For the next two hours, with my head clutched between my hands, I studied the nautical charts strewn across the desk, trying to guess where we were. I had no clue, but we for sure had arrived at Destination Fucked. Our last stop had been Talava Arches, Niue, and we were supposed to be on our way to the Cook Islands. With no major issues, it would’ve been a six to seven-day trip. Today was day nine, and the weather conditions had been mostly perfect.
“Shit.” A frustrated groan left my mouth, and I shoved the maps off the table, as I spotted that the cooktop—on a gimbal to keep it level—swayed more than usual. Double shit. I’d been so consumed with figuring out our location, I hadn’t noticed the increasing rocking of the boat. Thunder rolled not far away. Peering through the narrow window, I realized the line where the ocean met the sky had disappeared, both blending into blackness. On the horizon lightning flashed every few seconds, piercing the dark.
Abandoning the maps, I hurried into my berth and yanked my lifejacket from its spot. Just in case we’d have to desert the sailboat, I stuffed the plastic baggie with my passport and wallet between my chest and the vest. With alarm settling deep inside my bones, I climbed to the main deck to check on Bambi.
The wind was no longer a friendly breeze but a full-on gale. Lightning lit up the unsettling skies, and a chill of panic pelted me along with the cold rain. In the distance, two monstrous waterspouts scudded across the ocean. They were miles away, butBloody Marywas in their path. This was the moment when I needed a stronger word than “fuck.”
Loose strands of hair lashed my face. I tried to smooth them away, but it was pointless. Bambi was lowering the mainsail. Bracing against the wall for balance and gripping the lines, I staggered to help her.
“Sydney, tighten the?—”
The wind in my ears blocked most of her instruction, but I scrambled to snatch the line she threw at me, my fingers missing it by inches. Bambi rushed closer, grabbed the rope, and began to secure it. She finally looked like a captain, her face sober with fear.
“Where’s your lifejacket?” I shouted.
“You’ll go overboard. Get back inside.”
Bambi was a captain, but I wasn’t about to take her orders and let her risk her life. “I’ll get it for you.”
Waves buffeted the boat as I struggled to make my way to the galley. The cabinet doors flapped open, their contents rolling around on the floor. Every single thing had fallen out: books, papers, cans, water bottles. I’d envisioned this situation countless times—what I’d do if we were caught in a bad squall—but right now, my thoughts were scattered in different directions. Standing near the door to Bambi’s cabin, I pressed my hands hard against the walls on either side as another big wave hit, and the books, secured by a wire, broke free and showered down on me. My hands flew to my head. The next wave jolted the boat and drove me headfirst into the table.
Ignoring the sting of pain in my forehead, I braced myself on hands and knees and moved through the mess to where Bambi’s lifejacket hung on a hook. I snatched it, then crawled as fast as I could to the steps leading up to the deck. My pulse hammered beneath my skin, and beads of cold sweat covered my face as I forced the hatch open and fought my way outside. The sky looked awash with fireworks of electrical discharge stealing my breath for a moment, long enough that I only caught the boom that swung with force to my left out of the corner of my eye, sending my heart to my throat. I ducked, avoiding a direct blow to my head.
The wind screamed like a band of coyotes, rain battered my face, and waves crashed against the boat with terrifying power. Holding the helm, Bambi battled the rogue waters.
“Put this on!” I thrust the lifejacket at her and grabbed the handles as if I knew what to do.
Struggling with her balance, Bambi threw the lifejacket over her shoulders and threaded her arms through the openings. A sudden gust heeledBloody Marylow, knocking Bambi and me off our feet. My left hand lost its grip on the helm, and my body jolted with a sickening twist. The lightning struck, and my gaze locked with Bambi, her eyes wild with fear and?—
She hurtled overboard.
My God!
I swallowed a surge of nausea, both from panic and the endless tossing. The boat pitched, and I stumbled to the rail where the life ring hung. I released the red lifesaver from its cradle and readied to toss it, but I wasn’t sure where to throw it.
