Float Plan - Trish Doller Page 0,50

are you?”

“Not until after I get to Trinidad.”

“And you’re really happy?”

“More than I’ve been in a long time,” I say. “How are you?”

“I’m watching Maisie tonight,” she says. “Your sister is on a date. He seems like a real nice guy.”

Rachel and Brian—Maisie’s father—have been fighting and reuniting for years. Maybe my sister deserves some new memories too. “I hope he is.”

“I’m still going to worry about you.”

“I know.” The waiter returns with beef-and-chorizo sliders, garlic shrimp taquitos, and another pitcher of sangria. “There are worse things in the world than having a mom who loves me enough to worry. We’ll talk soon, okay? Ich liebe dich.”

While we eat, Eamon tells me about his job, working for a geospatial information firm that provides data for GPS and satellite navigation systems.

“Does that mean you drive the Google Earth car?” I ask, and Keane nearly chokes on his sangria and says, “I’ve asked him the same thing.”

The brothers tell stories about growing up, trying to out-embarrass each other. I laugh a lot and wish I had more to offer in the way of stories, but all my best stories involve Ben. Until now.

It’s after midnight when the taxi drops us off at the marina. I’m loose-limbed and sleepy, and when Eamon suggests we crack open the whiskey, I decline. “I’m going to bed.”

As they settle into the cockpit with plastic tumblers of Green Spot, I change into my pajamas and crawl into bed. Their quiet laughter mixes with the soft lap of the water against the hull and the musical chime of the halyard clanking against the mast, composing a lullaby that sings me to sleep.

headfirst into life (20)

The sun is wide-awake when I get up the next morning, but the Sullivan brothers are not. The cabin reeks of whiskey breath. Eamon is passed out in Keane’s bed while Keane sleeps scrunched up on the side berth like a little boy. I carry Queenie up the companionway ladder, clip on her leash, and we hustle across the busy highway that runs in front of the marina. On the other side, we stop-sniff-and-pee our way to the pedestrian fishing pier sandwiched between the spans of the Two Brothers Bridge. From the pier, I call Carla.

“It’s about time you called,” she says, but I hear the smile in her voice.

“Sorry it wasn’t sooner. I had zero bars in the middle of the ocean.”

“Where are you?”

“San Juan.” Now that I have a strong signal and time to sit, I tell her everything. She offers best friend outrage over Bimini Chris and demands to see Queenie. I put her on FaceTime, and she calls me a badass when she sees the bruises on my cheek.

“I feel like I don’t even know you anymore,” she says. “When you left, I thought you were running away, but here you are, running headfirst into life.”

“Trust me, I’m just as surprised.”

She laughs. “And this guy, Keane. Are you…?”

“Two weeks ago I was so angry at Ben that I was screaming my lungs out on a deserted beach, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be over him,” I say. “Keane is … a friend.”

“A hot friend who wants to kiss you.”

I laugh. “Shut up.”

“Keep running, Anna,” Carla says. “Kiss the man if you want to kiss him. Or don’t. Just remember that what Ben would want doesn’t count anymore.”

After we hang up, I sit in the sunshine for a while, watching a man fish. His reel zings out as cars whoosh across the bridges around us, but the pier is still a strangely peaceful spot. When I’m ready—or at least as ready as I’ll ever be—I dial Barbara Braithwaite. “It’s Anna Beck.”

“Hello, Anna.” Ben’s mother has a way of sounding cool and warm at the same time. At first it left me wondering how she felt about me, but dozens of voicemails demanding that I return the boat before she has me arrested make it much less ambiguous. “Where are you?”

I ignore the question. “I’m not giving you the boat. You can waste your money contesting Ben’s will and trying to chase me down, but he left it to me. This boat is mine.”

This is the first time I’ve ever raised my voice to Ben’s mother and the first time I’ve called this boat my own. But the Alberg is filled with my things, arranged to meet my needs. It belongs to me.

“Regardless of what you think of me, I loved Ben more than you’ll ever know,” I say. “Call off