Distracted Page 5

  “Guess it’s not as roomy as you thought, huh?” Spence rued.

  “Gueff not,” she replied, sticking her tongue out and crossing her eyes at it.

  Spence put both hands on her shoulders and, making small steps, turned her in a circle until she faced the head. “Go wash off your tongue. I have to start the blower on the engines.”

  He bounded up the steps and out the cabin door, moving into the cockpit. Within seconds, Erin heard the sound of a fan. She stepped into the head and looked in the mirror, wiggling her tongue around. Nothing serious, she surmised.

  She spent a few moments in the head, admiring the vanity, noting the clear-glass shower door and puzzling over the marine toilet. She experimented with the handles and plungers, following the brief directions printed on the side of the contraption.

  Finally satisfied that she could flush it, she went back into the narrow passage and walked towards the bow of the massive catamaran.

  The entire width of the boat was dedicated to the owner. She caressed the ultra suede couch then admired the desk in the small office area, complete with a laptop and small entertainment system. She pulled out the wooden tray beneath the desk. It was littered with pens, a watch, keys, a rabbit’s foot and some loose change. She continued forward and stepped into his bathroom, spacious compared to the head she was to use. Still, the fixtures were identical and lavish. She opened the roomy shower door and stepped inside, wondering if she should finagle a way to use his instead of hers. She stepped out of the head and walked toward the huge berth, opening doors and drawers as she explored. The beech wood made for a light and airy compartment, its satiny finish glowing in the filtered light.

  The king-sized island bed was made up with a lovely blue and green comforter and scattered with soft pillows. There were a few dog-eared paperback books on the shelf and a pair of worn, soft blue jeans tossed on the cabin sole.

  The room smelled like Spence, a mixture of sweat, salt, sunshine and coconut. She shivered, then returned to the galley.

  As she unpacked groceries she noted the gourmet supplies and wondered if Spence thought she could cook.

  “He’s got another think coming,” she murmured to herself.

  In one cabinet, she saw several bottles of wine, along with bottles of whiskey, bourbon, rum, vodka, and tequila. He certainly is prepared for a party, she thought.

  She admired the efficiency and compactness of the sailboat; everything had a special place and was bright and clean. Even the garbage can had its own cabinet, the plastic bin lined with a white trash bag.

  Spence walked into the cabin and began turning on small fans and opening hatches, circulating the fresh air. “We’re going to motor out and then raise the sails when we get in open water,” he said.

  Erin nodded, not sure what to say. “Do you need any help?”

  “I’ll let you know when,” he said, smiling indulgently. “I’ve got the lines arranged for single-handed sailing, so it’s pretty efficient.”

  Stepping over to the navigation center, he flipped on the VHF radio and tuned in to Channel 16. He listened for a minute, then turned the volume down and went back into the cockpit. Erin heard a grinding as the twin diesel engines started.

  “Erin, can you cast off the bow line?”

  “Sure,” she said, and came out of the cabin and stepped onto the port hull, marveling at the wide, slip-resistant path. She nervously held the lifelines as she made her way forward. She inched past the large trampoline stretched between the two hulls near the catamaran’s bow. The stretchy mesh fabric served as a lightweight deck, making it possible to go from one hull to the other without having to return to the cockpit. She stifled an urge to bounce on it before she made her way to the pulpit seat. She sat first, then leaned over and lifted the line, tugging on it to pull the boat closer to the pier. She slid the line up and over the pole, then dropped it in a small pile and walked aft. Spence had already released the stern and the spring lines and was sitting at the helm, one hand on the massive wheel and the other on the throttle.

  “Ready?” He smiled.

  “Aye, aye.” She moved to the back of the cockpit and sat on one of the blue seat cushions. A hardtop canopy shaded the back of the boat. She couldn’t see his eyes behind his polarized sunglasses. “Can you see where you’re going?”

  He nodded and slipped the engines into gear. The massive sailboat powered slowly away from the pier.

  Erin leaned back, excitement building in the pit of her stomach. Just twenty-four hours ago she met this man and now she was embarking on a cruise with him. She shook her head in amazement. What did she know about him?

