Float Plan - Trish Doller Page 0,30

of home and Keane got laid, but as we motor out of the harbor into deep water, we look at each other and smile.

more than you think (12)

It was Ben’s idea to go to Rum Cay. He’d seen YouTube videos of some guys kiteboarding and cliff jumping, and he wanted to do that. And while he would never have admitted it, he liked the idea of visiting an island reputed to be named for a West Indian rumrunner that wrecked off the coast. It was one of the few stops on his route where he planned to rent a cottage so we could have a romantic night off the boat.

The seas have swelled since Chemineau snuck out of the bay this morning. What was likely a pleasant sail for them has become a battle for us. The late-afternoon sun is shining, but we are pummeled by the wind, and my hands—even wearing a pair of Keane’s old sailing gloves—are sore from fighting the tiller.

“Is it absolutely necessary for us to go there?” He eats cold chili from a can with a fork. “Bite?”

I take the offered lump of meat and beans, wondering if he thinks it’s weird that we’re sharing a fork. And wondering if he wants to avoid running into Sara. The island is not very big. “Ben really wanted to go there.”

“Okay,” Keane says. “Do you have any specific plans?”

I’ve always been a little faint of heart about cliff jumping and I don’t have the money to rent a kite board, so I’m not sure what to do on Rum Cay. “Not really.”

“Maybe this is where you pitch a tent the way you’d hoped to do on Pig Beach,” he suggests. “Flamingo Bay looks secluded. No pigs. No people. Good reefs. I’ll even stay on the boat, if you want to be alone.”

It’s not exactly what Ben would do, but it’s a good idea. I love camping. “I’d like that. Thanks.”

After Keane has scraped the last of the chili from the can, he takes over at the helm and I go down into the cabin. From below, I toss him a bottle of water before crawling into bed. The rise and fall of the boat through the waves lulls me to sleep.

The sun has gone down when I wake, and the travel clock tells me Keane’s turn on watch should have been long over.

“Why didn’t you say something?” I ask when I’m on deck.

“This boat is a joy to sail.”

“She’s been the perfect accomplice to all my bad decisions.” I tilt my head back and look up at the white sail against a dark sky. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“If you weren’t here right now, what would you be doing instead?”

“Going whole days without showering. Slinging beers. Existing,” I say. “Barely.”

“In a matter of days, you’ve solo sailed across the Gulf Stream, dodged a one-nighter with a married man, eaten flying fish, and scaled a mountain. Granted, it was a wee hillock of a mountain, but how many mountains would you have scaled otherwise?”

“None.”

“So maybe you know more than you think.”

“God, you’re like an Irish Mary Poppins with facial hair,” I say. “Are you ever pessimistic?”

Keane laughs, shrugging. “Not often, but when I am, I tend to get drunk and fall down. Like in Nassau.”

“What happened that night?”

“Prior to the accident, I was quite literally one of the best sailors in the world. Now I’m considered a tragedy and a liability to owners who once tripped over themselves to have me crew aboard their boats.” There’s a note of bitterness in his voice that I can’t miss. “They worry I will fall overboard or hurt myself, something that never crossed their minds when I had two intact legs. Every single time, their perception of my disabilities eclipses my capabilities. In Nassau, I was stinging from another rejection.”

“Why do you keep trying?”

“I don’t want to prove them right,” he says. “And … I don’t know what else to do.”

“Is that why you’re going to Puerto Rico?”

“Yeah. Heard from a guy who knows a guy who knows another guy who said there might be someone looking for crew.”

I’m about to apologize when I remember he hates that. “That fucking sucks.”

Keane smiles. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I pick up Ben’s chart book and open to Rum Cay, shining the flashlight along our route. He wanted to sail into Port Nelson, the last remaining settlement on the island, but Keane is heading for Flamingo Bay.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says. “I know you