68 Knots (37 page)

The applause was kind.

“Now,” she said, “I know that every now and then a waltz just feels like a good idea, so I think we ought to play one. Let's dim the lights, soften the mood—and fellas, this is the kind of song that you ought to dance to with someone you really, really care about. Now's your chance for romance.”

Marietta leaned across the table toward Arthur, her dress falling loose at the neckline. “So,” she said, “what do you say? We both can sing. Let's show them we can dance, too.”

Arthur stood up. “Marietta,” he said gently, “you've got to understand. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings. Let's just forget about it, okay? Let's just forget about everything.” He offered his hand to Dawn. “Will you dance with me?”

Marietta recoiled like she'd been slapped. “You—!”

“I'd be honored,” Dawn answered quietly. She took his hand, and the two of them worked their way onto the dance floor. Most of the couples were older, and some had clearly been waltzing together for a very long time. They were synchronous. They were smooth. They were having fun. Arthur slipped his right arm around Dawn's waist, and he held her right hand at shoulder height. A few missteps, a few false
starts, and a few warm laughs. Then they began to move together, turning gently, their bodies following the rhythms of the music and each other. One-two-three, two-two-three. It was old-fashioned, silly, almost antiquated. But it also brought them close.

When the song ended, the dancers applauded the musicians and the onlookers applauded the dancers. Dawn and Arthur kissed warmly and took their seats.

Marietta glowered like an angry child. She locked her eyes onto Arthur's, and she scowled, smoldering, dark, and bitter. Arthur smiled as pleasantly as he could.

“You shit!” she yelled. She stood up, knocking the table so sharply that drinks nearly toppled. “You'll regret this!” She turned to Logan. “Let's go back to the ship.”

Logan shook his head. “I'm staying here,” he said. “But like, thanks anyway.”

Marietta held herself erect as best she could. She put on an icy smile and looked at no one. “Fine,” she said. She straightened her dress. “That's fine.”

She walked quickly out of the lodge and let the screen door slam behind her.

The crew meandered back toward the shore at about one o'clock. They were talking and laughing, singing from time to time, arm in arm, side by side, friends and friends and lovers.

When they reached the end of the dock, BillFi stopped.

“It's gone,” he said. “The dinghy. It's gone.”

The black ocean rippled in the moonlight. The odor of mud was thick. And BillFi was right again—the dinghy was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, great,” Crystal said, her arm around Jim's waist and his around hers. “Marietta took it back to the ship. That little bitch. How are we supposed to get back on board?”

BillFi shook his head. “Give me a minute,” he said. He pushed up his glasses and looked out to sea toward the
Dreadnought
. “No. It's not at the ship. It's not at the ship—and neither is she.”

“How do you know? You can't see—” Crystal asked, but she stopped herself abruptly. This was BillFi she was talking to. “Okay, so what the hell do we do?”

“We fan out,” Arthur said. “If she's not on the
Dreadnought
, then she must have come back on the dinghy. She probably just parked it somewhere else to give us a hard time.”

They found it a few minutes later drifting sullenly in the middle of a small mossy inlet. Jesse took off his clothes, swam out to it, and brought it back. Crystal kissed Jim goodnight and, with several of the others, climbed into the dinghy. A couple of trips later, everyone was back on board. Everyone except for Marietta.

The sight in the dining room was shocking. An inch-deep layer of muddy rum and smashed glass covered the floor. The lamp was broken, most of the food had been dumped out of the kitchen shelves, and all the sleeping bags had been pulled down into the muck. Ishmael trembled underneath the table, staring with wild eyes and twitching her tail. The
Dreadnought
sailors stood, stunned, then they got to work. Crystal checked Marietta's bunk.

“All her stuff is gone,” she said.

“So is our spare cash,” Arthur called out from the captain's quarters.

Logan took the broom and dustpan from the bathroom,
and Joy produced a large supply of trash bags. The crew dug into the mess, cleaning with an energy fueled by anger. Broken glass and booze-soggy papers were scooped into trash bags and stowed in the stern. Sleeping bags were put up on deck to dry. Dawn salvaged as much of the food as she could. Ishmael sneezed and cowered out of the way, sodden with rum and seawater.

When they had cleaned the room and repaired the oil lamp, they all gathered around the table in the main cabin. Logan poured everyone—except for Crystal, Joy, and himself—tall glasses of rye and apple juice. It was all they had left.

“Where do you think she went?” Joy asked.

