Sailing Adventure Into Hell

The last shore line was still tied when the marina bell began clanging against its rusted bracket.

Eddie Jones stood knee-deep in the cockpit of the Sv Mary Lou, one hand on the wheel and the other wrapped around a coil of wet line. Around him, masts knocked together in the crowded basin, their halyards ticking like impatient fingers. The new forty-five-foot schooner strained against her fenders, white paint shining beneath a skin of morning dew.

“Cast us off,” Eddie called.

Lucy looked toward the dock, where their remaining lines crossed between the boat and a forest of pilings. “The stern line first?”

“The bow. Then the spring.”

“That isn’t what we practiced.”

“We practiced in an empty slip.”

A gust shoved the schooner sideways. The fender groaned against the dock, and a plastic bucket toppled into the water.

Lucy caught the forward line and held it tight. Her hair had come loose from its tie, and a strand stuck to her cheek. “Eddie, there’s a trawler backing out behind us.”

He glanced over his shoulder. A diesel engine rumbled beyond the neighboring slips. The trawler’s bow appeared between two sailboats, close enough that Eddie could see a man in a red cap waving frantically from the deck.

“Now,” Eddie said. “Let it go.”

Lucy hesitated for half a second, then dropped the line. Eddie hauled in the spring, kicked the engine into reverse, and turned the wheel. The Sv Mary Lou slid free with barely a foot to spare between her stern and the dock.

A cheer rose from somewhere along the marina wall. Eddie grinned despite himself.

They had imagined this moment for months: two years ahead of them, the Caribbean waiting beyond the coast, then island harbors, foreign ports, warm water, and mornings without an alarm. Their provisions were packed below. The charts were stacked beside the navigation table. Lucy had written their intended route in a blue notebook and tucked it into the chart case as carefully as if it were a contract.

The schooner swung into the fairway.

“See?” Eddie said. “She handles beautifully.”

“She nearly handled the dock.”

“But she didn’t.”

Lucy watched the pilings slide past. “That isn’t the same thing.”

Eddie kept his eyes ahead. The marina was too crowded for argument. Boats filled every finger, their bowsprits pointing into the channel. A man on a motorboat shouted as the Sv Mary Lou’s wake rocked his hull. Eddie eased back on the throttle, but the current caught them and pushed the schooner toward a row of moored boats.

“Starboard,” Lucy said.

“I see it.”

“You’re drifting.”

“I said I see it.”

He spun the wheel. The schooner answered slowly, her bow clearing a blue launch by a few feet. Its owner stood on the foredeck with both arms raised.

“Mind the paint!” the man shouted.

Eddie muttered something under his breath and brought the Sv Mary Lou toward the marina entrance. Beyond the breakwater, the sea flashed silver beneath a sky already losing its morning calm. Small whitecaps showed between the harbor markers.

Lucy came beside him. “The wind’s stronger than the forecast.”

“It’ll settle once we’re outside.”

“You said that last night.”

“And it did.”

“For ten minutes.”

Eddie felt the familiar pressure behind his ribs. They had not even reached open water, and Lucy was already measuring every decision against the schedule, the weather report, and the blue notebook. They needed to make the first overnight anchorage before dark. If they lost the day, the next tide would put them behind, and the carefully planned departure would begin with a delay.

“We’re leaving today,” he said. “That’s what matters.”

Lucy looked at him. “Getting underway matters. Getting into trouble before breakfast doesn’t.”

The final marina marker rolled past the stern. Eddie pushed the throttle forward.

The engine answered with a harsh metallic rattle.

He frowned and eased it back. The sound vanished.

“What was that?” Lucy asked.

“Probably the belt.”

“Probably?”

“I’ll check it when we clear the wall.”

The sea met them with a steep chop. The Sv Mary Lou climbed the first wave, dropped into the trough, and shuddered from bow to stern. Plates knocked together below. A cupboard door sprang open.

Lucy grabbed the companionway rail. “That isn’t a marina chop.”

“It’s manageable.”

The engine coughed.

Eddie’s hand tightened around the wheel. The exhaust note faltered, recovered, then faltered again. A thin vibration traveled up through the deck beneath his boots.

“Turn us back,” Lucy said.

“We’re past the wall.”

“Then slow down.”

He brought the throttle nearly to idle. The engine settled into an uneven growl. Ahead, the channel narrowed between the breakwater and a line of green buoys. Behind them, the marina entrance was already crowded with departing boats.

A horn sounded from the trawler.

Eddie glanced back. The trawler was following them, its bow rising and falling in the chop. There was no room to stop.

“Keep us straight,” Lucy said.

“I am keeping us straight.”

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