Free Blue Water by A. Manette Ansay Page B

bodies, the way he was listening, too. I could sense something building around us, beneath us.
    â€œBetter take a look topside,” Eli said.
    A grinding sound brought us all to our feet as Chelone ’s hull rubbed up against Rubicon ’s, long and hard, a lazy cat arching against a table leg. Glasses spilled; a fork clattered to the floor. Even before the second wave lifted us, everything seemed to be in motion. Rex was already at the top of the companionway, struggling with the unfamiliar hatch; Eli hurried after him while Bernadette tightened Leon’s harness, bent to check the floor locks that gripped the wheels of his chair. I cleared everything off the table, securingplates, bottles, and silverware inside the deep sink wells. Waves were coming regularly now, and after so many days of stillness, they felt larger than they actually were, unsettling. Exhilarating, too. Waves meant wind. At last, we’d be on our way. With a little luck, we’d be motoring into Saint George’s harbor in just a few days. As I sealed the second sink well with its heavy teak cover, I heard Rex calling me from above.
    â€œMeg! Squall line!”
    â€œI don’t believe this,” I said to Bernadette, bending to grip Leon’s hands for a moment—his face was bright, triumphant—before straightening up, looking around. Somehow it seemed important to remember everything: the clever shelves, the teak bathtub, the paintings and books and curtains. This intimate glimpse into the lives of three people I believed I would never see again. Bernadette kissed my cheek, pressed a Tupperware container into my hands. “Dessert. No, take it. It’s the least we can do.”
    â€œGotta get these boats apart!” It was Eli calling now, and I scrambled topside just in time to see Rex leap aboard Chelone, his good arm extended for balance. As he ducked below to start the engine, I glanced at my watch. Eight-fifteen. The western sky burned red with sunset, but a black mass of clouds, webbed with lightning, choked the east. Crouching on Rubicon ’s rub rail, I waited for the next wave to pass before I launched myself after him, Bernadette’s Tupperware tucked beneath my arm. Gusts of wind pulsed over me; I dashed from cleat to cleat, collecting Rubicon ’s lines. Rex engaged the throttle just as Bernadette appeared. We traded lines, and Eli gave a shout.
    Chelone was free.
    â€œRemember—Houndfish Cay!” Bernadette called as Rubicon wheeled away from us with amazing agility and speed. Lightningsplit the sky like glass, glittery pieces scattering across the dark water. I ran through the cockpit and down the companionway, the sound of the wind rising, thickening, reminding me of the tornado I’d seen once, as a child, touching down in my grandmother’s fields. Safety lines hung at the foot of the stairs; I tossed a set up to Rex.
    â€œPortals and hatches!” he shouted.
    â€œGot ’em!”
    The ocean was pitching now, a confusion of waves that splashed through the open portals. One by one, I screwed them shut, clinging like a monkey to the grab rails. I’d just reached the forward hatch when Chelone pitched forward into what seemed like an endless trough. A torrent of water knocked me down and I rolled beneath the table, sputtering, banging my head against the brass pedestal. More water poured through the companionway, flooding the bilge; Chelone ’s engine sputtered, died. One by one, the floorboards covering the lockers began popping up, sloshing around like small, wooden rafts. Pulling myself onto the sodden settee, I wedged my torso between the table and the bulkhead just as the rain began: staccato, fierce, a battery of bullets. Abruptly, the forward hatch snapped shut, cotter pins stripped by the weight of the incoming water. Momentary darkness. Chelone pitched again, an interior wave rolling into the forward berth, soaking the mattresses, the bookshelves. And