PART TWO – SIXTEEN

Payton watched the ambulance speed out of sight. She wished they’d allowed her to ride with Claire. “Heat exhaustion,” they claimed, but Payton wasn’t so sure. The past few days she’d seemed distracted.

“Gather round, folks!” Edward raised Sackets Harbor Yacht Club’s brand new burgee on the pole, tying it off ten feet below the Stars & Stripes. The breeze lifted the sleek emerald flag and alternately displayed the gold crossed mainsails with the SH on the left and the YC on the right. Everyone cheered.

In a Billy Grahamesque gesture, Edward raised his arms in the air, palms facing the crowd. Silence fell. Even the terns stopped their incessant squawking. He lowered his hands and clasped them in front of himself. “Before we say our regular race prayer, let’s have a moment of silence for Claire. The EMTs said it was probably heat prostration and she’ll be fine in a day or so. For that we’re thankful. We’re also thankful Felicia has agreed to be her understudy and take over timing our race.” There was a polite round of applause.

“Lord, please watch over our race today,” Edward said. “Keep the waters smooth and the participants safe…”

“…And could you see your way clear to putting a prevailing tailwind on Paves the Way?” Helen added.

A chorus of groans went through the crowd.

Payton remained silent. Claire shouldn’t be alone right now. Cameron had died alone. Stabbed through the heart on her kitchen floor. Not that Claire was in danger of dying, but still, she should have someone there. The psychiatrist’s words spoke in her head: “Face your fears. Face your troubles. You’ll find out how strong you really are.”

Not strong. Not strong at all.

“Did you say something?”

Amanda stood beside her. Payton shook her head as Edward finished the prayer. “Thank you Lord. Amen.” Murmured amens, and everyone shook hands, wishing each other good luck.

Payton took another step backwards. The air was cloying, heavy with something above and beyond the heat of the day. It wasn’t something palpable, or even definable in words. Something was wrong. So why did everyone act so normal? Was she the only one who could feel it?

Feet thumped down the dock heading for individual sailboats. Aden appeared on Payton’s left. “Nervous?”

“A bit.”

“Try not to worry about Claire. She’ll be fine.”

Payton stopped at the tip of Zephyr’s bow and ran her hand along the polished surface. “Thanks for the support,” was all she could think of saying.

He kissed her cheek and patted her on the behind. “Happy sailing.”

MaryAnn giggled from Zephyr’s deck. Aden was undaunted. “Just sail ’er like you did the other day and you’ll do great. Maybe you’ll even beat us.”

“You can bet on that,” MaryAnn called.

“Bet, you say?”

Payton moaned. “We’re not wagering on our first run in a strange boat.”

“Come on, live dangerously.”

MaryAnn stuck out a hand to help her aboard.

“Good luck!” Aden called and strode away, his footsteps silent in the boatshoes.

Payton checked the riggings. MaryAnn bent over the rail and cast off the mooring lines, then turned the key and the motor chugged to life. Payton knelt on the deck as they headed to the starting line.

As they passed Diplomat, both Aden and Brighton tipped their caps. Aden hollered, “It’s not too late to lay down a bet!”

Payton groaned, but it was erased by the sound of the waves swooshing against the fiberglass.

“Got the stopwatch and compass?” MaryAnn shouted.

Payton reached inside her shirt and pulled the silver chain from which hung the requested items. She dangled them so MaryAnn could see. Not only would Felicia time the race from shore, but each individual boat ran their own times, later comparing leg times, water and wind conditions against previous races.

Payton unfurled the sail in her charge, hauling hard on the lines, feeling the familiar bite of rope on her palms. Aden had been right, she felt better already. The wind caught in the white fabric, sounding like thunder. Memories roared through her brain: Cameron hauling on the mainsail ropes, his powerful muscles rippling from shoulder to spine. Uptilted face serious, brilliant green eyes squinting into the sun, jaw tense. Payton let the wind dry the pair of tears as Zephyr’s bow cut through the water. Now wasn’t the time for nostalgia or regrets. She inched the sail up a little more, trying to gauge the wind and currents and distance to the starting pin as the boats lined up. Timing had to be perfect; Zephyr could not reach the committee boat before the starter gun sounded. It echoed down the lake.

