Red Sea (16 page)

She hasn't been back to the boat. It's in dry dock in Port Sudan getting the holes in the hull fixed. Mac took me
back for a few days to collect our things. Mac and I talked for hours, about important things, like friends talk. Real friends. He knows about loss, Mac does. And when it was time to leave the boat, I did cry. I zip up Duncan's case and tuck it in Mom's bag.

She says, “You must be looking forward to seeing your friends. Jesse. Ty.”

“No. Not Ty,” I say too quickly, too loudly.

She's silent for a moment, then says, “Because of the party?”

I know what she wants. She wants me to tell her that I was totally innocent, that Ty forced me into that bedroom, into that bed, that I could press charges. I may not remember much of the party, but I wouldn't have refused Ty. I never did, even if I wanted to. It was the price of being with Ty, a price I paid from the very start. I say to her, “I'm done with Ty. It just took me a while to see.”

She nods. “You're a different person now.”

“Maybe I was a different person then. Now, I'm just me.”

Her eyes slide downward and her eyebrows knot. I say, “You don't have to be afraid for me. I survived Ty.” She starts to say something, but I cut her off. I know that she's thinking about the pirates. “I'm not afraid for you, either, after what happened on
Mistaya
. We survived that too.”

“But if I hadn't fired the flare gun...”

“It might not have made a difference. If I'd been up on deck with you, maybe I could have helped.”

“Or maybe you would have been shot too. We never should have left port. I was too anxious to go.”

“I made us late, Mom.” Just saying it makes my guts drop. “I put us in the path of both the pirates and the storm.”

“The storm hit everyone, Lib. And the pirates might have found us anyway.”

“But we were alone. I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry about Duncan. I'm sorry for everything.”

She's crying now, and I let her be. The pirates blew a hole in her life; I never used a gun, but I leveled some emotionally lethal shots, at her and at myself. Her leg will heal faster than her heart.

DAD MET ME
in Cairo even though I told him he didn't have to. He said he's always wanted to see the Egyptian pyramids. He showed up in full Tilley gear and brand-new safari boots. I suggested we go by camel to the pyramids but just the thought turned him green. We rode in a tour bus, air-conditioned, and sat right at the front.

I
FLIP CLOSED MY MATH
textbook and toss it and my notebook into my pack. I yawn, stretch, check the kitchen clock. Eleven. I'm almost caught up on my courses and just in time for June finals. I won't exactly make the Principal's List, but I probably won't have to repeat anything. I decided to go to a school close to my aunt's condo. Technically, it's an
inner city
school so it should have drugs, gangs and violence. Maybe it does. For me, going to this school was just easier.

Jesse thinks I have the best life, living downtown. She'd like to stay with me on weekends, but I'm sleeping on the couch in my aunt's living room, so there's truly no room for
her. I've gone to her place a few times, but we don't have much to talk about anymore. It's easier to go to Dad's and rent a movie, something good and scary.

Ty called me when I got back, but I said I was busy with my mom. She's taking a photography course and works out in a physio gym for her leg. And she writes in her journal for hours. She's taking care of herself. I could have told Ty that he was an anal orifice, but this was just easier. He wouldn't get it, anyway.

Mom comes into the kitchen, sets her tea mug on the counter. “There's an e-mail from Emma. They're finishing a delivery to Palma in a couple of weeks, then they'll bring
Mistaya
into the Mediterranean.”

“I know, Mom. Emma e-mailed me too.”

I watch Mom as she moves around the small kitchen, putting away the kettle, wiping the counter. She limps, probably always will. She says, “The summer is slow for deliveries, everyone using their boats, so they'll be able to take their time sailing the Mediterranean.” She glances at me, then scrubs something on the counter that I can't see.

I say, “And Mac wants to spend some time scuba diving in Egypt.”

Scrub, scrub. “That's right,” she says. “In the Red Sea.”

She's going to wear the counter right through. “Mom.” Her hand pauses on the sponge and she looks up at me. I say, “Are you okay?”

She puts the sponge on the side of the sink, wipes her hands, folds the dishtowel over the bar on the oven. “What else did Emma write to you?”

Ah. I take a breath. “She asked if I wanted to come and sail with them for the summer.” Mom crosses her arms, uncrosses them, then she jams her hands in her jeans pockets. “But I told her that I couldn't.”

“Why?”

“Because I might have to do summer school.”

“But you won't have to.”

“Because I'm thinking of getting a summer job.”

“Since when?”

“Since right now.” I cross my arms. “Can we drop this?”

She crosses her arms. “You're not going because of me.”

“No.”

“You think you need to take care of me.”

Eye roll. “No.”

“I don't need you to take care of me. I can look after myself.”

