Dora loved the water and she was a quick learner on the boat. I had to discourage her from jumping off and going for a swim without my permission, but that was easy because she was smart and followed directions.
I kept to myself over the next several months, living almost a hundred percent of the time on my boat. My father came down on Sundays and I would give him sailing lessons. I practiced on the weekends, going farther and farther on my own until I made my first solo trip to the small island of Catalina. It only took me eight hours, but it was the first time I was far enough out that I couldn’t see land for a period of time. I was glad to have Dora. Sailing alone gives you a lot of time to think. My own voice became louder in my head. My own voice should always be the loudest. I stayed that night in Catalina and sailed back without any problem.
My father and Chucky met me on the docks when I returned. As I gently thrust the motor to move the boat into the slip, Chuck ran to one side and my father to the other. I threw out the lines to them so they could tie up each side.
“Proud of you, Charlotte!” my dad yelled to me as he pulled the line tight. I was beginning to realize that my father was the sixty-year-old version of Chucky, small and fit with a kind-looking face.
I knew they would be there waiting for me but I didn’t expect what came next. My brother stood on the dock and saluted me. “Permission to board, Captain.”
“Oh shut up, Chuck. Get up here.” I motioned for him to come aboard.
“Wow, Fatbutt, I can’t believe you did it. Dad tracked you with the GPS.”
My dad came onboard next. I knew he was going to track me. There were a lot of safety measures I took before heading to Catalina, but I wanted to see if I could do it on my own.
My father hugged me. “Glad you’re back. How was it?”
“As calm as could be. Eerily calm,” I said, “and not much of a test.”
Chucky and my father sat down opposite each other on the cockpit edges. “Charlotte, we were thinking—”
“That’s healthy, Chucky,” I returned.
“Dad and I want to sail to Bora-Bora with you for Helen’s wedding.”
I spun around from my spot on the bow, nearly falling over the safety lines. “Oh, do you? Do you know anything about it? It’s not just about putting the sails up. That trip is not leisure sailing. You have to route it based on the wind, time of year, and weather. Everything!”
“Honey,” my father said, “I’ve done the research. I think the three of us can do it. We’ll use the Coconut Milk Run. We’ll use northeast and southeast trade winds by way of Hawaii. The only thing is . . .”
“What?”
“You’d have to stay in the South Seas for several months before you could bring the boat back up to North America. Or you could leave the boat and fly back to the States with us.”
I started laughing because . . . well, the idea was ridiculous, but my father and Chucky sat there looking serious. “You want to drop me off in Bora-Bora for a year with my yacht? Then you two would fly back?” I pointed at them and smiled.
“Well, we were hoping you’d come with us and leave the boat. We’ll return when the weather permits and sail her back, if you’d be okay with that. You can’t—”
“I’m not leaving the boat in Bora-Bora for a year so you guys can have some great adventure.”
“It would be a great adventure for all of us, Char,” my brother said. “You can’t sail back this way at that time of year. And you can’t stay on this boat with your dog for the rest of your life.”
The truth was coming out. “Oh, so this is an intervention? A way to get me off the boat? To do what? Normal things single girls do in their late twenties? Go to bars? What? Look for a man?”
“Cut the shit, Charlotte!” my father yelled. “We just thought you’d want to do this. I’m retiring soon and I want to spend some time with my kids. This is the only time Charles will not have a practice to oversee. So you leave the boat? So what. Buy another; you’re a millionaire, remember?”
He was losing his patience.
A few moments of silence passed before I walked between them to the steps leading to the cabin below. “I don’t think I could handle being on a boat with you two for six weeks, and I don’t want to leave this boat anywhere. The answer is probably no, but I’ll think about it.” At that point I was shouting up at them from the kitchen area.
My father peeked down the steps and smiled at me. “That’s all we’re asking, for you to think about it. I’d love to spend time with you, kid, both of you . . . before you have families of your own.” I turned my head so he wouldn’t see the anguish on my face. I had wanted to have a family with Adam.
“What does Mom say about all of this?” I said with my back still turned.
“She thinks we should do it.” Of course. My mother condoned everything.
I continued cleaning up. It was hard for me to say no to him, but I thought it unfathomable to stay in Bora-Bora or to leave the boat down there for a year, let alone spend six weeks ordering my dad and Chuck the Fuck around. But I did promise myself that I would at least consider it.
27. Solo
In the mild November chill of Southern California, I sailed solo to San Diego, where I rented a temporary slip near the convention center within walking distance of Helen and Roddy’s condo. I was a boat person . . . officially. I started recognizing other boat people. I was part of a community, albeit a very strange community made up of solitary, somewhat introverted people. Something was missing, though, and as much as I didn’t want to admit it, I was lonely. I didn’t want to believe that it was Adam, because I couldn’t bring him back, but at the same time, I knew I wasn’t ready to date.
Dora and I met Helen at a small outdoor fish restaurant on Harbor Drive. I was wearing Adidas boat shoes, stretch pants, and a windbreaker pullover. She pointed at me as I walked toward her at the entrance of the restaurant. “Look at you; you’re like a salty sea captain, with your dog and shit.”
I laughed and then pulled out the tie from my hair, shaking it in waves onto my shoulders. I missed Helen. I missed her humor and loyalty.
We hugged, both of us vibrating with laughter. “That is true, my friend.”
Helen absently petted Dora’s head and then said, “Come on in. This is the only place I could find that would allow dogs.”
As we talked over lunch, Helen seemed hesitant to chat about wedding details. “Did you find a dress?” I asked her as I popped a French fry into my mouth.
“Yeah, it’s simple. Plain. Roddy wanted us to get married in swimsuits.”
“I like him!” I said fervently. Helen laughed.
“Well, I’m not having bridesmaids, just you, so you can wear anything you’d like. Seriously, except maybe that windbreaker.” Smiling, Helen looked down at Dora and said, “She’s so good, really docile. You want to bring her, too?”
“Maybe. And she is a good dog. I can’t believe someone gave her up.”
“Hey,” Helen said, “have you thought about signing her up to be one of those dog therapists?”