Chapter Seven
Shortly before noon, they arrived at the marina with three dogs, a cat, a cooler of drinks, and enough food to sustain humans and pets for a serious sail.
“With all this, Owen,” Sonya said as they started to unload the truck, “you might need a bigger boat.”
“I think she’ll handle it.”
When he gestured, she followed his direction. “Well, she’s a beauty, and I should’ve expected no less.”
With her catch-all bag on her shoulder, Pye tolerating the leash, Cleo tipped down her sunglasses. “A wooden sloop. You went old-school.”
“Classic.”
He’d painted it navy blue, a rich choice with the gleaming teak decking. The brightwork shined.
Cleo pulled out another bag while Sonya wrangled two dogs and took yet another bag. Jones stuck with Owen as he and Trey hauled out the cooler.
Once they’d transferred everything, Sonya looked around.
“You built her.”
“Had some help.”
“Slave labor.” Trey tapped his chest.
“And my brother, our uncle Mike. At thirty-eight feet I can sail her solo, but there’s room for crew. Galley down below if you want to stow the food before we cast off.”
“We’ll do that.”
Belowdecks, Sonya turned to Cleo. “Not just a galley, a little lounge.”
“Look at the equipment. Classic build, and state-of-the-art electronics. Pooles don’t stint.” She opened a door. “The head’s so cute it doesn’t feel right calling it a head.”
Sonya looked in, saw clean, saw white and wood and chrome, including a small shower.
“That’s one minor concern off my list.” She opened another door.
The stateroom was mostly bed with, she noted, storage as its base.
“Nice. Nice, clean, and efficient, with style tossed in. The man’s got vision.”
“He just keeps racking up those points,” Cleo murmured. “Let’s get this food put away, and set sail.”
When they went back up, Trey finished putting the last pet PFD on Yoda. “I can turn my first mate status over to you if you want.”
“I’ll take it.” Pleased, Cleo walked over to cast off. “On your orders, Captain.”
“Day’s wasting. Cast off.”
When they motored out of the slip, Cleo moved over to Owen. Sonya caught a few words of conversation as she sat on one of the benches and prepared to enjoy herself.
“They’re talking engines, rigging, draft, whatever. If she wasn’t already hooked on him, and The Siren didn’t seal the deal, The Horizon would. It really is a beautiful boat.”
“Took him several years from design to maiden voyage. Weekends, evenings, vacation time, but he got just what he wanted. And Cleo? She knows what she’s doing outside of a Sunfish?”
“Oh yeah, she does. Bet you do, too.”
“Born and raised by the bay. But I’ve got no problem demoting myself to second mate.”
On Owen’s orders, Cleo hoisted sails. From her seat, Sonya watched the white mainsail rise, billow, and snap as it filled with air.
“Gorgeous.” She tipped her face up as The Horizon streamed on the wind and water.
At the wheel, Owen heeled into it, let her fly. Jones moved up to the bow to stand and let his short, ragged ears do the same.
Obviously up for an adventure, Yoda joined Mookie on the starboard side to watch the water. In her pink PFD, Pyewacket stretched out on the bench like a sunbather.
“Born sailors,” Trey commented, and Sonya laughed.
Adjusting her sunglasses, she looked up at the cliffs where the manor stood over the shore and sea.
“It’s beautiful, from every angle. You know, I always imagined living in a big old house.
Something interesting, something with history.
I even collected pictures of houses for a while.
Victorians topped my list, but Tudors, Colonials, whatever caught my eye.
Nothing I imagined ever came close to the manor. ”
“It was meant to be yours.”
“I feel that more every day.” She nodded to Cleo and Owen. “She’s trying to talk him into letting her take the wheel.”
Amused, Trey gave the brim of her ball cap a tap. “I can tell you, he doesn’t give it up easy.”
And when Owen did, shoving his hands in his pockets and stepping back, Trey thought: Yeah, he’s sunk. Completely, totally, absolutely sunk.
After a few minutes, Owen left her at the wheel and crossed the deck to the cooler.
“Is it beer o’clock already?” Sonya asked him.
“I don’t drink when I drive, don’t drink when I sail.” He pulled out a Coke. “Want?”
Trey wagged his fingers, and Owen passed drinks over.
“You’re not driving the boat,” Sonya pointed out.
“For a few minutes. She’s got it.”
“Can I have a turn?”
Studying her, Owen took a long drink. “Have you ever handled a thirty-eight-foot sloop?”
“No.”
“There’s your answer.”
He walked back to the wheel, but didn’t take it. Instead, he turned on music.
Sonya took out her phone, tapped the camera for a shot of Cleo, white sundress billowing, at the wheel.
He let her handle the wheel for an hour. When he took it back, she headed to the cooler.
