Sail (7 page)
BEFORE I LEFT on my so-called sailing sabbatical, there must have been at least ten people at the hospital who told me I should keep a diary while I was out at sea. Do my own
Two Years Before the Mast
kind of thing, give Sebastian Junger a run for his money. A fellow surgeon, two nurses, one of the night janitors, even a candy striper flashing braces on her teeth—they all thought it would be a great idea for me to record my thoughts about our trip on paper.
To think I almost took their advice and started my own little record of our journey. Good thing I didn’t. I surely would’ve thrown the damn diary away by now. That, or burned it. After all, how many entries in a row can begin with
I want to kill my kids!
We’ve been out to sea for six days now, our first port in the Bahamas is only a couple of days away, and it’s been nothing but SOS for the Dunne family.
Same. Old. Shit.
Carrie hasn’t tried to kill herself again, but she’s a long way from becoming Miss Sunshine. I suppose we’re not helping the situation, as we’re constantly watching over her. It’s no surprise she’s getting paranoid. Worse, she’s starting not to eat again, though she swears she’s okay.
Mark, meanwhile, is his own brand of miserable. Clearly he misses his pot and is coming down from some kind of dependence. He hasn’t said anything—not that he ever would—but I can tell. Getting high was his only escape from this boat—and life itself—and now he just has this bug-eyed expression on his face day and night, as if he’s trapped. When he bothers to talk, it’s usually to lash out at either Carrie or me. I am well aware of the possible withdrawal symptoms—aggression, anxiety, stomach pain, decreased appetite. I’m watching Mark closely.
As for Ernie, he seems caught in the middle of everything, poor kid. One minute he’s trying to play peacemaker, the next he’s whining like the little guy he is. Unfortunately, every minute he seems to be eating. He knows it, too. “I’m suffering from stress-related obesity,” he claims, his chubby index finger pointed up as if he’s some Ivy League professor. Sadly, he’s probably right. Maybe he’ll become a doctor when he grows up.
Which leaves Jake.
The poor man, he’s trying his best. He’s given all the kids chores to do, in an effort to instill some sense of responsibility in them—or at least some peace and quiet on the boat. I can only imagine how much he regrets saying yes to being our captain. If it’s not Carrie jumping ship again, I’m afraid it might be him.
It’s enough to make me reach for the satellite phone. The thing is, I told Peter I wouldn’t call him during the first two weeks. Don’t ask me why I said it, I just did. I guess I wanted to look strong, show him I wouldn’t come crying at the first sign of trouble. Of course, that’s all I’ve wanted to do these past six days. I’m running out of willpower. I’ve never been a wuss, but I’m getting close now.
Six days is practically two weeks, right? Plus I really miss Peter.
I close the door to my cabin and dial our home number. It’s about nine o’clock at night and he should be there. But he isn’t. After five rings the answering machine picks up. At least I get to hear his voice on the tape—briefly.
I dial his office next, thinking he’s working late. He must be extremely busy with his big trial about to start, and Peter is maniacal about preparation. I’ve never seen anyone who hates to lose so much. That’s why he works a lot of late nights.
Bummer—there’s no answer at his office either. Where is Peter? Out to dinner?
Finally I try his cell phone. It’s the fail-safe. The thing is practically glued to his ear when he’s out and about. Sometimes he answers before it even rings on my end.
Not this time, though.
I listen to one ring and then another . . .
Where are you, honey? I really need to talk to you. I really need your support.
IN THE THREE-PLUS MONTHS since Peter had begun his affair with Bailey Todd, not once had she asked him about his marriage, and until the sailing trip she hadn’t even mentioned Katherine. In fact, the only time his being married had ever come up was that very first night they met on the NYU School of Law campus. That’s when Peter told her flat out, “You know I’m married, right?”
“Yes, the ring on your left ring finger sort of gives it away,” answered Bailey. “Of course, what your wife doesn’t know won’t hurt her, will it?” she added, with a carefree laugh reserved for the young.
It wasn’t so much the words themselves as how she said them. He knew right then and there that he was smitten.
It was her confidence that got him, the way that she was able to will the situation to her advantage. Unabashed. Unashamed. It happened to remind Peter of someone very near and dear to his heart: himself.
So that’s why now, as the two of them lay in her bed after some spectacular, sweaty, someone-ought-to-pull-a-muscle-type sex, he was all the more surprised by the question Bailey asked him out of the blue.
“Would you ever leave your wife for me? Just . . . theoretically, of course.”
