Float Plan(14)
“Well, when it’s my turn to reef the sail, I hope you’ll worry about me, because of the two of us, I’m most likely to fall overboard.”
“If that happens, I’ll save you.” He nudges his elbow against mine. “But let’s add reefing the main and man-overboard drills to the list of things you should learn.”
We slog through the bumpy chop for several miles before Keane pulls the plug on sailing. “We’re wasting daylight now. Best we motor the rest of the way.”
He lowers the main while I roll up the jib. The ride remains rough and the waves still break over the bow, but with the engine running, we make better time. We share a bag of plantain chips Keane finds in the pocket of his jacket and watch as sportfishing boats and mega-yachts speed past us at varying distances.
It’s past noon when Keane makes a radio call to one of the marinas in Nassau to arrange for a dock. “I’m not keen on rowing groceries and supplies out to the anchorage,” he says. “And leaving an unlocked dinghy at a landing is a bit like leaving the keys in your car and expecting it to be there when you return.”
Despite my worries about how much it will cost, I look forward to being able to step off the boat and use a proper bathroom. Maybe even eat in a restaurant.
His next call, a few miles later, is to Nassau Harbor Control, requesting permission to enter the harbor and informing them we have a dock reservation for one night. That we’ve come from Bimini. The coral-pink towers of the Atlantis resort are visible in the valleys between waves. As we get closer, the wind begins to calm and the shoreline of Paradise Island emerges, white sand and green vegetation. We peel off our jackets, the boat passing from the Tongue back into shallow turquoise water, where schools of silver fish flash in the sunshine.
Between Paradise Island and New Providence, Nassau Harbor is filled with boats of every size and variety, including five cruise ships that mean the nearby streets will be busy with tourists. We skirt the cruise docks and pass under the two bridges that connect the islands before reaching the marina. Keane hands over the tiller and prepares the lines, while I bring the boat alongside the dock. I’m too far away—afraid of a repeat performance of Miami—but he tosses a line around the piling and pulls us close.
stinging mark (7)
Nassau is every bit as disappointing as it is familiar. Aside from driving down the left-hand side of the road, it’s a lot like Florida. The main shopping drag is lined with the same types of tourist shops, chain restaurants, and upscale retailers as Key West. Ten bucks will get you three cheap T-shirts, exactly like the beach shops back home in Fort Lauderdale. There’s a Starbucks. Burger King. KFC. And with all the pale Americans flooding the sidewalks, it sounds like we’re in the United States too. I understand why Ben didn’t want to come here. There’s nothing wrong with Nassau, but there’s nothing really special about it either.
Our first stop the following morning is the marine supply store for the items on Keane’s list, along with a heavier anchor, extra propane for the stove, and a canvas tarp to tent across the boom to provide shade when we’re at anchor. Ben was going to have a Bimini top installed over the cockpit, but he never did.
We have lunch at a Bahamian restaurant that serves stewed conch with tomatoes and peppers, then take a cab to Nassau’s version of Walmart to restock the galley, and as I collect receipts, I worry that I won’t have enough money to finish the trip. Ben left a decent amount in our shared bank account, but there are still so many miles, so many islands, between here and Trinidad. So many things that could go wrong. And when it’s over, I need to get home.
After everything is unpacked, I head to the marina bathroom to take a shower. I return to find Keane parked in front of a small laptop, a scowl etched into his usually sunny face. He slaps the computer shut without acknowledging my return, grabs his bathing supplies, and stalks off the boat. While he is gone, I break out my own laptop and connect to the marina Wi-Fi to find an email from Carla.
Anna,
A small part of me is pissed that you left town without telling me. We’ve been best friends this long for a reason. I mean, you can trust me with your shit. But a bigger part of me is happy that you finally stepped back into the world. Be brave but careful. Be smart but also reckless once in a while. If you have sex with a stranger, use protection. And don’t sink the boat.
Love,
Carla
I send back a brief reply, letting her know I’m in Nassau and that I’ve hired a guide. Someday I’ll tell her how I met Keane Sullivan, but for now it’s just too weird. I’m about to email my mom when I get a message from Rachel.
Did you steal that boat?
What?! No!
Ben left it to me.
His mother has been trying to
contact you. Because she’s
contesting Ben’s will,
she says you’ve technically
stolen the boat. She’s giving you
the chance to return it before they
get their lawyer involved.
That’s not right.
My name is on the title.
Do you have proof?
Yes.
Scan it and send it to Mom.
Okay. How’s she doing?
I’m surprised you care.
Don’t start.
Just send proof you own the boat.
I frown, waiting for her to say something else, but she’s gone.