Float Plan - Trish Doller Page 0,11
and broader, and his presence takes up so much space. My second thoughts have second thoughts.
Keane notices. “Doing okay there, Anna?”
“I, um—”
He hands me a worn, folded piece of paper, his résumé, a two-page list of boats he’s crewed aboard and yacht deliveries he’s done. Ben bought a boat before he knew how to sail it, but Keane … he’s sailed all over the world, even raced across the wild Southern Ocean.
“Listen, if it’s the leg, I assure you I’m more capable with one than most people are with two,” he says without a hint of swagger. “I can get you to Puerto Rico.”
“It’s not the leg. Truly,” I say, as I hand back his résumé. There’s a just-rightness about Keane Sullivan that is comforting. He feels like someone I can trust. “I mean, what you did for me last night proves you’re the perfect person for the job, but I didn’t think this through. Since leaving Florida, I’ve made a series of bad decisions and I need to consider whether continuing this trip would be one more.”
He nods as he folds the list back up and shoves it into his pocket. “I understand. If you change your mind, you have my number.”
“Thanks again,” I say.
“Think nothing of it, Anna,” Keane says. “Would you mind giving me a lift back to the dock?”
Carla once told me that the best way to make a decision is to flip a coin. She said that when the coin is in the air, you’ll usually figure out what you truly want. There’s no spinning coin here, but as Keane turns to climb the companionway ladder, I realize that if I let him leave, I will not find anyone better. And I don’t really want to go home.
“I’ve changed my mind about those eggs.”
* * *
Keane plows into his breakfast as though he’s being clocked for speed. His cheek is stuffed with food as he tells me how he left home in County Kerry, Ireland, when he was only seventeen.
“My older brothers were footballers and hurlers, but I was drawn to the sea and loved mucking around in boats,” he says, smearing red currant jelly on his toast. “As soon as I was able to swim, my mom signed me up for sailing lessons at our town club and that’s all I’ve ever done.”
“So, you just … sail?”
“Essentially. I began as crew on local boats for fun, then team raced for the College of Charleston in South Carolina and worked my way onto yachts that were seriously campaigning,” he says. “Built something of a reputation as a world-class bowman and became a hired gun for anyone who wanted to win races.”
“Oh, um—we should probably talk about pay.”
“That was not meant to be a segue,” Keane says, gesturing at me with his fork before stabbing a piece of egg. “But listen … I need to get to Puerto Rico, so if you’re willing to give me a lift, I’ll do the job for free.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods. “Absolutely. To be honest, I’m eager to have a sail on this gorgeous boat. How did you come by it?”
“My boyfriend found it in a boatyard in Fort Lauderdale.”
“The one in the photo?” Keane gestures toward the V-berth.
“Yes.”
“Why is he not making this trip with you, if you don’t mind my asking?”
I’m afraid to answer his question because I don’t want to see Keane change into someone who treats me as though I’m made of glass. Despite my bad judgment last night, he has treated me like an unbroken person. But I need to be honest so that if I come unglued, he’ll know why.
“He’s, um—Ten months ago he died by suicide.”
He looks up, hazel eyes wide. “Jesus, that fucking sucks.”
A laugh escapes me, and I flatten my hand over my mouth, horrified at myself. There’s nothing funny about Ben’s death, but Keane’s reaction catches me off guard. Tears sting my eyes and the world gets blurry.
“When I lost my leg,” he says, “people kept apologizing. I know they were genuinely sorry that I’d experienced such a terrible trauma, but I got so bloody tired of hearing it. Just once I hoped someone would say, ‘Jesus, that fucking sucks.’”
“It really does suck.” I scrub my eyes with the heels of my hands. This time I laugh because I’m embarrassed that he’s managed to see me only at my worst. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” There’s a light of understanding in his eyes, and for the first time in months, I don’t