Chapter 23

Cynthiamae went to the head, did her business and waddled to her stateroom. She was there a lot lately.

Last Tuesday she looked bushed, “I’m tired,” she said.

“You’re tired all the time,” I said.

“You try lugging around a 16 pound bowling ball. One that feels like it’s knocking down pins with its feet...” she winced. “All the time.”

And she looked at me.

“My turn next,” I said.

“Well ... before Zoe, anyway,” she winced again. She rapped her watermelon with her knuckles. “You in there ... quit that.”

Now she just lays down.

When she was out of sight I asked Tyche to see if she could find Junior.

“She’s sunning on the bow.”

“Teasing?”

“Yup ... you want me to run the boat while you go talk to her?”

Four ... the kid is Four ... The wheel is a foot taller than she is. She has a stool. A two step stool.

“Sure.”

“Ah ... competence. And recognition. I have the con,” she announced.

“You watch too many War movies.”

“Turn the glass... 4 bells.”

And she did it. She reached the ships bell and rang it. Ding Ding ... Ding Ding “10:00 of the clock.”

We don’t have an hourglass ... Well ... we do ... but not for time ... so she couldn’t turn it ... but that doesn’t mean she can’t say it.

I raised my hands to the sky ... she giggled.

“While you’re up there ... Set the spinnaker, Auntie Surprise.”

“Brat,” I said.

You wonder. She’s a better pilot than Zoe.

I went through the salon and forward ... out the hatch and there was Junior.

“You shave,” I said.

“I sweat,” Junior said.

“Maybe I should shave,” that was more a question than a suggestion. “I sweat too.”

I striped down ... what is it about big sailboats and all over tanning?

Flint has a center ... hull. On big cats it’s a ‘splitter’ that splits large waves ... keeps the spray off the salon. Flint’s not a trimaran ... the center is a runway for the anchor chains, and the port and starboard trampolines to connect so they don’t sag ... but it’s sorta deep too. Like three feet deep and nearly seven feet wide at the salon end. It tapers to a point and the jib furler is at the tip. It’s probably the strongest part of the hull.

Someone on the design team decided that all that strength and space might make a decent sail locker so the spare storm sails and the spinnakers are stored there.

“Gimme a hand ... Tyche wants the spinnaker flown.”

“Tyche?”

“Yeah ... she’s running the boat.”

“Tyche?”

“Yup.”

I went to the starboard hull and fetched the spin halyard, opened the spin locker and clipped the top of the ‘sock’. Spins are lightweight and thin... ‘Socked’ they don’t take much room. There’s a lightweight pair of paracord lines attached to a ring at the bottom ... foot ... of the sock ... they’re used to pull he sock up to the top of the mast ... that lets the spin open bottom up. There’s a pair of sheets like jib sheets that spread the spinnaker as the paracord lines pull the ring up. A spinnaker pole holds the foot of one side of the sail out ... Roll up the jib ... the wind fills the spinnaker ... and away we go.

Dousing the spin involves pulling the ring down and lowering the spin halyard while coiling the sail in its locker ... easy peasy.

Right!

On a 90 foot catamaran the rigging gets heavy and complicated. Junior had no idea what was going on so I was teaching while doing. Not the safest first experience. She lived.

When we were satisfied ... HA ... Tyche was satisfied ... we settled into beanbags and watched as Flint hauled ass south.

“Junior?”

“Yes?”

“Will my watch do what yours does?”

“Ask your daughter.” She hollered... “Mary.” Then she said, “Why doesn’t that feel right?”

I blushed.

“I don’t know what you did, but you did something,” she said.

The Powers That Be materialized, discombobulated and Six said, “She did. Something. I can’t put my finger on it ... but Mary doesn’t taste right.”

“Yeah,” said Junior.

Mary said, “No, mom ... your watch won’t ‘bubble.’”

“Drat.” I said. “I want to get Cynthiamae to Pentwater before she pops.”

Mary said, “Ludington ... Pentwater doesn’t have a hospital. You need Ludington. That you can do. Come with me.”

We stepped out to the bow and Mary said, “I haven’t felt right in my skin since the storm. I’ll teach you ... if you promise to name me Seven.”

I bulled up.

“Let me show you what’ll happen to your sister if you don’t.”

We flickered.

“I promise.”

Then I lost my lunch over the bow.