“I know that.”

“So, why won't you go?”

“I told you.”

Eye roll. “No. What are you afraid of?”

“I'm not afraid. Why are you trying to get rid of me?”

“I'm not.” She sighs. “Do you want to go?”

“Maybe.”

“Then why don't you?”

I tap my pencil on the table. She reaches over, puts her hand on mine, silences the pencil. Again she asks, “Why?”

I feel tears coming. “I'm not sure I can. God. I'm not sure I can be so far away.” From you.

“You're just an airplane ticket away.” Then, quietly, “You've been so much farther away.” She's studying me,
like she's taking a picture and the camera is very slow. “You should go.”

I nod.

She leans down, wraps her arms around me. I inhale her mother-scent. She says, “Sometimes you have to be far from home to find what makes you free.” She gives me a squeeze. “Go.”

M
ISTAYA
IS BACK IN THE WATER
, bobbing in a slip in the marina at Port Sudan, her hull fixed and sail replaced. Emma patrols the deck, inspecting the rigging hardware. From a deck fitting, she extracts a wisp of the old mainsail and hands it to me.

“Souvenir.”

I take it from her and release it on the wind. “Do you think she'll be okay on her own?”

“Your mother? What do you think?”

I shrug, become very busy checking a non-existent spot on the rail.

She says, “I'll tell you what I know of your mother. She's brave, smart and resourceful. And she wants what is best for you. Your being here doesn't change what you have with your mother. It's the relationship that's important, the connection.” She fixes me with a stare. “You're choosing a path. That's not the same as running away. I know the difference.”

WE'VE HAD NEW
cushions made for the boat and these fit snugly on the benches. Over the last couple of weeks I took everything out of the shelves and lockers, cleaned them, then arranged them neatly. I sanded the scratches out of the dining table, polished the woodwork until it gleamed, filled the water and fuel tanks.

I bought a new go-bag, red, just like the last one. Now I inspect the contents: flashlights, batteries, food, water. A
GPS
. Antibiotics. All double-bagged. I pick up the photographs I've selected, three individual shots. There's one of Mom I took at the airport. I made her sister get out of the picture. Mom's hand is lifted part way, like she's starting to wave, her mouth is smiling but her eyes can't. I'll miss her too. The picture of Duncan is one Mom took a few years ago when they were hiking in the Rockies. He looks perfectly happy, but the reason I chose the picture is the birds in the background, a flock of plain little birds, hovering on the wind like tiny sails. The third photo is me, a new one, taken on the bow of
Mistaya
when we put her back in the water. I look perfectly happy too.

All the photos I bag, and bag again, then slip them into the go-bag with the other items. The last thing I put in is a
sealed container of sand for Fanny the cat. We've rigged her a swinging sea berth, but she likes to sleep on my bed.

Emma had me check the oil level and batteries, and I see her back there now, double-checking my work, but that's fine with me. She's the captain. Mac calls from the cockpit, “Are you two about ready to cast off?”

I glance at my watch, Mom's watch really, but she wanted me to have it, and make a note on the chart of our departure time. I strap the go-bag into place next to the companion-way, grab my hat and sunglasses and climb out into the cockpit. Emma follows me, leaps down onto the pontoon to untie our lines.

“Take us out,” she calls to me as she throws Mac the line and climbs back on board.

And I do.

Diane Tullson spent over a year traveling some of the same waters as Libby does in
Red Sea
. While not attacked by pirates, Diane and her family lived with the knowledge that the danger was real and they were a long way from home. Diane is also the author of
Saving Jasey
(Orca, 2002).Diane lives in Vancouver, British Columbia.
www.dianetullson.com

Also by Diane Tullson

Saving Jasey

Confronting his family's cruelty and his friend's fear of a
deadly disease, Gavin learns that life is often unfair.

Thirteen-year-old Gavin's home life is far from perfect. His older brother is a bully, his father has no time for him and his mother hasn't been the same since she hit a pig on the highway. Gavin finds sanctuary in his friend Trist McVeigh's seemingly perfect home. His blossoming infatuation with Trist's older sister Jasey helps fill the emotional void. But all is not as it seems in the McVeigh home. Trist's uncle suffers from Huntington's disease, a devastating degenerative brain disorder that may have been the reason for the suicide of Trist's father. Is Grandpa Jack also affected? And if so, are Trist and Jasey also in danger? Unable to deal with the threat of a potential illness, Jasey starts to self-destruct and she becomes involved with the worst kind of people. While trying to understand the dramatic changes in her personality, Gavin finds that the threat of a silent killer like Huntington's disease is as damaging as a corrosive family life. Gavin decides to do what he can to save Jasey and, ultimately, save himself.