Chapter 49
Forty-Nine
I’ve got one foot out the door, already thinking about today’s lab in my Automotive Engines I class, when my mom calls my name.
“Honey, come here for a minute,” she hollers.
I backtrack down the hall to her bedroom, where she’s slipping on a pair of shoes. “What’s up?”
“Do you have plans on Saturday?”
That’s a loaded question. It’s not that I have anything massive planned, but if she’s about to ask me to spend my day doing yard work, I’m not going to be happy. I settle for a noncommittal shrug.
“We’ve been invited sailing, and I’d really like you to come along.”
Oh. “On the bay?”
“Mm-hmm.” She stands and checks her appearance in the full-length mirror on her closet door.
“With who?”
“With whom,” she corrects, brushing lint from the sleeve of her blouse. “One of my coworkers, Nathan, has a boat. A big one reportedly. A handful of people are going, even someone around your age, I believe.” Her gaze connects with mine through the mirror.
Is this some kind of blind date setup? Because that’s a solid no, mother. Or wait, is this…does she like this Nathan dude? She hasn’t dated anyone since leaving my father—unless she’s kept it private. It’s weirding me out. “Are you…are you interested in this guy?”
She pauses, smoothing down the line of her slacks. “We’re friends. I’m not sure if I want it to be more than that.”
“But he does?”
She glances away like she doesn’t want to answer, then meets my gaze. “He asked me out a while ago. I said no to dating but our friendship has blossomed in the meantime, and…”
“And what?”
“And maybe that’s something I could do again.”
“With him?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know, Mick. Him. Someone else. It’s honestly not something I’ve considered for obvious reasons.”
My heart sinks at that. “Jesus, Mom.” I huff out a breath. “You deserve to experience a good relationship. Something healthy and mutually respectful with a decent man. If you think this boat guy has the goods, then go for it.”
A tentative smile crosses her lips as she approaches me, one of her hands cupping my cheek. “Thank you.” She lets her hand drop and latch onto mine, giving it a squeeze. “So, you’ll come on Saturday?”
“Sure. And if this Nathan dude tries pulling a fast one, I’ll put him in his place.”
Mom laughs and shakes her head, but I’m not joking.
A surge of adrenaline bursts through my veins, and I experience a momentary paralysis.
This possibility suddenly terrifies me. How do you really know the good guys from the bad?
My mom thought Bill Callahan was a catch.
Perhaps he was—at first—not showing his true colors until later, after she’d married his abusive ass.
Or else she’s a terrible judge of character.
Either way, her safest option is to never fall in love again, never trust a man again, never venture down that risky, uncertain path again.
And that strikes me as unfair, a punishment for a crime she didn’t commit.
“Mick? Are you alright?”
I’m shaken from my spiraling thoughts and equally chagrined by the worry etched on her face. “Yeah, but I need to roll or I’m going to be late for class. See you later.” I force a half smile, and that seems to mollify her.
“Have a good day, honey.”
Saturday morning, Mom drives us to a marina in Alameda.
I couldn’t have dialed up a more gorgeous day.
Cerulean skies dotted with cottony clouds.
Pleasant temps. And I admit, a discernible anticipation thrumming through my veins.
I’m a water kind of guy who’s longed to experience sailing.
It reminds me a little of surfing. Just you, the ocean, the elements.
I’ve stowed my prejudice about Nathan—the guy does want to nail my mom, right? Yecch. Can’t go there. But the dude has a sailboat, so points for that.
I’m wrong. It’s not just a sailboat. It’s a sleek, luxurious, immense craft that draws me in like a dog to a meaty bone. A man waves at us as we near the slip, and my mom returns it. The ships’ name comes into view. Naut Your Average Girl.
“Glad you both could make it,” the man says, extending a hand and helping my mother on deck. “Welcome aboard.”
“Thanks so much for inviting us,” she answers.
“Nate,” he says, shaking my hand. “You must be Mick. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I return a firm handshake and assess him. He’s a few inches taller than me, stout, and sports a bushy black mustache that accentuates his affable grin. He seems alright, I guess. “Cool boat.”
His entire body bobs in agreement. “Sure is. I’ll give you the grand tour in a bit but feel free to check her out in the meantime. Maybe you could help me sail her later. I can always use a strong hand.”
“Yeah? I’d like that.” And I mean it. Out of my periphery, I catch my mom smiling at our interaction.
“Nancy,” he says, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. “You know these clowns, right?”
“Yes, hi!” She addresses their coworkers, and Nate introduces other passengers to us before he splits to do captain tasks.
I slip away, wandering from stern to bow scoping out every detail, trying to make sense of all the rigging and apparatus, my brain reasoning out how it all works, how fast she goes, when you raise the sails, if you use one or all of them.
Taking the stairs, I explore below deck, finding the galley kitchen, and areas for dining, hanging out, and sleeping, plus the head, which I already learned is the term for a ship’s bathroom.
By the time I re-emerge, more people have boarded.
When Nate spots me, he takes me under his wing and shows me the boat’s main components, explains how it operates and what kinds of sails she has, and answers my questions with enthusiasm.
I think he respects my interest, which is growing by the minute.
“You’re a born sailor,” he muses, his hazel eyes warm.
“I dig anything that puts me on the water,” I admit. “And this is the first time I’ve been on something so huge before.” My gaze coasts across this mammoth vessel. “I’m interested to see how fast she goes.”
Nate chuckles, gives me a wink. “She’s swift. And something tells me a young man such as yourself will appreciate that too.”
Hell yeah. “Right again.”
“Here, let me show you how the rigging works.”
He provides a brief explanation of halyards, tack lines, and sheets, the mechanisms that haul the sails up the mast, controlling the shape and angle to the wind.
I’m glued to his subsequent demonstration of what I’ll be responsible for during our sail, committing it to memory.
It’s not difficult, making total sense in my brain.
He prods me to repeat the procedure and when I perform it capably, he beams and claps me on the shoulder.
“Good man,” he says. “Picked it right up. I’ll give you the word when it’s time. If you do it just like that, we’ll be golden.”
Right on.
Nate bellows a quick speech to his guests before cranking up the engines and navigating out of the marina. I’m impressed with how capable he is—and easygoing. He reminds me of Remy’s dad in that way.
Once we’re further out in open water, the Bay Bridge stretching majestically in the distance, it’s time to hoist the sails.
Nate already has another two crew members, but true to his word, he relies on me to let out the line and tie it off when he gives me the nod.
It’s a rush to participate, and an even bigger one to fly across the estuary in this baby.
The breeze flowing through my hair, the freedom that comes with gliding along, propelled only by wind and sea, the salt air embedding in my skin…
it’s like my own personal sheet music, written just for me.
Something inside shifts, a little seed planting itself in my mind. Maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to work on the water. On a boat like this or some other kind. Then I could spend my days in a place that truly speaks to my soul.