Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
“Uh-oh, you’ve gone serious on me.” Dad spins around in his chair, propping his hands behind his head. “What’s going on, kid?”
“Gil asked me to deliver the Surely Perfect to him in New Zealand.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”
“I know, right?” I lean against the bookshelf. Hesitant, because I value my father’s opinion. But I also know he won’t want me taking so much time off. “They bought a house in Auckland and plan to live there half the year. They’d need her there by New Year’s Day. They’d pay me, obviously.”
Dad is startled now. “You’re considering this?”
“Of course I am. Why? You think I shouldn’t?”
His casual pose changes, arms dropping, hands clasping together in his lap. His expression grows serious as he considers the question. “What’s the starting point? California?”
“Florida. It’ll take a couple days to sail from Charleston to the port in Miami. I’d stock up there. Prep the boat. And then I’d set sail to Auckland.”
A frown mars his lips. “This is a transatlantic crossing, Tate. No. It’s too much for you.”
“I’d take it easy. Gil said he’ll help me chart a manageable route.”
“Easy? Manageable?” Dad shakes his head in disbelief. “We’re talking about crossing the North Atlantic, the South Atlantic. Indian Ocean. Then you’ve got the gulfs, the Tasman Sea.”
“It’s a lot,” I agree.
“It’s too much,” he repeats. “And he needs her there by the first of January? That puts you in hurricane season.”
“The tail end of it,” I argue. “It adds some risk, yes, but the tough sailing starts later in the journey. By November the season will have passed. Any developing hurricanes are likely to be west, right?”
“That’s not the only concern, kid. The trades will be difficult. You’d be looking at fifteen, twenty knots. Not to mention squalls. I did an Atlantic crossing before you born, nothing too intensive, just to the Canaries. And even that was tough.” He sounds unhappy. “You gotta pay attention to what’s happening north when you tackle a voyage like this. Those long trailing cold fronts from the North Atlantic can fuck with the trade winds.”
“I’d adjust for all that.”
“A friend of mine did an Atlantic crossing in winter once. Said it was the worst sailing of his life.” Dad’s eyes flicker with concern now. “Waters could get rough.”
“I can handle it.”
He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Look. I mean, part of me thinks, yeah, you can. I’ve never seen anyone handle a boat the way you do. But it’s a big undertaking for your first solo, you know?”
“I know,” I say, nodding.
“If it’s something you’re seriously considering, maybe wait until spring, then? And start off a little less ambitious, maybe only a week or two? Chart a course from here to, I don’t know, the Virgin Islands. Yeah, BVI would be good. You could take the Beneteau 49 if she’s not booked for a charter—”
She’s not a Hallberg-Rassy, I almost blurt out, but bite my tongue.
“—and give yourself a small taste of the solo journey. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I guess.” We can both hear my lack of enthusiasm for his alternate proposal.
“If you accepted Gil’s offer, you’d be gone, what, two, three months?”
“About that. Longer if I take the scenic route,” I joke.
Dad doesn’t crack a smile. “That’s a long time to be away from home. I need you at Bartlett Marine, kid. I can’t handle it by myself.”
I want to point out that he handled it by himself for years before I started taking on more responsibility. But it’s clear what he thinks of this plan.
Sensing my unhappiness, he sighs. “I built this business for our family. For you, so that one day you would take it over. I thought that’s what we were working toward these past few years. Teaching you how to run it.”
“We are. But if I’m ever going to do a major solo voyage, shouldn’t I do it now? Before I have even more responsibility?”
Dad is silent for several long beats. “I truly don’t think you’re ready for it,” he finally says. “And I need you here, at the dealership. But if you want to go …”
I swallow my disappointment. “No,” I say. “It’s fine.” He’s probably right, anyway. It’s a crazy idea. Dangerous. “I’ll tell Gil to hire a more experienced captain.”
“I think that’s a smart idea. And if you did want to plan something for the spring, I’d be happy to sit down with you and—”
“Dinner’s ready!” Mom’s faint voice calls from below.
“Shit,” Dad says with a pained look. “I still need to send this email. Tell your mother I’ll be right down?”
“Sure thing.”
Downstairs, I help Mom set the table, hoping she doesn’t notice I’m feeling subdued. But she’s a mom, so of course she notices.
“Everything okay?” she asks. “What were you talking to your father about?”
“All good. We were just going over some sailing stuff. And I needed to take a picture of Dad’s trophy shrine to show something to Cassie. I’m meeting her after this.”