Float Plan - Trish Doller Page 0,16
family, Anna?”
“I have a mother, an older sister, and a niece who is two.” I explain how I haven’t seen my father since he left, that he has a whole new family. “What about you?”
“Oh, my family is one large Irish Catholic stereotype,” he says. “My parents are married near on fifty years and I’m the last of seven. My mom calls me the tiebreaker, since I have three sisters”—he pronounces it tree instead of three—“and three brothers. Which meant someone was always threatening to belt me if I didn’t take their side.”
“It sounds fun, though.”
His smile is luminous. “Oh aye, it is.”
“Do you see them often?”
“Usually at Christmas,” Keane says. “My da owns a pub, so all the family comes from far afield—brothers, sisters, and I think we’re up to about a dozen nieces and nephews—and we gather at the pub to celebrate. It’s my favorite time of year.”
“I bet you’re the cool uncle, huh?”
He laughs and spreads his arms wide, as if the answer should be obvious. “The older ones have convinced the littles that I’m a superhero. Keeps them from being bashful about the leg.”
“That’s sweet.”
The wind freshens and waves start breaking across the bow, spraying us with a fine mist that thickens my hair and salts my lips. We pull on our foul-weather jackets.
“I reckon we ought to reef the main,” Keane says. “Do you know how?”
“No.”
“Take the tiller. As soon as I’m on deck, head to wind.”
He scrambles on top of the cabin as the boat pounds through the waves, and I don’t know if I should be worried. He’s wearing sailing sneakers with good traction and bracing himself against the mast, but I can’t help wondering how his balance is affected. Yet as he lowers the mainsail a couple of feet, creating a smaller surface area, Keane is as off balance as anyone would be in a sloppy sea, and the same kind of careful coming back down into the cockpit.
“You needn’t worry about me.”
“Actually, I was still trying to decide if it would be worth the effort,” I say, eliciting a small laugh from him. Keane laughs often. Not that Ben didn’t, but there were days when he wouldn’t get out of bed. He would hardly speak, let alone laugh. Those were hard days because I wanted to crawl into bed and hold him until he felt better, but I also wanted to get away from him. Like his darkness might be contagious. I should have spent more days in bed with him. I should have tried harder to help him stay alive.
“I already know how the body responds to certain situations on a sailboat,” Keane says, pulling me back to real life. He takes over the helm and I sit beside him on the high side of the boat. Nassau is still too far in the distance to see, which makes it feel as if we’re sailing to nowhere. “I’ve learned to adapt. I have to be more mindful than I was before, but I’m disabled, not incapable.”
“Well, when it’s my turn to reef the sail, I hope you’ll worry about me, because of the two of us, I’m most likely to fall overboard.”
“If that happens, I’ll save you.” He nudges his elbow against mine. “But let’s add reefing the main and man-overboard drills to the list of things you should learn.”
We slog through the bumpy chop for several miles before Keane pulls the plug on sailing. “We’re wasting daylight now. Best we motor the rest of the way.”
He lowers the main while I roll up the jib. The ride remains rough and the waves still break over the bow, but with the engine running, we make better time. We share a bag of plantain chips Keane finds in the pocket of his jacket and watch as sportfishing boats and mega-yachts speed past us at varying distances.
It’s past noon when Keane makes a radio call to one of the marinas in Nassau to arrange for a dock. “I’m not keen on rowing groceries and supplies out to the anchorage,” he says. “And leaving an unlocked dinghy at a landing is a bit like leaving the keys in your car and expecting it to be there when you return.”
Despite my worries about how much it will cost, I look forward to being able to step off the boat and use a proper bathroom. Maybe even eat in a restaurant.
His next call, a few miles later, is to Nassau Harbor Control, requesting permission to