CHAPTER 17
Katrina
Katrina lounged in the passenger seat with one leg tucked beneath her, tapping her foot to a song only she could hear.
They were on their way to the marina, about fifteen minutes from the surf beach. The morning sun had already warmed the air, promising a perfect day on the water.
They were really doing it.
Ever since she'd suggested the sailing trip yesterday morning, Katrina had been waiting for Marina to change her mind.
She had done exactly that two years ago.
They had packed the cooler, loaded the towels and snorkel gear into the van, and were just about to leave when Marina had quietly said she wasn't feeling well.
Katrina hadn't believed her for a second. She had known exactly what it was: The boat and the memories.
They had unpacked everything without another word, and neither of them had mentioned sailing again for a long time.
But this morning Marina had climbed into Ryan's RAV4 without hesitation.
Katrina stole a glance toward the back seat.
Marina was looking out the window, one elbow resting on the open door, the wind tugging gently at her ponytail.
She looked thoughtful, but not hesitant.
Katrina smiled to herself. Maybe this time would be different.
She was proud of her sister. It had been the first time in eight years they had surfed like that together.
There had been other attempts. They had paddled out side by side, but Marina either surfed like a robot or turned back to shore without even trying.
Yesterday had been different. They had laughed, stolen each other's waves, raced for the same sets. They had been kids again.
Katrina couldn't wait to see Marina competing again.
But that could wait. One step at a time. She tapped her foot harder.
"You're going to wear a hole in my floor," Ryan said.
She grinned. "Your floor's boring. It needs some personality."
In the back seat, Marina sat with the cooler wedged beside her, one elbow resting on the open window ledge. Dressed in a windbreaker over a gray T-shirt and worn jeans, her blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, giving her a practical look.
Ryan kept his outfit simple—board shorts, a T-shirt, and a light zip hoodie to fend off the cool wind coming off the water.
Katrina pushed her sunglasses up onto her head, her attention drifting outside. “Skylla looked so sad when we left,” she remarked, feeling a twinge of guilt.
“She’ll survive one day without us,” Marina replied from the back seat, her voice steady.
“Does she really hate traveling?” Ryan asked.
Marina smiled. “Not traveling. Just boats.”
Katrina laughed. “She gets seasick. We tried bringing her on Wayfinder once. She spent the whole trip looking absolutely miserable.”
“Poor girl,” Ryan said.
“Yeah,” Marina said. “We’ll take her hiking next week and make it up to her.”
They turned into the marina lot just after nine. The lot was mostly empty, a few trucks with boat trailers and a beat-up sedan with a fishing rod rack on the roof.
Beyond the lot, the wooden piers stretched out over the water, gray and salt-bleached. Fishing boats sat low in their slips, their hulls patchy with old paint and new rust. Farther out, sailboats rocked gently in the morning breeze, their rigging tapping softly against the aluminum masts.
Katrina spotted Wayfinder before Ryan did.
The white hull was exactly where Marina had left it after the last charter, bobbing gently in its slip. Somehow it always made Katrina smile. For a long time, the boat had reminded her only of loss. Today it reminded her of family.
"There she is," she said, pointing toward the outer dock.
Ryan followed her finger.
"The Catalina 42," Katrina said as they walked. “About twenty years old. Our parents bought her used eight years ago and renamed her. She’s about forty-four feet overall.”
"That's big," he said.
"It's not huge," Katrina replied. "Plenty of bluewater cruisers are bigger. But she was more than enough for Mom and Dad."
"Dad called her the perfect compromise,” Marina chimed in. “Big enough for the ocean. Small enough that two people could still handle her,”
Katrina glanced at her sister. There wasn't the familiar tightness in Marina's voice this time. Just a little sadness. That alone felt like progress.
Ryan stood at the end of the finger dock, taking in the boat.
Marina was already stepping aboard, setting the cooler in the cockpit before giving the standing rigging a quick, practiced glance.
Katrina smiled to herself. Rina always did that.
She pretended she wasn't sentimental about the boat, but every time they came aboard she inspected it from bow to stern, as if making sure nothing had happened while she was away.
They were out of the harbor within twenty minutes.
As always, Marina had taken the helm without discussion while Katrina handled the dock lines. Ryan had done exactly what they told him to do, which mostly meant staying out of the way and trying not to trip over anything.
