may feel great but it’s just not ultimately in your best interest. I can only imagine what she thought of me.
It hurts me to think of the things we’ve never talked about. Look at the care we take w/ our secrets, when we’re so sloppy w/ everything else.
The Guna father makes a joke, & Juliet laughs her big laugh. I join in, halfhearted.
You don’t need to punish someone like Juliet.
That would be redundant.
* * *
—
I remember the halyard bumping against the mast like the tongue of a bell, and the boat swaying, pushed by the currents and their cross-purposes. It was brightly dark on our bed, the moon watching our nakedness through the open hatches.
Ménage à trois: man, woman, moon.
Making love on the boat lent the love act added closeness. Under the low ceiling, we were nose to nose, many-elbowed. Michael’s body was shadowed blue in the moonlight. Already, he was touched with age. Age grew from his ears, fouled his chest hair. But at sea, a little gray seemed favorable. My sexuality had been blinking on and off like a light with faulty wiring for years, years after the kids were born. Some days I walked through the world with absolutely no desire, like a doll, and then, as if possessed, I’d be consumed by lust, triggered by something embarrassing like the image of Tom Brady shirtless on the beach, blowing into a conch. That night at sea, it didn’t seem to matter how far away I’d wandered or why. It didn’t matter how tangled sex was for me on a good day—not under that moon. I wanted him.
He saw me. He bent down. He cheated open my tiny door. And I became like the spirals of bioluminescence you can stir up with an oar in certain dark lagoons.
Feb 15. LOG OF YACHT ‘JULIET.’ Naguargandup Cays. NOTES AND REMARKS: No more pi?a, no more naranja, not even any more banana, a pretty boring fruit that sounds delicious right about now. Today we sail to the mainland to re-provision. Sybie & I up early. Feasting on oatmeal boiled in shelf-stable milk. I figured I would take the opportunity to show her how to use the VHF. We sit at the nav station, side by side. Morning blazes through the hatches.
Every once in a blue moon, I say to Sybil, a boat has an emergency. And the crew has to make a distress call. If so, you use this. I hold up the VHF handset. You’ve seen me talk on this, yes? Yes. Well even though we can’t see them, lots of people are out there listening to the main channel.
Sybie says, I already know what to say. Mayday! Mayday! she shouts. We’re taking in water! Help!
Shh, I say. Your mom is sleeping. Good start, though, I say. Let’s practice. But not with Mayday. You absolutely can’t joke around about that.
OK, she says. This button? Yes, that button, I say. Hold it down. Let’s see if we can find somebody. Just for fun. Say the name of your boat. You have to say it three times. Then you say, Over.
This is ‘Juliet,’ she says, into the handset. Over.
You have to say it at the same time you push the button down, OK?
OK. ‘Juliet,’ ‘Juliet,’ ‘Juliet.’ Over.
Very good, I say. Now wait.
We listen. Nothing. White noise fills the cabin.
Oh, Daddy, she says, sighing. There’s no one out there. We are totally alone.
I laugh, thinking, God, she sounds just like her mother.
We’re just practicing, I say. No biggie. But now we have to wait two minutes before we try again.
OK. She swings her legs violently. We wait.
Then we hear it.
‘Juliet,’ this is ‘Adagio.’ Over.
Sybil’s face lights up. Hey, Daddy! That’s us!
It gets me every time. A response from beyond.
It’s a man’s voice. Friendly, a little sleepy. Lightly accented.