  She studied his tanned arms as he manipulated the large steering wheel, occasionally looking over his shoulders as he angled the huge catamaran away from the piers and into open water. A breeze lifted his wavy hair away from his face, flapped his open shirt. He stood, studying the bridge deck, calculating the distance he needed to clear a moored fishing boat.

  Overhead, seagulls wheeled and dipped, their raucous calls lifting her spirits higher. A sedate, brown pelican, his bill tucked under his wing, raised his head to watch as “Fusion” slipped from the harbor.

  After a few minutes motoring, Spence glanced over his shoulder. “You still here?”

  “Of course,” Erin said, her eyes closed in bliss. She'd sailed before, and a boat was a boat. This was a floating palace.

  “You’re so quiet; I thought maybe you jumped ship.”

  “Not a chance. This is wonderful.”

  “Can you take the wheel?”

  Erin shot up. “What? Why?”

  “I need to raise the mainsail.”

  “I thought you said this was single-handed sailing,” Erin said, eyeing the wheel with alarm.

  “Well, it is once I get the sail up. The sails are all self-furling with electric winches,” he said, “but I need to stow some gear and lines. You want to raise it?”

  “No. I’ll steer. Where are we going?”

  “See the compass? Its heading is 125. Just keep it on this course. It will only take a few minutes and I’ll be right back. Shout if you see any other boats that might cross our course.”

  She slipped into the seat and rested her hands gently on the large wheel. The helm was high and wide and fronted by dials and computer screens filled with nautical charts. The stainless steel throttle vibrated slightly. The compass swung in its binnacle. The heading was southeast, she noted. There was very little movement, the twin hulls keeping the boat stable.

  Erin took a deep breath and nodded. She felt a flutter in the pit of her stomach and shoved at it. I am not afraid, she admonished herself. It’s just like driving a car. A really big car.

  Spence took off his shirt and tossed it in a corner of the cockpit. He stepped nimbly onto the cabin roof and checked the mast and boom. He pressed a button and the mainsail slowly pulled out of the mast, sliding along the boom. Soon, the large, white sail slapped resounding as it luffed in the wind.

  Erin kept her eyes fastened on the compass, trying not to make jerky movements with the wheel.

  Spence checked all the sheets, making sure the cam cleats were in working order. He neatly coiled the bow line that Erin had left in a puddle. He pulled the large, cylindrical fenders aboard and stowed them in a cavernous locker in the port hull. Then he checked the windlass and anchor, making sure the rode was secure.

  Satisfied with his brief inspection, he returned to the cockpit and opened a cooler. He withdrew two sodas, popped the tabs and handed one to Erin. She graciously thanked him and sipped the cold beverage while keeping one hand on the wheel. Spence, his head tossed back, his Adam’s apple bobbing, emptied the can in several gulps then looked around.

  “I forgot to put a trash bag out here.” He lifted a locker lid and tossed the can inside. “Remind me to clean that out, would you?”

  Then he came behind Erin and draped an arm over her shoulder. She flinched at the easy familiarity, and jumped from the seat.


  “Okay, she’s all yours.”

  Spence grunted and easily slid behind the wheel. He picked up the exterior VHF radio, adjusted the volume and clicked the handle.

  “Suzy-Q, this is “Fusion. You there?” he spoke into the microphone.

  A few seconds later, Suzy was on the air.

  “Yes, Fusion, I’m here. Switch to Channel 9; over.”

  “Roger that. Moving to Channel 9.” Spence depressed a button and the VHF switched channels. The he clicked the hand-held microphone. “Suzy-Q, Fusion here. How about a radio check? Over.”

  “Fusion, You’re loud and clear. How is she? Over.”

  “She’s beautiful. The boat’s not bad either,” he joked. “Tell Henry we’ve got plenty of propane. We’re leaving the harbor now and heading for open water. Over.”

  “Not using the Intracostal Waterway, eh?”

  “Nah, we’ll make better time sliding down the coastline. The weather forecast is great, so no worries. Can you tell Mom I’ll call her later?”

