that need to be said, and if you won’t listen, then maybe you can just read this when you’re ready.
Despite how well you and everyone else are trying to pretend, I know I’m dying. Maybe you sense it too. I know you’re praying for things to turn around, and for me to come home, but in my heart I know that’s not going to happen. I feel the erosion inside of me. It’s not always painful, but it’s always present. My mind and my soul have made peace with it, and I’m not scared for myself anymore, only for you. My sweet, gentle Grant.
Who’s going to scratch your back on that one spot near the center of your spine when it itches? Who’s going to set the timer on the coffeepot, since you refuse to learn after six years? Who’s going to buy you new socks when yours get holes in them? Who will bring you a bowl of rocky road every night? Who’s going to sail around the world with you? Who’s ever going to love you as much as I do?
As I lie here, watching time slip from my grasp, all I think about is you. You don’t deserve this, and I’m so sorry for that, but I’m not sorry for being the center of your world . . . if only for a short time. All I can dare to hope is that you will be okay. That my illness doesn’t take two lives instead of one. And that you won’t remember me this way. Please don’t remember me like this. I know it will take you a long time to get over losing me, but I will never be at peace until I know you’re happy again. I miss your smile already, because it’s been months since I’ve seen it.
Please take the trip we dreamed about. Imagine me on board and I will be there. Imagine me with you every step of the way. Imagine me when you look into the water. Imagine me clapping and jumping and smiling and cheering you on. Imagine me at peace once you return home safely.
As for what you do afterward . . . I can only imagine.
My limbs went stiff as I held the paper in my hand, tears streaming down my cheeks. Finally, I slapped my hand over my mouth to muffle a loud, singular sob that could not be contained in my throat.
I quickly folded the letter back up and placed it between the pages of the book. Sniffling, I ran back to the bow and burst into tears. I’d never felt so many emotions in one moment. Sorrow, sympathy, shame. Tears were now spilling into my hands and onto my lap. It was the most beautiful and most awful thing I’d ever read, and I would never look at Grant the same way again. It’d be a miracle if I could look him in the eyes the next morning. He’d finally opened up to me in Sri Lanka and admitted to feeling like himself again. I hated myself for what I’d just done.
Once I caught my breath and dried my face with my hands, I went back to my post. I placed the magazines on top of Emma and swore never to distress or vex her again.
At 5 a.m. I tapped Grant on the shoulder a couple times until he stirred and awoke for his shift, then I retreated to my bunk, exhausted.
Chapter 20
When I woke up that afternoon, I found Grant at the wheel and Quinn with a bowl of soup on the bow.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep so long.”
“It’s only noon.”
I sat next to him in the cockpit and looked over our dailies. Each day we received fresh reports of any piracy attacks that had occurred over the last twenty-four hours.
Grant looked over at me as I was reading through them. “I got those pretty early this morning, and the trend is disconcerting. Several attacks occurred ve
ry close to the exact route we just crossed. One was actually in the same location they warned us about three days ago.”
I looked up from the pages and tried to read his expression. “Are you really worried?”
“I have an uneasy feeling. She’s so vulnerable,” he said, referring to the boat. “I hate that.”
Quinn made his way back to the cockpit when he saw I was there. “Morning, squirt. Don’t let those pages drain the color from your face,” he said, pointing to the reports with his elbow.
“We need to be on our toes, Quinn,” Grant said.
Quinn nodded. “I know, and we are. Also, we’ve got our convoy for a few more days. All of those are commercial or military ships, so I think we should all be okay, don’t you?”
I looked over at Grant, and he nodded in agreement.
That night we had an early dinner of grilled mahimahi and a caprese salad that I made with some fresh tomatoes we’d picked up at a street market in Uligan. After I cleaned up, Quinn lay down for a nap because it was his turn for the overnight shift, and Grant opened a bottle of wine. It was a perfect evening. Warm air, no wind, and the rhythmic sound of the water splashing against the boat. After what I’d done to Grant—albeit unbeknownst to him—I vowed to manage my expectations and stop putting any pressure on either of us. We sat together and talked and laughed, and I didn’t hint or holler about anything that was going on between us.
“I see you’ve e-mailed your sister a few times. How is she doing?” he asked.
I shrugged. “As expected.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that she doesn’t get out much. She’ll be in Indiana forever, but she’s happy there. Before I left, she began dating a guy who works at the bank.”
“Not much of a dreamer, like you?”
I shook my head. If Caroline did have big dreams, I never knew about them.
“Any other siblings?”
“Nine of us in all.”
He nearly gasped. “Wow, you’re kidding me.”
“Nope. And you’re looking at number nine right here. The mistake that keeps on . . . taking,” I joked.
“You’re the loveliest mistake I ever met.”
“Thank you.”
“I guess I shouldn’t ask you too many questions. You might run out of surprises.”
I didn’t mind talking about myself, but there was so little to say in comparison to his stories. I didn’t want to put him to sleep with tales of show ponies and high school football games. All I really wanted to hear were more stories about his trip around the world and, more importantly, what he had in store for himself once I departed Imagine and headed back to Phuket.
We talked for a couple hours, feet up, wine going down. Like I said, it was a perfect evening—until it wasn’t.
Just after 10 p.m. we heard a frantic distress call over the radio.
“Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is the motor vessel Libra, our position is twelve degrees, nineteen minutes north, sixty-three degrees, thirty-five minutes east, and we are being attacked by two suspected pirate vessels. Need assistance. Any vessels in the area that can provide assistance, please help! Skiffs with multiple suspected pirates are firing weapons . . .” He paused. Grant and I kept our eyes glued to the radio. “Shots have been fired. Any military vessels in the area, please respond immediately and provide assistance!”
