“Umm. Thanks. Your turn tomorrow,” Kyle said. In a couple seconds the snoring started.
Regina got up to throw away the tissues and lit one of the kerosene lamps in the galley. Kyle wouldn’t want her draining the battery by turning on a light, even though the wind generator and solar panels always provided plenty of power. Conserve, conserve. Nothing is ever enough when you can’t get more.
She sat naked on a bunk in the soft glow and closed her eyes against the burn of the kerosene fumes. She landed herself right into Rodney’s household. It was a small concrete block place on the rocky beach of West End, with no giant TV screen, no pool or Jacuzzi, no dock for a Pearson, maybe a dog or even a child running around. Whose child? She was sitting next to Rodney on a crushed velvet sofa, feeling the breeze through the screen door, watching a pink sunset out the living room window.
It was ridiculous. What would she do in West End? There certainly wasn’t any work, even if Rodney was free and interested in her. She couldn’t give up her secretary position at the community college. Rodney was only a fantasy, but she could enjoy the feeling.
She opened the locker where Kyle kept his nail clippers and unzipped the leather pouch. Up on deck she hurled the clippers as far as she could and heard a plunk as they hit the water and sank to the sandy turtle-grass bottom. They would corrode, no matter how sturdy the metal. For some reason it gave her pleasure.
The next day she woke up happy again. Kyle’s complaints couldn’t spoil her mood. Together they motored to shore in the dinghy and bought fresh conch from some Bahamians, who had brought hundreds in their power boat to clean them at the deserted dock. Regina looked at the brown arms and long, dark hair on the man who handed her the conchs. Each time she reached for a slippery, rubbery handful of mollusk, she felt the warmth of his hand.
She took her Joy bath that day in the dinghy, whipping her hair into froth with a few drops of the yellow liquid, then smearing a white sheen over her body. She was now an even brown from the last two days of having no necessity for clothes. She smoothed her slippery breasts and thought how beautiful she was.
Kyle didn’t notice the missing clippers. That night she dumped a pair of his Sperry boat shoes with socks. He had two pairs anyway. The last night at Carter she filled a medium trash bag with his visor, Swiss Army knife, the last bottle of gin, his shaving lotion, favourite Jockey shorts, and a Tupperware container with hanks of lines, all neatly looped, that Kyle had been saving up for years. The sound of the package hitting the water gave Regina a peace she’d never known before. She didn’t feel guilty. She was tidying up-less to make a mess. A place for everything and everything in its place. Kyle didn’t need any of that stuff.
He had set the alarm for six, before first light, so they could make it to their next destination, Green Turtle Cay. There they would dock to fill up on fuel and water and socialise with other sailing couples.
Kyle complained he couldn’t find his shaving lotion.
“I don’t know, honey,” Regina said. “Maybe you set the bottle on deck and it got knocked over.”
“You know I always put everything back in its place.” He looked for his other pair of boat shoes that morning also. Regina watched him search and wonder at himself. He put on his damp shoes.
It was a cloudy, gusty day, winds reaching over twenty-five knots, according to Kyle’s calculations. He put three reefs in the main and hooked up the storm jib that was hardly bigger than a hanky. They were on a run like before, only faster. It was an exhilarating ride. Regina watched the clouds blow away in front of them as they flew. Kyle was quiet for once, maybe enjoying himself. Suddenly the sun came out full and hot on their backs and faces.
“Regina, get my visor from the locker above the chart table.”
She went down and started rummaging, knowing it was gone. She noticed she was whistling as she stepped back on deck.
“I can’t find it, honey. Did you put it back last time?”
“Yes, I certainly did. I don’t understand it.” He paused to think.
“Yes, dear.”
“Regina, I’m going to give you the tiller for thirty seconds while I look. You just aren’t seeing it.” He put his finger under her chin to bring her head up. “Remember what we learned the last time-about handling the tiller on a run?”
She nodded and smiled. “I know exactly what to do,” she said.
Kyle stepped down the companionway and she swung the tiller hard to port, bracing herself. The boom slammed across with a crack like lightning. She thought the whole mast was going to topple, but it held.
She heard the roar of Kyle’s obscenity from below. She looked down and saw him flopped across the settee. His eyes were glazed and his face was comic with anger. She wondered if he’d hit his head.
“You jibed!” he yelled. “You fucking jibed again!”
Regina smiled. A lunatic grin strained at her cheeks. She held the tiller alee, then brought it back amidships, and trimmed the sheets for a broad reach.
“What are you doing?” Kyle screamed. “Trying for a knockdown?”
“I was thinking I might, but I hate to get everything wet. Remember the time you did it?”
Kyle’s eyes widened and he started to choke.
“Regina, get me those pills. Please. The Dilantin-on the shelf by the binoculars. I can’t get up.”
Regina put her hands on her hips. “Please, you said? You’ve fallen and you can’t get up?”
Regina trimmed the sails and tied the tiller so the Spring Fling would hove to. She reached the shelf inside the cabin without leaving the cockpit. “Here they are, sweetheart,” she said. “What should I do now? See, Kyle, I’m asking-like you always tell me to do.”
She heard a gurgle. He was lying flat on his back staring through the hatch at her.
She held up the pills. The bottle flipped from her hand and flew portside. She couldn’t distinguish a splash, with the wind and slapping waves, but they were gone. “Oops. The pills are with your aftershave and your dry shoes.”
She listened to the noises coming from his throat. She thought he was listening.
“I’d need to put on my snorkeling gear. I could also look for your nail clippers and favourite underwear-but I’m afraid they’re long gone. Maybe you’d like to go in after them?”
Kyle started shaking violently, his arms and legs hyperextending, drool running down his neck. Regina went up to release the jib and pull it down.
She returned and glanced into the cabin to see Kyle’s head lolling on the back of the settee. His eyes were wide open. His body was slumped partly onto the sole.
She slipped down the companionway and felt the side of his neck for a pulse. There wasn’t any; neither was there the sickening odour of his aftershave.
She turned on the VHF and picked up the mike. Channel sixteen came on automatically. She pressed the button and yelled hysterically. “Mayday! Mayday! This is the Spring Fling. Need assistance immediately.” She let up on the button and waited. No response. She tried again. “Mayday! Mayday!”
This time she got an answer. It was a sailboat west of Carter, from where she had come. She told them in a frantic voice that the captain was unconscious and she was an inexperienced mate. They responded that they would keep trying for the Bahamian Air Rescue. She told them she’d get her position from the GPS. She thanked them, her voice shaking.
Regina turned the boat into the wind, went forward and dropped the main, then returned to the cockpit and started the engine in neutral. She got out the GPS, locked in the satellites, noted her position, and got the waypoint for Carter on the route to West End. She adjusted her compass course and pushed the throttle forward until she had 2,000 rpm’s, as recommended. The engine was tuned perfectly, as Kyle always kept it. This was surely emergency use.
She knew the Rescue team would be there in no time to take Kyle’s body. She was on her way to Rodney, taking her chance, a big one, leaving her wealthy, conservative life behind. But without Kyle, Rodney didn’t matter so much. She didn’t need to think of his hand on her hair or his living room glowing in the sunset.