Page 62 of The Hitchhiker in Panama
I studied the chartplotter more, and Eivind named everything I pointed to. The screen was full of acronyms:sog, twd, dtw. Eivind explained all of them, and I worked hard to remember each one, but I knew I was going to have to ask again and again.
We transitioned into my watch.
“Same instructions as yesterday,” Eivind said while I ate a sanger at the helm.
“Fifteen AWS, 180 to 210 COG!”
Eivind saluted me and slumped onto the bench. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He nodded. “The second day is the worst. I am very tired because I do not sleep well the first night. It gets better after this.”
“You should go down below and sleep. I’ll join you at the end of my shift.”
He cracked an eye open. “You will be okay, yes?”
I gave him a thumbs-up, and the corners of his mouth lifted. He hauled himself to his feet, kissed my head, and shuffled down the stairs.
I was entirely alone. Everyone on the boat was downstairs sleeping, trusting me with their lives. My heart raced, the weight of responsibility on me, and I wondered briefly if they were all idiots for leaving me in charge.
But I remembered that Jonas did this all the time, leaving his boat, his home, in someone else’s hands. The sky was clear and the weather fair. We’d coasted along for an entire day already without much fanfare.
Relaxing back into my seat, I kept an eye on the horizon and on my numbers as the waves flew by.
All too quickly, Marcella’s head came into view from the salon.
“Buongiorno!”
“Hello!” I called back. “How was your nap?”
Marcella slumped down next to me. “Wonderful. How are things up here?” Before I could respond, she leaned forward, eyes roaming over the chartplotter. “Yes, this is good.” She poked her head out the side of the cockpit and looked up at the sails. “Everything looks good, yes?”
“I think so.”
“Good job. I am proud of you.” She hugged my shoulders. “No other boats or anything?”
I shook my head.
“Then I will take over from here. Have a good nap.”
Saluting sloppily, I left the cockpit and carefully climbed down the stairs. Disentangling myself from my harness, I brushed my teeth before I slipped into bed next to Eivind, who didn’t wake but curled his arms around me.
Twenty-Eight
I woke up to movement under my face. I blinked my eyes open and tried to process what was going on. Eivind’s chest was under my cheek, his T-shirt rubbing against my skin while he fidgeted.
I moved a little bit and then felt it: Eivind’s T-shirt was wet. I brought my hand up and tilted my head to look at his shirt. I sat bolt upright.
“What the hell?”
“Umm . . .” Eivind was at a loss for words.
“Eivind,” I said. “Did Idroolon you? Oh my God, I did. Eivind, that’s a puddle of drool on your shirt! I am so sorry—I have never done that before. I swear, that doesn’t normally happen.”
Eivind started laughing, and I punched himmildly hardin his ribs. He let out anoof, but didn’t stop giggling. I punched him again.
“Okay, okay! It is okay, Lila. It happens.” He wiped tears from his eyes and sat up. Grabbing the hem of his shirt, he pulled it away from his skin to look at the huge splotch of dampness.