  “Will do. Fair winds, Fusion. Suzy out,” she replied, signing off.

  Checking the navigation system, Spence keyed through the GPS, checking its readout. Then he pushed several buttons on his chart plotter and loaded a map into the autopilot. He took a few minutes to study the new chart and calculate the day’s passage.

  Erin walked into the cabin, not wanting to sit and stare at his broad, muscled back and shoulders. No, that’s not right. She did want to stare; she just didn’t want him to know it. She had a job to do, and this seemed her only option to get it done. “I’m hungry. We missed lunch today. You mind if I find us something to eat?”

  “That’s a great idea. You can be the chef on this trip.”

  “Eh, Spence, that’s not a good idea. I’ll do what I can, but I won’t make any promises. I don’t even know what capers are for,” she said, thinking of the gourmet food they had stowed in the galley cabinets. “I was thinking of a bagel and a cup of coffee.”

  “Sounds good to me, honey. I’ll eat anything.”

  “Fine. And don’t call me honey,” she mumbled, stepping into the bright saloon. She pulled a bag of deli fresh bagels from a cabinet.

  “Hey! Where’s your toaster?”

  “Don’t have one, babe. Use the oven.”

  “Oven? You mean the microwave?” she called from inside. “And don’t call me babe, either.”

  “No; use the regular oven.”

  Erin eyed the propane gas stove and the small oven beneath it mistrustfully. After a few moments, she figured out how to light it. She heard a whirl as Spence unfurled the jib. Glancing out the forward port lights, she saw the brilliant blue-and-white sail expand and curve with wind. The catamaran barely heeled as it picked up speed and the shore receded quickly. She marveled at the steady motion.

  She found a small knife in a drawer and two plates in another cabinet. She sliced the bagels and set them, face up, on the wire rack inside the oven. Then she opened the refrigerator, lifting the large door and leaning inside. She foundered, her feet dangling off of the floor as she scrounged for cream cheese. She knew she had put it inside only twenty minutes earlier.

  Spence, hearing her muffled curses, leaned over and looked through the cockpit door. He enjoyed the sight of Erin’s bottom wiggling, her bare feet scraping the cabinet doors seeking purchase.

  “I told you not to bury anything you wanted,” he warned.

  “Here it is,” she said, standing finally, the cream cheese in her hand. “From now on, that’s your job.”

  As the bagels toasted, she foraged for coffee beans.

  “Dang it! Why did I put them in the refrigerator?” she exclaimed, once again diving head-first into the deep locker. “From now on, they stay on the counter,” she groused, smoothing back her hair.

  She filled the urn with water, experimenting with the foot pump.

  “Don’t use the foot pump on the right,” Spence called out. “That’s sea water. Use the one on the left.”

  She sniffed the water in the urn and crinkled her nose. “Thanks for the warning,” she said, pouring it down the drain. She rinsed it several times with fresh water, then filled the coffee machine.

  “Don’t forget the oven,” Spence chimed.

  Erin swore again and opened the oven. The bagels had browned and were beginning to singe. She grabbed one and tossed it on the plate, shaking her burning fingers. “Ouch, ouch,” she hissed, as she removed the other bagel. She slammed the oven door and turned off the gas.

  She overfilled the coffeepot water and it leaked dark liquid on the counter. Erin searched frantically around for a wash cloth, but couldn’t find one. She ran outside and grabbed Spence’s discarded shirt and mopped up the coffee.

  “Is everything alright, babe?”

  “Fine. And quit calling me babe!”

  She tossed the soggy, stained shirt into the kitchen sink and leaned against the counter. It’s not that difficult to make coffee and bagels she thought. Why am I making such a mess of things?

  After a deep breath, she calmly scraped the black edges of the bagels then spread them with cream cheese. She found a couple of mugs in an overhead cabinet and filled them with freshly brewed coffee. She found sugar in the pantry and half-and-half in the now-hated refrigerator. She put the coffee and bagels and a couple of bananas on a tray and carried it outside wearing, she hoped, a serene smile.

  “I don’t care how you drink your coffee, Spence. You get cream and sugar today.”

  “Just the way I like it, honey.”