Peter was speechless, no small feat for a defense attorney of his caliber. As he scrambled in his brain for a response, though, Bailey let him off the hook.
“It’s okay, you can plead the Fifth, Peter,” she said. “I know she’s worth, like, a gazillion and a half dollars. Your silence is answer enough. Also, it’s not a problem for me.”
Yeah, right, Bailey.
Peter wondered—worried, actually— whether maybe the affair had already “jumped the shark.”
Bailey was too young and too beautiful; she had her whole amazing life ahead of her. It was a good bet she wouldn’t waste any more time with him if the relationship had nowhere to go.
But there it was again: that confidence of hers, a rare thing of beauty—from where he was lying, anyway.
She rolled onto her side and gave Peter a playful jab to the ribs. “Then again,” she said, “if I really tried, something tells me I could probably change your mind. Theoretically.”
Peter grabbed her and pulled her naked body close, nibbling on a breast. “You might be right,” he said. “You just might be right.”
He was about to kiss her when his cell phone rang on the nightstand. It could’ve been anyone calling, and yet Peter immediately knew otherwise. He just had a hunch.
So did Bailey.
“IT’S HER, isn’t it?” she asked. “The missus is thinking nice things about you. How sweet. I’m so glad I could be a part of this.”
Peter leaned over, glancing at the caller ID on his Motorola 1000. Sure enough. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s her satellite phone from the boat.”
The second ring filled the bedroom. Then the third. An annoyance, to put it mildly.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” asked Bailey. “C’mon, Peter. Be nice. Show me how sweet you can be.”
“Not now,” he said. “Not
here.
”
She smiled. “What, are you afraid I might giggle while you’re talking to her? Or moan?”
“No, of course not. You wouldn’t do that.”
A fourth ring. A fifth.
“Go ahead, then,” said Bailey, and it was clearly a dare. “You never know, she might get suspicious. You don’t want that, do you?”
No, Peter didn’t. Especially because he
always
answered his cell when Katherine called. The only exception was when he was in court. And court was definitely not in session at this time of night.
Ah, what the fuck . . .
Peter scooped up the phone, flipping it open with a flick of his thumb. “Hi, sweetheart,” he began, making the seamless switch to his loving-and-faithful-husband routine. Damn, he was good. No wonder Katherine adored him.
Bailey lit a cigarette, inhaled slowly, and listened as Peter asked how things were going on the boat.
Clearly not well. Bailey could hear Katherine crying. That satellite phone provided an amazingly clear connection. Word for word. “I don’t think I can do this,” Katherine was saying. “I’m blowing it with the kids again.”
“Listen, honey,” replied Peter, “you said yourself that the trip wouldn’t be easy. But you
can
do this. You’re so strong. That’s why I love you so much.”
Finishing the sentence, he shot Bailey a wink. He was handling this a little too easily and he knew it. Hell, he was proud of himself.
So Bailey had an idea.
With a devilish wink right back at him, she began to kiss his chest softly, her thick auburn hair caressing his skin as she slowly moved south beneath the covers. Peter squirmed, trying to shoo her away, but she didn’t stop. She kept going and he let her, mainly because he assumed she was kidding around. She wouldn’t dare follow through with her tease.
Would she? And what would it say about her if she went all the way?
As Bailey began to lick tiny circles along his stomach, her last words about his not leaving Katherine echoed in his head.
If I really tried, something tells me I could change your mind.
She was trying, all right.
Her lips, her tongue, her entire mouth moved down past his belly button. This was no tease. And any thoughts of stopping her gave way quickly to the sheer pleasure she was providing.
Peter could barely concentrate on the conversation. But he had to. The boat, the trip, everything . . . he had to listen to Katherine, give her the pep talk she so desperately needed.
“It’s just so hard,” Katherine was saying.
“I know what you mean, honey,” he replied, and he was actually being honest for a change. “It’s
very
hard.”
Clearly Bailey wasn’t giving up without a fight.
And clearly she was a ballbuster, just the way Peter liked his women.
JAKE
FELT
IT FIRST.
For the past twenty years or so, he’d spent more nights at sea than on land. Even in his sleep he could detect the slightest shifts in the wind and the waves.
But there was nothing slight about this, and given recent events aboard
The Family Dunne,
he couldn’t believe it was happening.
The second his eyes popped open, at a little past four in the morning, he knew this was a possible monster in the making. How, though? He had checked the weather before going to bed. The only storm on the radar was far off and heading
away
from them.
But there was no denying what was happening now.
