Adrift: A True Story of Love, Loss and Survival at Sea

“WE WILL. GO BELOW AND TRY TO REST.”

“WHAT HAPPENS IF WE ROLL OVER? I DON’T WANT TO LEAVE YOU ALONE.”

“THE BOAT WOULD RIGHT ITSELF. LOOK, I’M SECURE,” he said, giving a sharp tug on his tether. “I’D COME RIGHT BACK UP WITH IT.”

I looked at his tether secured to the cleat on the cockpit coaming.

“GO BELOW,” he urged. “KEEP YOUR EYE ON THE BAROMETER. LET ME KNOW THE MINUTE IT STARTS RISING.”

Reluctantly I got up, leaned out, and squeezed the back of Richard’s hand. The wind sounded like jet engines being thrown in reverse. I looked at the anemometer and gasped when I read 140 knots. With my mouth agape, I looked at Richard and followed his eyes up the mainmast in time to see the anemometer’s transducer fly into outer space.

“HOLD ON,” he yelled and cranked the wheel. I tumbled sideways as the hull was knocked down. I fell against the cockpit coaming. An avalanche of white water hit us. The boat ominously shuddered from bow to stern.

Richard anxiously glanced at me, water dripping down his face, fear jumping out of his intense blue eyes. Behind him rose sheer cliffs of white water, the tops blown into cyclones of spray by the ferocious wind. My eyes questioned his—I couldn’t hide my terror. He faltered, and then winked at me, thrusting his chin up, a signal for me to go below. His forced grin and lingering eye contact disappeared as I slammed the hatch shut.

I clung to the grab rail of the companionway ladder as I made my way down to the cabin below. The frenzied cadence of Hazana’s motion prevented me from doing anything but collapsing into the sea hammock rigged to the table, and I automatically secured the tether of my safety harness around the table’s post. I looked up at the ship’s clock: It was 1300 hours. My eyes dropped to the barometer: It was terrifyingly low—below the twenty-eight-inch mark. Dread engulfed me. I hugged the musty blanket to my chest as I was flung side to side in the hammock. No sooner had I closed my eyes when all motion stopped. Something felt very wrong, it became too quiet—this trough too deep.

“OHMIGOD!” I heard Richard scream.

My eyes popped open.

WHOMP!

I covered my head as I sailed into oblivion.

Two (#ulink_8c3360e4-9ba4-5af5-ab88-c7a9318c437c)

1300 to 1600 Hours (#ulink_8c3360e4-9ba4-5af5-ab88-c7a9318c437c)

WAAA-AH, WAAA-AH.

“Debbie, will you ease up on that sander, you’re gonna burn it out.”

“Tami, it’s not cutting through.”

“Well, change the sandpaper, Miss Lazy Bones.”

“Lazy! This is hard work—besides, I’m starving.”

“Okay, let’s break for lunch.”

The day was warm, as most summer days are in San Diego. The yard noise had quieted down for lunch, which gave the boatyard a peacefulness worth savoring. I dusted off the cockpit seat lockers with a rag and Deb and I sat down under the awning in the tepid shade. The sea breeze was light, tickling our hot, tanned skin. I pulled a tuna sandwich out of my lunch bag and a bright Red Delicious apple.

“Is that tuna again?” Debbie asked.

“Yes, white albacore. It’s full of protein. You should try it sometime. Is that peanut butter again?”

“Yeah, full of protein too. You should try it sometime.” Debbie took the largest bite humanly possible then chewed with her mouth open to irritate me. Suddenly, she almost choked. “Speaking of protein, check out this guy coming,” she mumbled.

I turned and saw a honey blond lion walking up the dock. I liked his stride and how his strong, square shoulders moved with a purpose. He had on shorts and a T-shirt, and Topsider shoes with no socks. Glints of gold sparkled from the curly sun-bleached hair on his strong long legs. As he got closer, I noticed that his full trimmed beard was amber, like a patch of wheat. It was complimentary—attractive, how it framed his face. Liking how he looked, I quickly said to Debbie, “Don’t say anything, okay?”

“Man, you’re so paranoid. What am I gonna say—hey, good lookin’?”

“Just don’t . . .”

Debbie and I were old friends and I knew it would be a miracle if she could keep her big mouth shut. But he started it, so she was off the hook.

“Lookin’ good, ladies.” His British accent surprised me.

“Thanks,” Debbie smiled wide, and then coquettishly added, “Brightwork by Tami. Every job looks good. I’m Debbie and this is Tami. We’re for hire.”

“Right-o, Debbie.” He smiled coyly. “I’ll keep that in mind, that you two brighten up a boat in more ways than one.”

“That we do, it’s only one of our many talents. Huh, Tami?”

I felt myself blush as red as my apple and muttered, “Yeah, right Deb.”

I could tell he was aware of my embarrassment by the way he cocked his head and smiled at me. “Other talents? That sounds intriguing.”

I couldn’t take the tête-à-tête any longer. Debbie always starts something. He probably thought we were a couple of boat bunnies. I could just choke her. Not knowing how to tactfully change the subject, I blurted out, “We have to get back to work.”

“Hey . . .” Debbie started to protest, looking at her watch.

“We have a deadline to meet,” I mumbled, stuffing the rest of my sandwich in the brown paper bag.

“Well, I don’t want to hang you ladies up. It’s been a real pleasure, one I hope to repeat when you’re not so busy. Ta, Debbie. Ta, Tami.”

I turned, looked at him, and was confronted with a great big smile. My heart leaped. His pale, baby blue eyes mesmerized me.

“Hey matie, what’s your name?” Debbie broke the spell.

“Richard. Richard Sharp at your service. You can catch me at Gypsy on D dock.”

“Well ta yourself, Richard from D dock.” Debbie laughed.

He smiled warmly at her and said to me, “See you later?” I glowed red again and smiled like a fourteen-year-old before I could force myself to turn away. His footsteps echoed down the long wooden dock.

“Did you see the way he looked at you?” Debbie chirped. “He’s in love.”

“Oh, give me a break. You embarrassed the hell out of me saying, ‘one of our many talents’! We’re professionals, not dock babes. I’m so mortified, I could just fire you.”

“Oh, not that again.” Debbie sighed, throwing her sandwich’s plastic bag into the five-gallon bucket we used for trash. “That was not a decent lunch break, I deserve overtime for today.” She always had to get the last word in.

All that afternoon I thought about Richard. I was dating a couple of guys but they were just acquaintances. He must be talented to have been hired on Gypsy. I thought of his British accent, it was so exotic. I couldn’t stop seeing his image in the reflection of the stainless steel winches as I varnished around them. I knew I wanted to see him again, but I hadn’t developed the skill of trolling—reeling in guys like Debbie and some of my other friends had. Meeting him caused me to feel so good, so alive. I hoped I would see him again soon. I wondered what tool I could borrow from D dock.

I went home that afternoon with a feeling of euphoria. As I walked through the front door, the phone was ringing. “Tami, it’s Bridget, boy do I have a gig for you.”

“You do, Bridge-deck? Great,” I said into the phone. “Where to this time?” I knew it was work, Bridget always thought of me first if she couldn’t take a boat-delivery job. But this time my enthusiasm waned, for the image of Richard flashed through my mind and I knew if I accepted the delivery I wouldn’t be seeing him for quite a while.