Float Plan - Trish Doller Page 0,62
you think he’s helping you, but I reckon it’s the other way around.”
When we’re ready to go, Eamon helps us detach from Peneireiro and hands me the dock lines. “Fair winds, Anna. I hope we’ll meet again one day.”
“Me too. Have a safe trip home.”
We motor through the field of boats anchored off St. Barths. One of the mega-yachts we pass is at least five hundred feet long and has a black hull so shiny, I can see my boat reflected. Tonight that boat will be filled with beautiful people drinking champagne as fireworks burst over their heads. Maybe Keane and I will be able to see the fireworks from wherever we are when the New Year arrives. But once we reach the open water and raise the sails, I find I don’t care about fireworks at all.
“Where should we go?” I sit beside Keane in the cockpit. He’s wearing his favorite shirt—the one he was wearing the first time I saw him—and a smile that makes it impossible for me not to smile back. I can’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but the stress lines between his eyebrows have faded away.
“I’d like to take you to my favorite island in the whole Caribbean.”
“And where would that be?”
“It’s a surprise.”
There are at least half a dozen islands within easy sailing distance of St. Barths and I could probably figure it out if I tried, but he is happy and we are at sea. “Okay.”
After Ben died, I imagined my life proceeding in shades of gray, but tonight, as the sun sinks below the ocean, the sky and sea are purple. Queenie presses her warm body against my thigh and my brain pushes against the guilty feeling that it’s too soon. That I’m not allowed to be this happy yet. I lean my head back, my face tilted up to the sky, and I say the words, loud and defiant. “I am so fucking happy right now.”
“I’ve never been so glad to put a place behind me,” he says. “I thought going to Saint Barths might…”
“Exorcise the demons,” I finish. “I understand too well how that doesn’t work.”
The tension falls out of his shoulders. “I’ve never told anyone except my parents, but the person driving the Mercedes that night was an American senator.”
“Are you serious?”
Keane nods. “He keeps getting reelected by championing family values, but on that particular New Year’s Eve, he was drunk, his mistress sitting in the passenger’s seat. Now, whenever I need a new prosthesis, I send the bill to a Washington, D.C., post office box and the bill gets paid. As long as I keep his identity a secret, I’m set for life.”
“Are you ever tempted to go public?”
“Sometimes,” he says. “But I have the best prosthetics the senator’s money can buy and he has to live with his hypocrisy.”
“Do you really think he does?” I ask.
“Perhaps not, but karma will catch up to him one day,” Keane says. “Anyway, it was pretty fucking spectacular hearing you call Jackson Kemp an arse. I don’t imagine he’s used to anyone being bold enough to try that—at least not to his face.”
“I wanted to punch him but figured calling him an asshole would be slightly more polite,” I say. “I’m sorry if I ruined your relationship with him. Listening to him talk was painful.”
“I’m sorry I dragged you through my mess.”
“Your mess. My mess. At this point I feel like we’re in this together.”
“It’s strange letting go of something that’s played such an enormous role in my life,” Keane says. “Not sure what to do now.”
“What about the Paralympics?”
“There’s a guy who’s been after me to get my citizenship and join the US team, but I’ve always felt like it would be admitting I’m not capable of racing against able sailors,” he says. “Which is an ableist thing to believe, but that’s the ugly truth of it.”
“Okay, so … what if you assembled a team of sailors with disabilities and compete against able crews?” I suggest. “If you can’t join them, beat them.”
He regards me silently before the corner of his mouth kicks up in a wry grin. “I’d need a boat.”
“So we’ll get sponsors.”
“We?”
“Do you think I trust you to do this by yourself?” I say. “Besides, you’ll need someone to handle the operations while you’re off racing—and I don’t have a job.”
Keane laughs. “I’ll need three references and a letter of recommendation.”
“Can I use your brother as a reference?”
“Not if you want the job.”
“The first person