17. West
CHAPTER 17
WEST
After stifling any signs of laughter, I go below to check the charts and satellite. Sydney smiles at me when I walk into the cabin then focuses on her notebook again.
“We’ll be getting into port in about an hour. I’m going up to get ready to cross the bar. It might be a little rough.”
Sydney, of course, does not stay below. She comes up on deck, and I debate about making her wear the life jacket again, but she gives me a good glare when I suggest it. But she does agree to sit down as I adjust the sails and prepare to cross into the Siuslaw Bay.
An hour later, we’re docked upriver in Florence. It’s not a busy port since the bar can only be crossed by small vessels in good weather. The depth is shallow, making it not a good fishing port for larger boats.
Sydney makes the docking part all too easy, jumping over the edge onto the dock and holding the lines while I cut the engine. “I’d offer to tie it off, but I’m not good at tying knots.”
I toss another line onto the dock next to her. “Well, you know what they say: If you don’t know how to tie knots, tie lots.”
She grins at that. “I’m not sure there’s enough rope here for how much I would have to tie.”
Climbing over the rail and then stepping onto the dock, I make quick work of tying it off. Sydney jumps back onto the boat, disappears into the cabin, and then reappears with her small purse across her chest.
“I’ll leave you here at port, and someone should be along to pick you up. I let Fletcher know you’re here.” I watch her face as she listens to me. Has anyone called you yet?” I’m waiting for Fletcher to call her and tell her he has arrived. He said he would when I texted Saidy to tell her where we would be.
Sydney pulls her phone from her pocket. “I haven’t heard anything from anyone yet. But my cell service wasn’t very good out there. There’s nothing here. I’ll shut off my phone again and see if any texts or calls come through.”
I look at my phone and see my service has been great. I guess I should’ve told her about being able to hook up to the satellite internet on the boat. Oh well.
“There are showers up there in the campground if you want to get some of the salt off.” She looks so small standing there on the deck of my boat. And I have an uncomfortable tightness at the thought of leaving her here. But I can’t show weakness. I don’t want her to think I’m going to be part of whatever the heck she has going on. “I’ll be here fueling up until they pick you up.”
She jerks her head up at that. “You will?”
“Sure.”
She grins at me. “See? You are a good guy.”
“Don’t kid yourself.” I shake my head. “I’m glad to get rid of the responsibility.”
That wipes the smile off her face pretty quickly, and she snaps at me, “Well, I’m sorry to be a burden to you. I’ll get off your boat right now. And I’m sorry you’re going to miss the chance to be rich.”
She climbs off, almost falls over, then turns around and gives me a jaunty salute. “Aye, aye, captain. Thanks for the ride. I’ll find somebody else who’s willing to help me.”
I watch her walk away; she gives me a little wave over her shoulder.
If I didn’t know better, I would think maybe that middle finger stuck up a little bit longer on that wave. So I yelled after her, “Don’t get on a boat with any strangers.”
She gives me the hand motions that she’s watching me and continues up the dock to the parking lot above. There’s a boardwalk that extends along the riverfront, heading toward the old town and businesses all along the river. I watch as she pulls out her phone and messes with it for a minute. Then she pockets it, turns around, and heads toward the campground instead.
I don’t know why, but I feel like I’ve just lost something. And I don’t know if it’s guilt that I should be seeing this to the end or habit that I should be in the middle of something like this. But really, it’s for the best. She shouldn’t be chasing after money that the mafia is involved with. It’s a surefire way to end up dead, even if she thinks it’s a fun adventure.
Oh well. Fletcher will pick her up. She’ll go back to her life with her translation work. And hopefully, she’ll forget all about chasing money. Not much is worth losing your life over—especially not something as silly as money.
After securing the boat the rest of the way, I find a man on the dock that seems like he might know something, and he tells me where I can fuel up.
It only takes me about fifteen minutes to move the boat to the G dock and get it topped off with fuel. I keep checking my phone to see if Fletcher has called or if Sydney has, but then I realize she doesn’t have my number. I can’t even send her a text to see if she’s still around.
But as I stare up at the campground, I see a wet-haired redhead walking back toward the old town. She’s moving at a brisk pace, but she doesn’t look scared. Maybe she just always moves fast. It’s hard to tell when you’re on a small boat together.
She’s not even looking over her shoulder. I wait for her to look in my direction, but she doesn’t. Instead, she walks down the wooden boardwalk like a professional speed-walker.
Maybe I should just take a quick little walk—just to make sure she’ll be alright. I head into the cabin and throw a couple things into my satchel, including my wallet, and then I head up the dock, walking down the boardwalk in the direction she went.