Their timing was off a bit. The gun cracked .073 seconds before they hit the pin. Valuable time lost already. A flood of adrenaline rumbled through her veins.

The race committee gave thumbs-up to the Zephyr. Payton raised the jib sail to its fullest point and tied off the line. The wind was strong and the craft fairly flew atop the choppy waves. To their port side, Aden and Brighton both worked to maintain course and increase speed, as did the crew of a Chaumont boat on the starboard side. Exhilaration throbbed against Payton’s ribs. She held tight to her perch and let adrenaline overwhelm all thoughts.

“Wind change SSE!” MaryAnn shouted from her spot beneath the mainsail.

Payton adjusted the jib accordingly.

“Another boat starboard, be ready to luff off!” MaryAnn hollered.

Diplomat approached rapidly, its hull cutting through the water like a hot spoon through ice cream. The sound of it sent a rush of memories crashing inside Payton’s head. MaryAnn’s voice became Cameron’s. Zephyr became Ace. The warm air blew with the chill of a Minnesota spring, the scent of fresh pine became factory smoke, Lake Ontario the Mississippi. “Racing is like sex,” Cameron always said. “Reading winds, adjusting to currents, anticipating your boat’s needs is just like making love to your woman.” At this point he’d put his hand on her breast, flick a thumb across her nipple then roll the pert nub between his fingers. “Pilot her unerringly around the first pin,” he’d add, and do it again.

MaryAnn bent forward, the boom rode over her back, and the boat headed crosswind toward the second pin to the northwest. The distance across the bay would be 2.3 miles. The sun was hot, the sky brilliant blue. They were in open water, the wind propelling Zephyr through the still-cold Lake Ontario water. The mainsail line thunked against the mast.

Two meters to port were Helen and Carter in Paves the Way. Just behind them Chaumont Team 3. To Paves the Way’s starboard glided MaryAnn. Sean and Frank hollered back and forth, but the wind whipped away their words. Funny how distance always made voices sound angry. The heavy whoosh of water behind Payton made her turn. Diplomat was about halfway past them. Both Aden and Seymour waved. MaryAnn waved with her middle finger.

At the second pin, MaryAnn came to, letting Diplomat have the right of way. Just as they finished making the turn, a gust of wind whipped the mainsail line out of Aden’s hands and the boom flew out to one side. The boat canted and Zephyr shot past. Payton gave Seymour a thumbs-up but knew she might have to take it back later on.

After rounding the pin, Payton felt intoxicated realizing they were in fourth place. The wind changed again, blowing down the Saint Lawrence against their port side. The Canadian shoreline whizzed past. In one short week, the scenery had changed immensely. The lanky oaks still carried many of their fluttering copper-colored leaves of last season, but the maples and willows were almost fully leafed. Their immature greenness contrasted against the darker greens of the surrounding evergreens. Cottages were open for the season, shutters thrown back, colorful awnings flapped in the breeze, toys littered shoreside lawns, boats waggled on moorings like bobbers at the end of fishing lines.

Payton watched Helen adjust the jib sail as Carter maneuvered Paves the Way into the final leg of the race right beside Zephyr. Just then, Paves the Way lost its wind. Carter maneuvered the sail, but not before they’d lost several lengths to both Diplomat and Zephyr. For several adrenaline-pumping seconds, the two boats coursed side by side. MaryAnn expertly matched her movements with Aden’s. For more than a mile the tack worked, but all at once Diplomat surged ahead as though they’d acquired a hundred horsepower outboard. Seymour, at the jib, grinned widely. Payton gave them the Victory sign.