  Chapter Five

  After a dinner of lukewarm tomato soup and ham sandwiches and with the boat on autopilot, Spence opened a bottle of wine. Filling a goblet half way, he handed it to Erin. “You really don’t cook, do you?”

  “I warned you,” she said, stung. “I can make some things. Steak. Salad. Bread.”

  “You can make bread?”

  “Well, I can toast it. Sometimes,” she amended, taking the wine from him and raising the glass to her lips. She sighed deeply.

  “Let’s go forward,” he suggested.

  Erin nodded and followed Spence out of the cabin, carefully walking along the hull toward the trampoline. He placed his glass and the bottle on top of a locker and stepped onto the springy tarp. Erin had wanted to walk on the trampoline all day, but was afraid of the open mesh and its proximity to the ocean.

  “It won’t break, will it?”

  “It’s safe. Come on; let’s watch the stars come out.”

  The last time she watched stars with Spence, she actually slept with him, but only in the literal sense. She was determined to have the upper hand this time.

  Spence opened another forward locker and pulled out a few pillows, which he tossed onto the trampoline. Then he stretched out, his head cushioned, his glass cradled on his bare stomach. It reminded Erin of his hammock.

  She handed him her wine glass, then stepped onto the trampoline, making him roll. He lifted the glasses to save the deep red liquid from spilling.

  “Oops; sorry.” She sat down quickly and crossed her legs.

  He handed her the glass, tapped his gently against it and said, “To Fusion.”

  “Confusion,” Erin quipped.

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind. Bad joke.”

  She turned her head to the west, watching as the last ray of the sun slipped beneath purple clouds. All day she had watched the starboard shore as they hugged the coastline. Now it was colluded with the setting sun. She could feel his body heat, he was so close.

  “What’s that fragrance you’re wearing?” she asked.

  He chuckled. “Men don’t wear ‘fragrance,’ babe. They wear cologne. That would be sweat and maybe a touch of diesel fuel. What you’re really saying is I stink.”

  Erin shook her head slightly, his gentle humor relieving a bit of her discomfort. “No, you don’t stink. And don’t call me ‘babe’.”

  “That really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

&
nbsp; Erin didn’t answer. Did it really bother her, or was it something else?

  “It’s important that you remember we’re not on vacation. We need to keep a working relationship.”

  “Relationship? You said you’d get a puppy if you wanted a relationship.”

  With a severe expression she said, “Spence, there are many types of relationships. The one I’m speaking about now is respect between two people who are …” She stopped as he grabbed her knee.

  “A meteor shower!” He pointed skyward and, dropping his hand to her shoulder, gently pulled her down on the trampoline beside him. “Watch. There at nine o’clock.”

  Erin did as she was told, her mouth open in surprise, her eyes wide and searching. Suddenly she gasped.

  “I see one,” she said, pointing gleefully. “Oh my, I’ve never seen so many stars. They seem so close.”

  They remained on the bridge deck, quietly sipping wine and watching stars for another hour before Spence said they were nearing their destination for the night.

  “We don’t sail through the night?” Erin asked.

  “No. Not unless you want to stay up all night and keep watch. We’re not in a hurry; you only sail at night when you’re making passage. I set the autopilot and we’ve been heading for a small harbor I know. We’ll be there soon and set the anchor.”

  “Do you need help? What should I do?”

  “I’ll need you when we take down the sails and set the anchor.”

  “Okay,” she said hesitantly. “Tell me what to do, though. I’ve only sailed small dinghies, remember?”

  He patted her knee. “Don’t worry. By the time we’re done, you’ll be able to handle this boat all by yourself.”

  “I don’t think so, but thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  She handed him her empty wine glass then stood up. She swayed a bit in the webbing, then grabbed the wire rigging for support. Spence watched from his position on the trampoline, admiring her long legs and the small indentations made by the web.

  He followed her to the cockpit and checked the chart plotter. He turned off the autopilot, steering a course towards the dark coastline. Soon he turned on the diesel engines. “Keep its nose into the wind while I lower the sails,” he said, stepping away from the wheel.