Float Plan - Trish Doller Page 0,14

into the water, letting the boat drift backward until the anchor line grows taut and the hook catches on the bottom. It’s a very different method than my throw-and-hope-for-the-best technique in Bimini, when I was lucky the anchor held.

“Next time, in daylight,” Keane says, returning to the cockpit and killing the engine, “you should do the anchoring.”

I realize now how much Ben used to do when we were sailing together, how often I sat back and let him. Ben might not have been a very skilled sailor, but at least he’d learned how to plot a course and drop an anchor. How naive I was to think I could make this trip alone. “Okay.”

Ben is still on my mind as I gather my pajamas, a towel, and my shampoo bar. My skin is sweaty and warm, and my body aches from a long day on the water. I lower the swim ladder over the side of the boat and when Keane goes belowdecks, I shed my clothes as quickly as possible and jump. The initial shock of cool water steals my breath but rinses away the stickiness of the day.

“Anna, are you intentionally overboard?” Keane calls from the cabin.

“Yes.”

“Just checking.”

He remains below as I climb the first two rungs of the ladder to wash myself. The night air, cool water, and fragrant lemon soap are a sensual combination and my body aches in a different way. I sink back down into the water to rinse, running my fingers through my hair to work out the lather, and down my body, pretending Ben is touching me. It’s not the same, but my fingers between my thighs are enough to send a shudder of release through me. Enough that I can climb back into the boat and go down into the cabin.

“Feeling better?” Keane asks, and my face grows warm, as if he knows.

I nod. “Yeah, um—thanks.”

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve pumped a bit of fresh water to have a wash.” He gestures toward the bucket. “Now that you’ve finished, I’ll take a turn in the sea, but I need to bathe my residual limb in fresh water when I finish.”

“Totally fine. We have a watermaker.”

Keane is wearing his swim trunks as he climbs up into the cockpit, where he arranges his toiletries before he sits to remove his prosthesis. He peels back layer after layer of coverings until he reaches bare skin. His leg ends about mid-calf, tapering to a skinny stump. The solar light hanging in the cockpit is bright enough to see scars crisscrossing the end of his limb like railroad tracks. The skin is pale white compared to the rest of his tanned body.

Keane hoists himself onto the port side of the boat and pivots on his butt. “Allons-y,” he says, giving me a wink before pushing off and dropping into the water.

While he’s bathing, I change into pajamas and gather the day’s dirty clothes into my laundry bag. Several minutes later Keane is back in the boat. I carry the bucket up to the cockpit, where he has changed out of his swim trunks and into a pair of loose basketball shorts. He rinses the seawater from his limb, then washes out the liner—the layer he wears closest to his skin.

“Salt water can leave behind an abrasive residue,” he explains. “With my prosthesis pressing against the stump all day, it’s important not to have irritants between the two.”

When he’s finished, Keane dumps the water and clips the liner and his wet trunks onto the lifeline to dry. He slides along the cockpit bench to the companionway and easily climbs on one leg down to the cabin floor. He’s done this before.

I stow the swim ladder and go back down into the cabin. Keane is making up his bed using one of the sleeping bags as a sheet and another as a pillow. I take one of my spare pillows from the V-berth and hand it to him. “Use this.”

“I couldn’t.”

“I have four pillows. Please take it.”

“Thank you.” He settles back on the quarter berth, resting his dark head against my pillow. I switch off the cabin lights and climb up into my bed. It isn’t long before Keane’s breathing falls into the steady rhythm of sleep, but I’m wide-awake. The first time I shared a bed with Ben, I couldn’t fall asleep. Every place where his body touched mine felt alive and my nerve endings were so lit up, I was awake all night. It’s