Page 17 of No One Aboard
“Copy,” was all Francis said, andThe Old Eileenturned with ease.
Rylan’s stomach settled, the pressure relieved. He felt silly for having ever been worked up.
The man turned to him, still smiling and relaxed. He was young and strong with ropey arms, big hands, and skin well-versed with the sun. He had stacked tattoos, line after line of them up and down one arm. Like ink from a store receipt had bled onto his skin and dried there forever.
“He really threw you in it, huh?” said the man. His smile had never seen braces, teeth akimbo and an extraordinary white.
Rylan nodded, shrugged. “He does that.”
“First time I was aboard a ship, my captain ordered me to raise the halyard on my own. I didn’t know what a halyard was, let alone how to raise it, but I was scared shitless of asking questions, so I just grabbed a line and pulled. I ended up lifting the fucking courtesy flag. He never let me forget it.”
Rylan laughed, even though he hadn’t understood all the words. The man’s voice was temperate, eyes penny-bright.
“I’m Nico, Mr. Cameron.”
Mr. Cameron? “Oh, I, no—”
Nico broke into another easy grin. Did he ever not smile? “I’m only teasing. Anyway, if you’re ever tossed to the lions again, lemme know if you need a hand taming ’em, okay?”
“Sure, yeah. Thank you.”
Nico tipped an imaginary top hat and strode back to midships to help MJ with sail-raising. Rylan turned to look out front once more, in case there were more obstacles in their path, but he didn’t need to worry.
The Old Eileenhad glided out to open sea.
Chapter 8
Lila Logan Cameron
Call sign: Cassiopeia
Day 1 at Sea
Beautiful, sunny New Haven flattened into a distant smudge within minutes, it seemed to Lila. As the brown land receded, a nauseating blue replaced it, unfurling in every direction including down. Lila’s stomach rocked with the boat.
She was ready to go back. Honestly, she had never understood what would make a person long for a view like this. It all looked the same: frightening and pointless. Throughout history, people had gone to sea because they had no other choice.
Lila would never understand what had possessed her husband to do the same forfun.
She wondered how many people had died in this water. How many broken boats and bodies lay in various forms of decomposition beneath them? There was nothing glamorous about sailing above a cemetery.
The idea was nearly as nauseating as the waves.
Lila had taken Dramamine, which she often did for day-sails, but since she’d have to sleep at sea as well, she had a nausea patch behind one ear and, for extra measure, an anti-motion-sickness band, which wrapped around her wrist alongside a pair of Buccellati bracelets.
But the more she thought about vomiting, the more her body prepared to do it, and worse than that, a sensation rose in the back of her throat, altering the rhythm of her breath. She clung to the cap rails, knowing from a lifetime of experience that the way out of revealing an unmeasured heartbeat and an unsettled gut was not to fight them or to will them all away.
Lila was poised to lose control.
So she couldn’tbeLila.
She’d be Eileen.
Lila relaxed her grip. Her old acting coach used to say that a good actor needs a moment to compose herself, to use imaginative or physical tools to place herself inside the mind of another person in another place. The moment can involve closing your eyes, dropping your head—whatever it takes to step through that door.
But the truly great actors? They needed none of that. The great actors needed only a breath.
Lila inhaled.Eileenexhaled.