He rose quickly and hurried on deck, where Katherine had the watch. Sure enough, she was asleep, despite the rising seas. “Wake up,” he told her. “Wake the kids too. Make sure they’re all up, Kat. Life jackets on. And ready to help.”
Before she could ask why, she felt a swell lift the boat, pushing it around like a bath toy that somehow, impossibly, she and her children were passengers on.
“Yeah,” said Jake, responding to the sudden fear in her eyes. “And it’s coming fast!”
“All right, tell me what I have to do. I’ll do it.”
On cue, the first crack of thunder shook the one-inch glass of the porthole window. A few seconds later, it was as if a dam had burst in the sky. Down teemed the rain, hard and mean and unrelenting.
Katherine gathered the kids and brought them up to speed while Jake ran and checked the emergency weather band in the main cabin.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath as the latest report came in. By now all the Dunnes had gathered around the radio.
The storm was as big as he thought—even bigger—and
The Family Dunne
was right at its doorstep. This might not be the “perfect storm,” but it was serious.
“What do we do?” the kids asked all at once.
“The only thing we can,” said Jake. “We haul ass and try to get out of the way.”
That was the game plan, pure and simple and most of all
quick.
If they were going to outrun this storm, they’d have to move faster than fast.
But first things first.
“We need to lift the sea anchor at the bow,” said Jake.
Katherine volunteered. “I’ll do it.”
“No, it’s too heavy and too dangerous,” Jake came back. “Besides, I need you at the wheel, keeping the bow pointed into the wind. Mark, you’ll help your mother.”
“What about me?” asked Ernie.
“I need you and Carrie to stay here below. I want you to secure everything that’s not already tied down. And I mean
secure.
What you’re feeling now is nothing compared to what’s coming at us.”
Ernie groaned. “I want to be up on deck.”
“Trust me, little man.
You don’t.
”
JAKE PAUSED, steeling himself before he ascended the top step to the deck. He had every right to feel sorry for himself, Katherine, and the kids, but he refused to go there. The hatch door to the cabin, closed, was rattling so hard from the storm’s fury it could’ve been a prop in
The Exorcist.
He turned back to Katherine and Mark, who were still tightening the straps on their life jackets.
“Wait a sec, okay? Nobody goes up on deck, got it? I need to get the jackline harnesses.”
“The what?” asked Mark.
But Jake had already rushed past them, dashing below. This was no time for a boating lesson.
Twenty seconds, thirty max, he was back. “
Here,
” he yelled over the howling wind, “put these on.”
Katherine and Mark quickly stepped into the nylon harnesses, which looked like string bikinis on steroids. Meanwhile Jake fastened the ends of two ropes to the metal rings at their waists.
Click! Click!
With two more clicks he hooked the other ends onto the rope that ran along the entire perimeter of the boat, otherwise known as the jackline.
Quickly he did the same thing for himself.
“There,” said Jake once he was done. “The jackline harnesses—just in case any of us go for an unintended swim.”
Mark nodded fearfully, but his eyes stayed unusually intent. He was getting his boat lesson after all. Even better, he was growing up fast.
Jake continued: “Now try to keep the wheel as steady as possible as I pull up that sea anchor, okay?”
The words had barely left his mouth when
wham,
the boat was pummeled by a huge wave, sending all three of them reeling. Katherine grunted in pain as she fell hard to the deck and struck the side of her face.
Jake scooped her up. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Kat?”
No,
she wanted to say. But as the next wave spilled over the railing, delivering an ice-cold jolt to her face, she shook it off. There were more important matters to deal with.
“I’ve really got to get that anchor up!” said Jake. “And I need to do it
now.
”
He took off for the bow as Katherine and Mark positioned themselves at the helm, fighting the wheel as best they could. Through the sheets of rain, the deck light was all but useless. They could barely see Jake as he leaned like a phantom over the side of the boat.
Still, they could tell something was wrong already. He was having trouble. Was it his footing? Was the anchor line caught?
Jake’s voice shot back to the helm. “Mark, I need you up here now! Hurry!”
Mark scurried away in a flash, too fast for Katherine to stop him. Not that she could. His face showed fear, but there was something else there. Purpose.
The only thrill-seeking he’d ever done until now was through drugs. But here was this dangerous storm, a new and entirely different kind of experience.
As scared as Mark was, dodging up to the bow with the boat violently tossing, a part of him seemed to be enjoying the hell out of all this.
At least for the first five steps.
Then came the sixth.