Page 81 of The Sailor in Polynesia
We drank coconuts at Bloody Mary’s, and I thought of you.
I came up for my night watch to find Lila and Eivind snuggling in the corner of the cockpit. I nearly turnedEikaround to sail back to you.
Someday satellite technology will allow us to video chat across thousands of miles of ocean.
Each email was signedYours, Jonas. I ignored my buzzing phone while I caught up, tears filling my eyes and blurring the screen. After reading the last email, dated mere hours ago, I pressed my face into a throw pillow and cried.
When I resurfaced, snotty and spent, I switched back to my chat with James. His messages waited not so patiently.
I would gladly fly across the ocean to threaten Jonas for you, but maybe I need to fly over and threaten you.
I just want you to be happy, Mia. I knowWelinameans a lot to you, and you fought so hard for her, but I hate to think of you slipping back into a bad place.
Mia?
Goddamn it. The kraken’s back.
I’m sharpening my harpoon.
I snorted a little laugh, and typed a response.
I’m alive. Jesus. Step away from the harpoon. I’ve got some emails I need to answer. Love you, hugs to the ’rents when you see them next.
An hour later I’d reread Jonas’s emails, looked up his position on the marine tracker, and typed and retyped a dozen response possibilities. Jonas’s words were wistful but never pushy. He didn’t ask me to fly to the next port to meet him, and he didn’t offer to visit. Our separation had been so practical—he had to move on, and I had to let him.
The draft emails that spilled from my fingers were the opposite:I wish I were drinking coconuts with you.Or:Maybe I could fly into Neiafu.Or my last one:Could you wait for me in Rarotonga?
I pounded the delete key. Of course he couldn’t wait for me in the Cook Islands—what was I thinking? I had already delayed his journey to New Zealand long enough, and there was no way I wanted to sail seven hundred miles by myself at the drop of a hat.
But Ididwant to be with him. Bad.
I started a fresh email again. No false hope, but the honest truth.
Jonas,
I ignored my emails because I didn’t think you’d write me. I wish you didn’t have to sail off into the sunset, but I understand. I miss you—your smiles, your boat, your bed. The coconuts. Reading your emails is the only thing I can recall doing this week. Please send more.
Yours,
Mia
* * *
Over the next few weeks, Jonas and I wrote back and forth every day. His emails were longer than mine, his days full of land-based expeditions or the sights and sounds of the ocean on passage. He told me stories of humpback whales, spouts puffing up next toEik, and road trips around the islands.
My emails were mundane, full of boat projects, because that was the only interesting thing happening to me.
Until an email came into my inbox, my business one that managed the YouTube channel. It started with well wishes and compliments on my videos. Then it segued.My husband and I are looking to buy a boat too, and take off sailing.Welinais such a great boat. We looked for a Morgan 45, but the only one in Florida has osmosis damage on the keel. If you ever decide to sellWelina, pleaselet me know!
I’d gotten emails like this before but had brushed them off. I had fought so hard to keepWelinain the divorce. At the time, she was my only lifeline, my only hope to keep sailing.
Now, after all the fights with Liam, the loneliness and isolation post-divorce, the bittersweet memories of Jonas...Welinafelt like an anchor dragging me down.
I spent hours poring through my emails over the next few days, and eventually had a list of twenty-two people who had emailed in the last year asking about buyingWelina. Every day, I woke up with more purpose than I had in years. I sent emails out, contacted a broker, and raised anchor for Tahiti.
Thirty-One
Two months later...