The engine carried them slowly through the harbor mouth, past the jetty where the swells lifted Wayfinder in a gentle rhythm.
Katrina glanced back once. Ryan stood by the lifeline, watching Cliff Harbor grow smaller behind them.
There was something almost childlike about the way he looked around, trying to take everything in.
Once they were clear of the channel, Marina called her name.
Katrina stepped to the mast and hauled on the halyard while Marina eased the boat into the wind.
They had done it together so many times growing up that neither of them needed to speak.
The mainsail climbed steadily, then filled with a sharp snap.
Wayfinder leaned into the wind, and Katrina felt the familiar tug beneath her feet.
It felt good.
"Come here," she called to Ryan. "I'll show you around while she gets us sorted."
Ryan followed her below.
He looked around the saloon with open curiosity, turning slowly to take in every corner. Katrina smiled. She sometimes forgot how unusual Wayfinder looked to someone seeing her for the first time.
"A lot roomier than I expected," Ryan admitted.
"Most people say that." Katrina pointed toward the galley. "We've got the stove, sink, refrigerator—Dad always called it the icebox even after we replaced it."
She caught herself smiling. She still called it the icebox too.
"Forward of the galley is the chart table," she continued. "Navigation equipment, instruments, radio. Dad spent half his time sitting there pretending to study charts."
"Pretending?"
"He usually already knew where we were."
Ryan laughed.
Katrina led him farther forward. "This is the head."
Ryan stepped inside, turned around once, then smiled. "You weren't kidding about the phone booth."
"Told you."
She pulled back the curtain to the V-berth. "Two people can sleep up here. It's actually pretty comfortable."
Ryan looked through the overhead hatch where a rectangle of blue sky drifted past. "I can see why you like it."
“I do.” She hadn't slept there in years, but she could still remember lying awake as a kid, listening to the water slap softly against the hull while Mom and Dad talked quietly in the cockpit.
She pushed the memory gently aside. "Come on."
She led him aft into the larger cabin beneath the cockpit.
"We don't usually let charter guests back here," she said. "This is ours."
"Nice," Ryan said, looking around the cabin before following her back into the cockpit.
Back in the cockpit, Marina had Wayfinder settled on her course.
Katrina leaned against the coaming.
"So," she said, tapping the fiberglass beside her, "Wayfinder's a monohull. One hull, one keel."
Ryan listened carefully while she explained how the keel kept the boat upright and why the ballast let the boat heel without rolling over.
"And catamarans?" he asked.
"Two hulls side by side. They're wider, more stable, and don't heel nearly as much. Some people love them." She shrugged. "Dad definitely didn't."
Ryan smiled. "No?"
"He used to say catamarans were for people who wanted to feel like they were sailing in a living room."
Ryan laughed. "Do you agree with him?"
Katrina looked around the cockpit. She rested a hand on the weathered coaming, feeling the familiar texture beneath her fingertips.
"I think I'm a monohull person too," she admitted. "Mostly because this is home."
For just a moment she wondered whether Marina felt the same way.
Yesterday's surfing had given Katrina hope. Maybe today would do the same for sailing.
Once Wayfinder had settled onto a steady course, Marina turned the helm over to Katrina before spending the next half hour teaching Ryan the basics of sailing. Soon she had him steering the boat himself while she explained the sails and instruments.
She explained the rigging, the instruments, and how to keep the sails drawing while he took his turn at the wheel. Ryan listened carefully, asking thoughtful questions, and before long he was steering well enough to earn an approving nod from Marina.
Katrina couldn't help smiling. She hadn't seen her sister talk about sailing with that much enthusiasm in years. It wasn't just that Ryan was eager to learn. Marina genuinely seemed to enjoy teaching him.
Every now and then Katrina caught a glimpse of the old Rina, the one who had spent entire weekends on the water with Dad and couldn't wait to tell everyone what she'd learned.
Wayfinder settled into an easy rhythm as they sailed north.
The cliffs here rose steeper than they did near the surf beach, dropping almost straight into the water in places. Cormorants perched on narrow ledges with their wings spread to dry, and a line of brown pelicans skimmed effortlessly over the swells.
Ryan stretched out on the cushions Marina had laid across the foredeck. Marina lay beside him with one arm draped over her eyes, soaking up the sun.
