Page 46 of The Sailor in Polynesia
Finally the bilge alarm turned off. Jonas took the manual pump from me and I grabbed a headlamp and shoved my head into the bilges one by one, looking around for any obvious leaks. The bilge was broken up into several compartments, so I wedged a plug in the holes between the compartments to try to see where the water was coming from.
I was about to duck out of one of the larger compartments when a flash caught my eye. Bending down into the bilge, I reached out to grip one of the hoses and I saw it again: the flash of my light reflecting off water.
Fingering the hose, I found water pouring from a crack on the opposite side of the hose. When the boat surged to one side, the water gushed out, catching the light from my headlamp.
This, I knew how to fix. In a few minutes, I had a silicone tape wound around the hose and I watched it carefully for a few minutes. No gushing.
The tension swept entirely out of my body. I collapsed against the floor and laughed darkly.
“I can’t believe I figured it out! We aren’t sinking!”
Jonas laughed beside me, placing a hand on my thigh. “You did great. I am impressed, Captain.”
I laughed again, a little more freely this time.
Jonas and I got the sails set again andWelinapointed back on course to Tahiti. I checked the horizon and radar—nothing to see. We still had to clean up the water that remained in the bilge, the water too low for the pump to get, and the mess we’d made on the floorboards. We worked together, running chamois around the surfaces and squeezing the water out into buckets to dump overboard.
Crisis averted and boat cleaned, Jonas and I collapsed into a sweaty heap. We’d missed lunch by an hour or so, and I was sweaty, tired, thirsty, and hungry. I didn’t know whether to eat or pass out.
Jonas’s rumbling stomach made the decision for me. I gripped the table and pulled myself off the couch, swaying my way into the galley to make lunch. It was the last of the pasta salad, so I scooped it into bowls and grabbed spoons. Jonas ate hungrily, helping himself to a stack of crackers when he finished.
He sighed, leaning back against the cushions. When he closed his eyes, I poked him. “Go shower.”
Jonas didn’t argue, but stood and made his way back to the cabin. He didn’t bother closing the cabin door before he stripped his underwear off. My hand froze on the way to my mouth, spiral noodles dangling from the tines of my fork. His butt cheek was white, a gradient tan line working down his thigh. His glute muscle flexed as he kicked his underwear clear, and when he turned to open the door to the head, I swear I saw his dick swing into my view.
He disappeared into the head, and in a few moments I heard the water run. I stared at where he’d been standing, my body a confused mix of exhausted, cranky, and turned on.
Seventeen
After we had both showered, I tried to get Jonas to take a nap, but he insisted on sticking to the schedule, which meant it was my nap time.
I had lain in bed, still a bit high on the adrenaline rush. My boat hadbeen sinking. And I’d rescued it. And it hadn’t been a chaotic, loud mess. I thought back to all the other times when something had gone dangerously wrong out at sea onWelina: a broken line, a sail unfurling and beating in the wind, squalls rolling through that tripled the wind speed in a matter of minutes. Those memories were full of yelling and crying.
Instead I was lying in my cabin, a scary moment behind me, and I’d come out the other end better for it.
* * *
I did, eventually, drift into a nap. When I woke up, I found Jonas at the helm, slightly groggy but awake. I made us sandwiches and he scarfed his down. With a kiss on my temple, Jonas apologized for missing the sunset, turned tail, and crashed down below. I couldn’t blame him.
The second night out at sea was always the worst. All the sleep up to this point was restless, my body and brain still adjusting. Thirty-six to forty-eight hours of poor sleep took its toll.
I’d rather be out longer, bypassing Tahiti to sail on off over the horizon, because it got better after the second night. But instead I poured a coffee, popped in a single headphone, and danced under the stars with not a soul to see me.
I took dance breaks whenever I needed to, singing along and moving my body, keeping myself awake. Standing behind the helm, I faced our wake and gyrated my hips to some AC/DC. I pistoned my pelvis, letting the boat rock under me and keeping my torso gimballing. On the beat, I hopped up, crossed my legs, and spun around to find a dark shape standing in front of me. I screamed.
“It is only me.” Jonas laughed, bent over, while my heart raced in my chest.
“You’re over an hour early! Holy shiitake!”
Jonas held out his arms and chased me around the helm while I tried to swat him away. He was still laughing, the bastard.
My harness got hooked on something and he caught me. The boat swayed and we dropped together onto the bench.
While the sunlight had disappeared hours ago, the moon was in full force, and up this close I could see Jonas’s face clearly, the soft lines, the curve of his lips, and his long eyelashes.
“Sorry, Mia. I did not mean to startle you. I fell asleep so early that I woke up a little while ago and could not go back to sleep.”
I turned slightly to face him. “And what am I supposed to do with all this adrenaline, huh? You scared the pants off me. I’ll be awake for hours now.”