My stomach sank. Grant and I made eye contact that required no words, and seconds later we saw the first flare go up. The Libra was not far from us. Grant immediately grabbed the satellite phone.
“Get Quinn up,” he said to me as he dialed.
I flew down the steps to the salon and into Quinn’s stateroom.
“Hey,” I whispered, gently shaking his shoulder. “Quinn, get up.”
He rolled over and tried swatting me away like a fly.
“We just heard a distress call from a cargo ship, and Grant said to come get you.”
He sat up straight and banged his head on the low overhang. “What?”
“There’s an attack nearby, and we just saw the first flare. Grant needs you.”
Quinn, with only one eye open, charged up the stairs to the cockpit, and I followed just as the second flare lit up the sky. Quinn and I listened to Grant’s conversation with the officer at MARLO as he reported our coordinates.
He hung up the phone.
“He said the Libra is a US-flagged cargo ship, and they’re taking evasive measures to deter the pirates,” Grant told us, and then pointed at the radar.
“Like what?” I asked.
“Look here. You can see they’re spinning and making erratic turns to deter them from hooking their ladders.”
“What was the call?” Quinn asked Grant.
“They reported an attack by multiple skiffs with shots fired less than eight miles south of us.”
Quinn grabbed the binoculars.
Grant continued. “I called UK Maritime Trade Operations on the sat phone to report the incident and give them our coordinates as well. The guy took down the information and basically said that was all he could do at this point.”
“Did you call over to Destiny or Drunken Sailor?”
“Not yet.”
“Did he confirm if there are any coalition forces close by?” Quinn asked.
“No.” Grant shrugged his shoulders, but the expression on his face did not convey the same ease. “Looks like we’re all on our own.”
My throat tightened as I stared up into the black skies above us. The evening hour made the whole situation much more ominous than it would have been at daybreak. We were all basking in an eerie silence when one of the boats in our convoy hailed us on the VHF radio. It was Angela from the Destiny.
“This is Imagine,” Grant responded into the microphone.
“Why do you have your red light on?” Her voice crackled through the static airwaves.
“We don’t,” he answered her.
“I’m looking across my bow and I can see a red light,” she said.
The three of us exchanged glances and then turned our attention to the darkness. There was no red light on our boat, but sure enough, there it was on someone else’s boat, heading toward us. Just off our stern was a tiny red light flickering like a firefly and coming at our eight-o’clock position at high speed.
Our eyes were glued to it when suddenly it went dark and the light disappeared.
“I don’t like this at all,” Grant said. “I’m calling MARLO.”
Quinn placed a hand on my shoulder. “Relax, kid. It’s going to be okay,” he said.
Grant began to speak. “Hey, Chris, it’s Grant Flynn from Imagine. We’re only about eight miles from the USS Libra, which just put in a distress call, and our radar shows an unidentified vessel approaching us pretty aggressively.”
Quinn and I waited, as we could only hear Grant’s side of the conversation.
“Yeah,” he said. “I can hold.”
Grant looked at Quinn. “He’s showing a US warship nearby. He’s got me on hold while he tries to contact them.”
“See that, Jess? A US warship. Nothing to worry about. The navy always saves the day,” Quinn tried to reassure me, but my hands were shaking.
“I’m here,” Grant said into the phone. “That’s great. Yes. Thank you.” Grant hung up the phone. “He spoke with the ship, the USS Enterprise, directly and said they’re steaming toward our position and will put a helicopter in the air as soon as they can. He’s given them our coordinates.” He managed a closed-mouth grin.
Quinn placed the binoculars back down, took a seat on the bench next to Grant, and made a loud stretching noise. “Y’all woke me for nothing.”
We’d lost visual of the red light and could see no sign of an approaching skiff. Grant set Imagine’s speed at maximum and tried to close in on the Enterprise, which was twenty miles away, doing thirty knots. We eventually made radio contact with the Enterprise, and they estimated that they would reach us in twenty minutes, which
seemed like an eternity, but the mere fact that it was anywhere close was incredible.
“The cavalry is on its way,” Quinn said.
“Did he say anything else?” I asked Grant. “The commander from MARLO?”
Grant nodded. “Just some last advice.”
“Last advice?”
“In the event we’re boarded. Do not resist, keep your hands up, et cetera.”
My eyes widened.
“They obviously don’t suggest fighting back, and there isn’t much a private yacht can do other than put in a distress call and overwork the engines in hopes of stalling things until help arrives.”
“It’s game over at that point,” Quinn said, and then burst into laughter. “I’m joking, kid. You should see the look on your face.”
“Knock it off, Quinn,” Grant said.
“Well, I ain’t ‘not resisting or holding my hands up,’ I can tell you that. No fucking way I’m spending springtime in Somalia.”
I knew Quinn was acting that way for my benefit. He would never admit to being worried, but more than that, I could tell he was putting on a brave face for me, and I loved him for it . . . I just wasn’t buying it. About ten minutes later, the Enterprise hailed us on the VHF radio and said they had us and the two other boats in our convoy on their radar and that they had a helo in the air sweeping the area. The commander also asked if we wouldn’t mind if they took up a position on our stern for an hour or so. We were all extremely grateful, and Grant jokingly asked if they wouldn’t mind tagging along all the way to Egypt. In the background of our phone, we could hear some radio transmission from the helo to the Enterprise but could not determine if they’d found the suspicious skiff or not. The report came back that all was clear.
“Well, that’s all I need to hear. I’m going to head back to my bunk. Thanks for the excitement,” Quinn said, and retired below.