Crystal shrugged. “Could be anywhere,” she said, sipping plain apple juice. “Where do her parents live?”

There was silence as each of the crew looked at the others. No one knew.

“Does she have any brothers or sisters?” Crystal asked. No one knew.

“Friends in Maine?”

No one knew.

Arthur shook his head. “I'm beginning to see why she felt she didn't belong here,” he said. “And most of it is my fault.”

“Quit being so damn egotistical,” Crystal responded. “She drove us all crazy, and none of us is too upset that she's gone. I'll even bet it's a relief to Logan.”

Logan had nothing to say. The table grew quiet.

“So now what?” Crystal asked. “If we call the police or the Coast Guard, it's ‘goodbye, summer' and ‘hello, freaking Mom and Dad.'”

“We can't call anyone,” Arthur said, “and we have to hope that Marietta doesn't, either.”

That night, Arthur untied another knot from his calendar ropes. Twenty-seven knots left. The summer was running out.

The
Dreadnought
spent the next thirty-six hours floating in Rockland Harbor, each crewmember hoping, for somewhat different reasons, that Marietta would return. The crew on watch kept an eye on the marina, looking for Marietta's familiar scowl, but only the yachtspeople wandered about. Jesse was captain, and the ship went nowhere. The sailors dozed on deck, took short swims, played idle games of cards. Ishmael stayed close to Jesse, and he petted her with reassuring hands. She sneezed some more, trembled, and seemed unable to calm down.

Crystal spent the time writing an entry in her journal.

I'm worried that it's going to end soon. Marietta took off in a huff, after smashing up the dining room, and knowing her I think she'll turn us in. It would take just one phone call from her to bring an end to this crazy and wonderful summer.

It has been great. The people on board are a lot of fun, except for Marietta, and I've had a great time getting to know them all. We've had some incredible adventures, and we've seen a lot of the Maine coast. And Jim is fantastic—I really think he's great. Ever since we dove off the mast together, I've really connected with him. It would be a shame to see it all end.

Especially since once it ends, I'm on my own again. It's obvious that some of these people are going to keep in touch with each other. Arthur and Dawn
will, I'm sure. BillFi and Jesse will always be friends. Joy has a boyfriend back home to return to. But I'm worried that, once again, no one will bother to keep in touch with me. I might keep in touch with Jim for a while, but I'll bet he doesn't even come to meet me at the docks when we go back to Rockland. I'll write letters to Arthur and Dawn and the gang, send them cards at Christmas. But then, after a while, it will be just like all the other people I've met. They'll stop writing, they won't think about me, and if any of them get together and talk about this summer, they'll say, “And oh yeah, there was this tough tomboy. What was her name? Christine or something. Yeah, she was kinda difficult.” And that will be that.

I hate feeling this way, but I don't know how to change things. Marietta's approach is to throw herself at guys—not exactly my style. Dawn and Arthur seem to make close friends easily, but I can't somehow. I don't know what to do myself. How to make a long-term friendship.

I don't know. Maybe I've been on my own for so long that I send out these “STAY BACK—DANGEROUS” vibes. Jim was the first guy I've ever really talked to, in a deep sort of way. That felt great—really great—but I doubt I'll ever see him again.

Well, maybe we'll get lucky and Marietta won't turn us in. Maybe she'll think she got back at us by smashing up the place. Maybe we can spend the next few weeks together, and maybe I'll make a good, close friend. Someone to keep in touch with forever.

Maybe.

Three days later, Crystal was captain. The
Dreadnought
remained at anchor until midafternoon, and then Crystal put her hands on her hips and gave the order to hoist the sails.

No one offered any arguments.

Crystal met with a few of the others and charted a course for Large Green Island, which lay farther out to sea almost due south. The wind was steady, the sails filled easily, and the crew trimmed and sheeted with automatic competence. The
Dreadnought
made good time downwind, cutting a rolling wake through the waves. There was little talking on board.

While the ship was underway, Joy scraped together a few more of the things that Marietta hadn't trashed and served dinner, but few of the crewmates noticed the herbs in the cheese spread or the wheatberries in the bread.

It was at that moment that Logan took charge. His energy—and his courage—had rebounded noticeably since he stopped drinking every night. “All right, gang,” he told the crew on deck. “We can mope around all day, worried that Marietta is going to bring our summer's fun to an end. But if we do, then she's totally succeeded no matter what she does. I say we forget about her. We can always make other plans if we need to. We'll figure out something. In the meantime, as the official
Dreadnought
Morale Officer, I say we have some fun.”