“That was a thrill. If I wanted a sloop, I sure as hell know where to go.” She pulled out a bottle of water. “This boat is A1.” She sat, lifted her face to the wind. “Now I need to talk Owen into sailing down to New Orleans sometime.”
“How long would that take?” Sonya wondered.
“Oh, a week or so. He said the two of you sailed down to New York a couple years back, Trey, to visit his brother.”
“Good times—and that’s only a day or two at sea.”
“We could start with that. He said he’s going to head to somewhere called Pirate’s Cove in a bit.”
Trey laughed. “We named it that when we were kids. It’s a nice spot, some out of the way. We lobbied—and hard—for permission to build a small dock. He must be ready to eat something, and to give the animals a pit stop.”
He took his time, and when Sonya saw the cove—a small scoop out of water and land near the lighthouse—she stood.
“That’s so charming. Cleo, you have to paint it.”
“Right there with you.”
“Hold that thought,” Owen called out. “Drop sails.”
Since Cleo already had her sketchbook out, Trey rose.
“I got it.”
As she watched Trey and Owen work together, Sonya took another picture. She thought she might try her hand at doing it in chalk, and frame it for Trey’s office or apartment.
When Trey secured the lines to the dock, Sonya started belowdecks.
“I need a few minutes to finish this,” Cleo told her.
“Take your time. I’ll get the food. Looks like a picnic on a little rocky beach.”
More rocks than beach, she noted, but that added to the charm and the sense of isolation.
She could see boats sailing on the bay, a couple of water-skiers, a paddleboard or two. She decided that added to it all as well.
Freed of the PFDs, the dogs leaped from boat to dock and onto the beach. Leading the way, Jones strutted toward the line of gnarled and wind-twisted trees.
“He and Mooks know their way around,” Trey assured her. “Yoda will stick with them.”
“Yeah, he will. Cleo?” she called down from the dock. “What about Pye?”
“She won’t wander from her boys, or me. And absolutely not from her boyfriend.”
“What can I say?” Owen put a selection of cold drinks in an insulated pack. “I’m a female magnet.”
“Female felines anyway. Ten more minutes.”
Owen angled to look at the sketch, at the tumbled rocks where the water lapped, the narrow crescent of sand, the twisty trees climbing the base of the cliff.
“Fast work.”
He left her to it, joined the others on the beach.
“You can still see the manor from here.” Happy, relaxed, Sonya leaned against Trey. “Look how the sun glints off the windows when it hits just right. You and Owen came here as kids?”
“Yeah, in Connor’s fourteen-footer, we’d explore, eat junk food. When we were teens, we’d bring girls here. This time of year, you can swim if you’re not afraid of cold water.”
Not afraid, she thought, but distinctly not interested. “I’ll pass there.”
“There’s a cave.” Owen spread out a blanket. “It’s pretty cool.”
“Another pass.”
“Girl.”
“Yes, I am.” She sat on the blanket to set out food. “We’ve got sandwiches, a variety of chips, fruit, raw veggies and dip.”
Pye came back to climb onto a rock and gaze out over the water as if she owned it. Sonya glanced back to see the three dogs follow her out and engage in a sniffing contest.
When Cleo joined them, she ignored the food and started another sketch.
“I want one from here. Sweep of sand and the rocks in the foreground. Boat at the dock, the bay beyond. I’m going to sail here and try some painting on this beach. Maybe do one all the way to the far cliffs and the manor.”
“Got binoculars in the bag if you want a close look.”
“No.” She shook her head at Owen. “I like this perspective. The single boat here, alone, the manor on the cliffs in the distance, alone.”
“How about the cat?” Trey wondered.
“Not for this one, but in another? Sitting up there on the rock, gazing out. Mistress of all she surveys. Just doodling ideas here.”
Once again, Owen angled to look. “She calls that doodling.”
“She does,” Sonya agreed.
On a contented sigh, she munched on a potato chip. Then looked up and over at the manor.
And gripped Trey’s hand.
“Do you see that? The manor. Do you see that?”
“Yeah.”
Something dark flew, then vanished. Then flew again.
Trey pulled the binoculars from the bag, and brought it all closer.
“It’s her big-ass bird.” He passed the glasses to Owen. “It flies out—her window, the best I can tell.”
“Yeah, I see it. Flies out, then poofs. Then again.”
“I need to see.” Sonya took the glasses, and the view popped closer so quickly, she jolted. “Why is she doing that? There’s no one there to try to scare, to threaten.”
“She’s practicing.” Cleo set the sketchbook aside, reached for half a sandwich. “When no one can see. Or none of us can see—she thinks.”
“None of us can see her fail. She’s trying to increase her distance.” Trey took the glasses back to check again. “That’s my take. She’s trying and not getting anywhere with that.”
He put an arm around Sonya’s shoulders. “She doesn’t want you to see her practicing, wasting her time and energy.”