25. Ashley
ASHLEY
S ince Fox wasn’t drinking and it was such a nice evening, he drove us to the marina in the convertible rather than us catching the shuttle.
The ticket claimed, ‘There will be no snorkeling from the sunset cruise,’ but it was the same catamaran that was used for day trips to the reef. It was about seventy feet long with two sets of stairs over each of the pontoons down to the diving platform in the stern. A polished, vintage wooden surfboard was mounted in the space between the stairwells, painted with the slogan, ‘Sorry, I had a board meeting.’
The catamaran was nice, though. Sleek and white with a dolphin theme throughout. There was a settee and dining area beneath slanted windows inside, but everyone sprinkled themselves outside. Some chose the small foredeck while others chose the U-shaped bench seat on the aft deck.
About thirty guests were aboard with us ranging in age from an elderly couple to a family with school-aged kids. The captain introduced himself and his first mate, Tala, a burly man who served us a round of drinks as the cat made its way out of the harbor.
Once the rigging went up, the temperature cooled off to a pleasant breeze.
“I don’t know what I was picturing, but it wasn’t this,” Fox said about an hour in.
We’d just finished our appetizer of premade sushi rolls and were enjoying the view of the rocky shore from the starboard rail—a sailing term I only knew from one of those memory devices that stuck purely because it made little sense. ‘Port’ and ‘left’ both had four letters. ‘Starboard’ had an ‘r’ in it like ‘right.’ ‘Port’ also had an ‘r,’ obviously, but it still worked. I was standing on the righthand side of the cat, therefore I was on the starboard side.
“I thought there’d be a bubble machine at least,” I said. “Maybe a dance floor so we could waltz to the top twenty ukulele hits.”
“Or learn hula. When am I going to cross that off my bucket list?” Fox asked.
“I think this is as much of the clichéd Hawaiian experience as you’re likely to get.” I offered him the triangle of pineapple garnish from my drink.
“Thanks.” He took it, started to eat it in one bite, then said, “Fuck!” He spat it into the water and yelled, “Man overboard!” at the top of his lungs.
“What?” I followed his pointed arm.
Against the shore, I thought I glimpsed a flash of red, but the sun and the swells hid it again before I could be sure.
While people gasped and crowded up to us, Fox grabbed my arm hard and pointed it alongside his own. “Do you see the red? That’s a shirt. You see it?”
I nodded jerkily. “I do. Yes.”
A swell receded and I saw a man clinging to a jagged rock. He had the broken half of surfboard in his hand. As a wave crashed into him, the surfboard popped up and disappeared, leaving the man clinging to the rock with both hands.
“Keep pointing. Do not look away,” Fox ordered, still gripping my arm so hard he might leave bruises. “The cat won’t be able to get close enough. Keep pointing.” In my periphery, I was aware of him ripping open his shirt.
“What are you doing?” I cried, arm already aching, but I kept watch on that poor swimmer struggling to keep his head above water, fighting against getting dashed to pieces. “You can’t go in there!”
“I’ll take a board.”
He slipped away and other guests took his place at the rail. I heard someone shout, “Use the life ring!”
“We’re all accounted for,” the first-mate said breathlessly.
“There.” I kept pointing with both fingers before I dropped my tired arm. “A surfer. In trouble.” Where was Fox ? I could hear him swearing near the stern.
Someone fired a bright orange life ring into the water. It trailed a string of rope, but it wasn’t nearly far enough. What the hell was that supposed to do?
Amid a few gasps, there was a bigger splash, then another. Fox came into my field of view, on his stomach on a board, paddling toward the life ring. He scooped it up as he went by it and kept right on going toward the surfer.
“Is there enough rope?” I cried.
“Someone’s feeding it out,” a woman said behind me, voice trembling. “Will he be okay?”
“He’s an open water life guard,” I said, but that didn’t make him a superhero. He wasn’t invincible. The water was choppy, the waves coming in big sets. There could be rip currents and rocks he couldn’t see. What the hell was he thinking? “Don’t they have a jet ski or a life boat or something?”
“The first mate is launching an inflatable.”
The sails abruptly went slack, ruffling and snapping above us.
The flash of the orange life ring was disappearing and reappearing between the swells, allowing me to track Fox while I kept my gaze fixed on the red shirt.
Fox neared the surfer. He probably shouted, but whatever he said was carried away on the wind. He sat up on the board and threw the ring at the surfer.
The surfer’s relief was palpable even from this distance. He started to reach for the ring, but a fresh wave slapped him into the rocks again. He was gone, then seconds later, his arm was through the ring. He let go of the rock and weakly kicked toward Fox.
Fox had hold of the rope and dragged the man toward him while the waves pitched both of them toward the rocks. When the men clutched each other’s forearms, Fox wobbled, nearly unseated from the board, but he managed to drag the man onto it.
A huge cheer went up.
Don’t cheer. This isn’t over!
I reminded myself to breathe and finally let my arm drop to clutch the rail.
Fox got the ring over the man’s head and under one arm, then positioned the man on the surfboard in front of him. With the man’s legs under his armpits, Fox hung off the back of the surfboard and began battling through the waves, coming back toward us.
This was the real fight. Twice they had to duck through a crushing chandelier of a cresting wave. I expected both of them to get washed away at any second. My heart hammered in my throat each time they disappeared. When they came up for air, I sucked in a breath myself then held it again as another wave cascaded over them.
Suddenly the rope went taut. I realized the guests had caught up all the slack and were pulling them toward the boat while Fox continued to paddle.
I moved my curled her knuckles from my pounding heart to my mouth as the men drew near enough I could hear Fox reassuring, “You’re all right, mate,” while the surfer clung weakly and coughed up sea water.
Tala told everyone to get back and asked one guest to help bring the victim aboard. The surfer was so weak, he folded onto the deck. A beach towel was handed over and Tala dried him vigorously, pausing to let him cough, then resuming.
Fox needed help handing up the surfboard. It was the decorative board meeting one and it was heavy enough that two men had to grab it. They grunted as they hefted it up to the deck. Finally, Fox came up from the platform, chest heaving with exertion. Everyone cheered and gave him a round of applause.
Another towel was offered and he said, “Ta,” as he wound it around his blue boxer briefs. He waved off the accolades with a self-conscious cringe.
“That was probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Don’t try that at home, kids.” He aimed that at the youngsters.
“It was so stupid!” I cried and launched myself at him.