“Bambi!” My eyes frantically scoured the waters, searching for my captain. Hoping the life ring would find her, I tossed it over and grabbed the helm. With all the energy left in me, I pointed the stern into the waves. Wasn’t that what she once said to do?
As the sea violently thrashedBloody Mary, sobbing and praying for Bambi’s and my survival, I rode out the storm for what felt like long, terrifying hours. I should have listened to my first gut feeling weeks ago that pursuing someone else’s dream unprepared was foolish and definitely not honorable. My drenched body trembled, and my fingers lost any feeling in them as I gripped the helm tight. There was no end to the unutterable abyss… until a bolt of lightning split the darkness, outlining an island on the horizon. I blinked then turned the wheel, desperate for land, safety, survival. A sudden screeching sound came from deep within the boat, and I was propelled forward, hitting the steering wheel. Another jerk pushed me back, then tossed me sideways. My fingers slipped from their grasp, my hands clutching thin air, searching for a hold on anything and finding nothing. The next moment, I was thrown into the raging murkiness of the water.
ChapterTwo
Iopened my eyes, disorientated, my skin damp with sweat or ocean water. A moan escaped my lips as I tried to move. My mouth was dry. When I swallowed, what little saliva there was scraped my throat. I pushed myself upright, and my sore muscles screamed as my mind struggled to make sense of where I was. The room spun out of control. Shutting my eyes, I fell back and waited for the queasiness to pass.
I repeated the breathing technique the nurse who visited my dad taught me: breathe in through your nose for four seconds, hold breath for seven, and then exhale through your mouth for eight, repeat three more times. After several repetitions, when the dizziness and nausea subsided, I stared up at a wood ceiling with blue flaking paint. Probably lead-based since it appeared to be old. Focusing on something, even something small, like chipped paint, would calm me, so I gave it full rein. My dad had watchedThis Old Housereligiously. Even after his condition had worsened and he hadn’t been paying attention to the television anymore, I’d kept his favorite DIY show playing in the background.
Turning my head to the right I spotted an old bookcase against the wall. Books of different heights and thicknesses were crammed in every available space. Romances and beach reads neighbored classics and non-fiction. A small brown lizard rushed across the shelf, its long tail dragging behind, before it quickly disappeared around a large conch shell.
Sitting on top of the bookcase was a stack of identical metal boxes, one of which had a small lock. What was so important about that particular box? Money, perhaps, or important papers and documents were secured inside. Passport. My hands flew to my chest. The lifejacket I’d worn was gone, along with the baggie that held my papers. My jean shorts andshirt were gone too, and I wore an unfamiliar, wrinkled linen shirt instead. Too large. I peeked underneath and breathed a sigh of relief—my green bikini was still on.
A sharp pain of memory sliced through me. Bambi’s eyes before a wave swept her away. My breath caught in my chest as if my lungs had collapsed under the weight.She was dead, had to be. She was a drunken fool and a thief, but still, I’d liked Bambi and her very likely made-up adventure stories. She would start with, “This was interesting…” and then continue telling me something that wasn’t interesting for the first ten minutes. At first they annoyed me but now I would give anything to hear them again.
My heart throbbed in agony, and a raw sob ripped out of me. I should have gone after her right away. I’d had my lifejacket fully secured on me. I might have saved us both. And then the swoop of old sorrow seized my breathing, the weight of another realization so heavy I physically couldn’t bring myself to take the next breath.
“Oh God,” I gasped as if I had come from under the water. My father’s ashes. They were on the boat. Because of my ignorance, I wouldn’t be able to finish honoring his dream. If only I could go back in time and talk myself out of going sailing.
Closing my eyes, I laid my head back on the pillow and cried until I was empty of tears and my throat burned.
After a while, when my breathing normalized, and I convinced myself that crying bore no results, I faced left. An oil lantern and a tired aluminum mug holding a cluster of bright pink and purple tropical flowers sat on a nightstand beside the bed. I reached out and touched the petals, my hand a visual medley of the pain as I noted bruises and dry scratches that hadn’t been there before. I had no recollection of what had happened after my fall overboard. This place didn’t look like a hospital. Leaning on my elbows, I raised myself to survey the rest of the area.