Chaumont Team 2 took the lead. Three meters behind was SHARE, and in third came Chaumont Team 1. Diplomat closed fast on all of them. Apparently Aden’s new boat ran just as fast as Zephyr. If Zephyr sailed so well, why weren’t she and MaryAnn in the lead? Or at least directly behind Dipomat?

Diplomat was ten meters from the finish line, passing all but Chaumont Team 2. Their crew scurried around the deck like children late for school. Whatever they did, it wasn’t enough. Diplomat squeezed past. In Minnesota, the crowd would be roaring, cheering for one boat or the other to surge forward.

But this crowd was quiet. Dead quiet. Payton scanned the shoreline. These spectators weren’t even watching the race. En masse, they were looking at something behind her. Some held binoculars, most had arms across foreheads shading their eyes, but all were looking behind Zephyr—and still, no one was cheering. What was going on?

Payton swung under the boom and shielded her own eyes. Behind, on the starboard side, were the other two Chaumont yachts and SHARE. Five meters behind, and two to Zephyr’s port, was MaryAnn. But it wasn’t aiming for the finish line.

MaryAnn’s mainsail was up as it should be but was void, flapping like laundry on a clothesline. Payton couldn’t see anyone on the deck. A trick of the light. Had to be.

Something was wrong. Sean’s boat veered off course. There was no one aboard MaryAnn. Payton hollered for MaryAnn to bring the boat around. MaryAnn shoved the boom over her shoulder and turned Zephyr for shore. Under full sail they closed rapidly on MaryAnn.

Now Payton could see Sean and Frank. Both lay on the deck, two dark, unmoving lumps on the stark white fiberglass. Without a pilot, Sean’s boat made a course—directly for shore!

The crowd gaped at the events unfolding before their helpless eyes. Payton screamed Sean’s and Frank’s names. Over and over, till her throat hurt. Neither moved.

Sean lay on his stomach, arms and legs splayed like a skydiver. Frank was on his back, like a beachgoer soaking up rays.

“Can you jump across if I get us alongside?” MaryAnn shouted.

Payton nodded without thinking, then experienced a spontaneous flood of terror. She couldn’t have heard right. Was MaryAnn actually proposing Payton jump from one moving boat to another?

Sean’s boat was on a course for the narrow strip of beach and stone wall surrounding the battlefield. That black unyielding barrier approached at an alarming rate. On shore, the crowd finally realized the gravity of the situation and scurried away.

Payton lowered the jib and tied off the line, recalling movies where someone leaped from one moving vehicle to another, even from one plane to another. Although she walked and sometimes jogged, she wasn’t a swimmer, or a jumper. Not to mention Sean didn’t rank as one of her favorite people, and she didn’t even know Frank Simpson. On top of that, could MaryAnn guide Zephyr without squishing Payton between the hulls?

She peered frantically for someone, anyone, near enough to remove this awesome responsibility from her shoulders. The other boats were completely out of range. None of their crews seemed to realize the problem. Even though the spectators watched with increasing horror, no one could possibly help—except to call for an ambulance when it was over.

MaryAnn pulled parallel to her namesake and matched the runaway sailboat’s speed knot for knot. The two decks were a half-meter apart now. Payton knelt, gripping the rail with her left hand. She swung her right leg over and perched her knee on the outer parapet. One errant movement would catapult her into the icy water.

Mere inches separated the two decks. Payton’s knuckles were white as she put a death grip on the rail.

“Jump as soon as it looks safe!” MaryAnn yelled.

What exactly did safe look like? Was it tangible? MaryAnn had to be freaking insane. So did she for even considering this.

Payton pasted her eyes on MaryAnn’s deck, waiting for just the right moment. The crowd’s screams grew to a roar inside her head. Neither man had moved. The boom swung back and forth over Sean’s inert body. If he’d been hit by it wouldn’t he have regained consciousness by now? Surely the boom couldn’t have hit both of them.

She tensed. And leaped.

A wave hit. Zephyr pitched. The two decks crashed in a gut-wrenching fracture of fiberglass and wood. Payton felt herself heaved into the air.