Katrina checked the compass heading one last time, switched the autopilot on, and joined them on the foredeck, settling against the cabin trunk where she could still keep an eye on the sails and the coastline.
A raft of sea otters floated in a nearby kelp bed, drifting lazily with the swell.
"Sea otters," Katrina called.
Ryan sat up immediately.
"Over there."
They watched until the otters disappeared behind the stern.
A little farther on, Katrina pointed toward a rocky ledge near the base of the cliffs. "Harbor seals."
Ryan followed her finger and smiled at the dozen or so seals piled together in the sun.
Katrina glanced at Marina. Her sister hadn't moved. One arm still shaded her eyes, but the corners of her mouth carried the faintest smile. She looked peaceful.
They were somewhere between the harbor and the first headland when Katrina found herself thinking about Dad.
"I was just remembering our trip to the Channel Islands on the old boat," she said. "The first one. The little sloop Mom and Dad had before Wayfinder."
Marina smiled faintly without opening her eyes.
"Dad decided he was going to cook chili while we were on a beam reach. The boat was heeled over the whole time, so the pot was practically sideways. Somehow he kept most of the chili inside through two tacks and a jibe, and who knows how many near disasters."
Ryan laughed. "Did any of it survive?"
"Some of it," Katrina said with a grin. "Dad was ridiculously proud of what actually made it into the bowls."
Marina laughed.
The sound caught Katrina off guard.
She hadn't heard her sister laugh over a sailing memory in years.
"I still remember his face when he climbed back into the cockpit," Marina said. "He was carrying two bowls of chili like he'd just completed some military operation."
Katrina laughed too.
"And then he says," Marina continued, lowering her voice into a rough imitation of their father, "'Don't tell your mother I dropped one.'"
"Meanwhile Mom heard the pan hit the floor from the helm," Katrina said. "Dad still tried to pretend he'd gotten away with it."
For a few moments they laughed together. Then the laughter faded. Katrina saw the change almost immediately.
Marina's smile lingered, but her eyes glistened. She pressed the back of her hand lightly against her mouth, trying to steady herself.
Katrina felt the same ache rising in her own chest.
For years they had avoided talking about Mom and Dad whenever they were on the boat, afraid the memories would hurt too much.
Instead, they had forgotten how many happy ones were still waiting for them.
Ryan didn't say anything. He simply slipped an arm around Marina's shoulders.
A moment later, Katrina moved closer without thinking, and Ryan wrapped his other arm around her too.
None of them spoke. Wayfinder carried them steadily north while the cliffs drifted by in silence.
Finally, Marina took a slow breath. "It's stupid."
"No, it isn't," Katrina said softly.
Marina shook her head. "I knew we should've come back sooner. I knew I'd stayed away too long." She looked out toward the open water. "I just didn't realize how much it would feel like them."
Katrina blinked quickly. "Neither did I."
She looked at Ryan. He was still sitting beside them, one arm around each of them, saying nothing, simply letting them remember.
"Dad would've loved you," she said.
Marina smiled through wet eyes. "He would've made him steer the whole trip."
"He taught everyone he liked how to sail," Katrina said. "He honestly couldn't help himself. If he liked you, sooner or later you ended up at the helm."
Ryan smiled but didn't interrupt. He simply held them both while the boat rose and fell beneath them.
By noon they had dropped anchor in the shelter of a small bay where the headland took the edge off the wind.
Marina opened the cooler while Katrina secured the anchor line. Soon the cockpit table was covered with sandwiches, pasta salad, strawberries, cold drinks, and far more food than three people really needed.
"We made everything this morning," Marina said. "I didn't want us wasting sailing time cooking."
"That was smart," Ryan said.
"It was my idea," Katrina replied automatically.
Marina didn't even look up. "Eat."
Ryan laughed and obediently unwrapped his sandwich. Katrina watched him for a moment. He had settled into the rhythm of the boat as naturally as if he'd been sailing with them for years.
Maybe Dad really would have liked him. The thought made her smile.
Around them the bay lay quiet beneath the afternoon sun. Birds drifted effortlessly above the cliffs while the water lapped gently against Wayfinder's hull.
No one felt any need to fill the silence. For Katrina, that might have been the best part of the whole day.