Page 81 of The Hitchhiker in Panama
“Is this because of the spinnaker situation?” Jonas asked.
“In part.” Marcella inhaled a shaky breath. “The sailing, with watches and sail changes, is too much for me. I don’t know how you do it, Jonas; it’s too much pressure.” Her eyes filled with tears, and Elayna pulled Marcella into her side for a hug.
Jonas sighed and squeezed her hand. “I understand. When do you want to leave? In Hiva Oa?”
Marcella composed herself. “When do you thinkEikwill arrive in Tahiti?”
Jonas ran his fingers through his hair. He hadn’t had a hair cut in a long time and it was shaggy. “Three or four weeks, I think? I am sorry, Marcella, I cannot guarantee—”
Marcella interrupted him. “I know how it goes. That is fine. I will start to look for a new position, or maybe ask around some boats near here. I will find something.”
Eivind cleared his throat, poking his food around with his fork. “It’s not usually this hard. We do not—” He swallowed. “We do not have a big sail like that again. This will be better.” His voiced cracked and he glanced up, but not at Marcella. At me.
The rest of dinner was quiet, with Eivind’s palm a heavy weight on my thigh. I looked up several times to find him watching his brother, concern etched deep into his face. Sometimes our eyes met; he watched me. We cleaned up, keeping our voices low, and got the boat underway again just before sunset.
For the first time since we’d departed Panama, we didn’t watch the sunset together, instead retreating to our own corners.
I stripped down and crawled into bed, Eivind close behind me. He ran his palm, his nose, his lips up my curves. We lay face-to-face as he slipped into me, deep wet kisses and tangled legs.
The moment I felt a tremor deep in my belly, the first tear slipped down my cheek. Eivind kissed it away. Rolling me onto my back, he kissed each tear, murmuring to me in Norwegian words I was sure would break my heart.
Marcella’s confession had opened the floodgates, allowing me to realize the deep sense of relief that the journey was nearly over. I sobbed and clung to Eivind, and we held each other till we fell asleep, too worn down to think of anything else.
Thirty-Six
I hadn’t joined Eivind for his watch the night before. Physically and emotionally exhausted, I’d slept straight through it.
When I woke up, the brothers were dropping anchor at Hiva Oa.
Once settled, we piled into the dinghy and went to shore. Our yacht agent met us at the wharf and drove us over to the town in the back of her pickup truck.
“How much does an agent cost?”
Jonas shook his head. “A few hundred euros. But the agent will get us paperwork for duty-free fuel and exempt us from having to post a thousand-euro bond per person.”
We slipped into the office with gendarmes and filled out paperwork, had our passports stamped, and practiced our polite French, though everyone spoke English.
Our agent dropped us off at the top of the hill overlooking the anchorage. There was a small shipping container and some picnic tables set up. During the day, the agent would open the container and turn on the Wi-Fi for the cruisers to use. We settled at the tables and soon the air filled with a chorus of dings as notifications began flooding in.
I quickly scanned my emails, looking for anything important. My phone pinged with all kinds of social media notices, which I ignored. I fired off a few emails and pulled up a flight website to check for rates and schedules.
Flights were expensive, but I knew that would happen. I sat staring at the purchase button for a while, playing the last few weeks over and over in my mind. So many emotions flooded through me as I finally booked my flight—sadness to be leavingEikand the crew behind, the heartbreak when I thought of Eivind. I tried to focus on the relief. I could stretch my legs, walk every day, meet new people, get back on track with my plans.
I would fly out the next day to Tahiti, and then two nights later fly to Lima.
* * *
I started packing up my stuff. Eivind was out on deck with Jonas, doing some project, so I had the cabin to myself. In the small space, our stuff had comingled, and separating my things from Eivind’s was making me angry. Here was Eivind’s jade-green shirt that brought out his eyes, the top that Eivind had practically ripped off me during an afternoon “nap,” the sweater he’d lent me when I was cold on night watch.
When Eivind finally came in, I had lined one of my backpacks with a bin liner and tried to shove my dirty clothes in. The backpack was mostly zipped, but I shoved a finger in and wriggled, trying to make room for one last pair of undies.
He looked around at the mayhem for a few moments while I tried to ignore him. Sweeping some of his clothes aside, he sat down on the edge of the bed next to me.
“You do not have to go, you know.”
I let his words hang for a moment. “Well, it seems like I’m not a good enough sailor to be here.” I hated the way my voice came out, petty and hurt.
“What? Wait, Lila. No, that is not true.”
