Jeanne had noticed a sailboat tied a little way off a small dock between the municipal marina and Kelly’s, and now that a family of four was leaving, there was only one man on the nearby dock.
“Do you have a hairbrush?” she asked her daughter. “Mine was in my handbag.”
“I think so.”
Lisa dug out her hairbrush from the duffel bag, and Jeanne let down her hair, which she had tied back earlier, and brushed it out. She had no fresh makeup on, but hoped she didn’t need it.
“How do I look?” she asked Lisa.
Lisa stared at her uncertainly.
“You… you look fine,” she answered.
“I mean my mascara’s not running…”
“No… Mother, what are you going to do? Let me come with you.”
“No, honey, stay here,” she replied and walked away.
She moved without haste and without the sense of desperation that, she realized now, had been with her all that morning. It was still with her, of course, but since she was playing a part, her desperation was under control. She was trying to walk like a beautiful woman out for a stroll on a lovely summer morning. A wave of horror at the image surged through her. She felt ridiculous. She kept walking.
She saw that the man on the dock was adjusting a line that ran out to the sailboat, twenty feet off the dock, where two other men were working hurriedly. They looked like they were about to leave port.
“Hi,” she said as the man watched her approach down the gentle embankment that led to the dock.
“Hello,” he said, glancing at her nervously. He was a muscular-looking man in his mid-twenties, dressed in khakis and a polo shirt.
“I could use a boat ride,” she said.
“You and half the rest of the world,” the man answered, his eyes flicking quickly over her, his expression neutral.
She tried to smile.
“There are a lot of us,” she agreed.
“What’s she want?” an older man called from the boat.
“Says she wants a boat ride,” the first man answered.
When she turned to the sailboat, she saw that the two men had stopped whatever they were doing and were staring at her. There was no friendliness in their faces, only appraisal.
“I’d like to get a ride over to Crisfield,” she said, still smiling.
The older man, in his forties she guessed, gray-haired, wearing glasses, looked her up and down. “Can you cook?” he asked.
“Cook?” Jeanne echoed, then nodded. On a twenty-mile voyage?
“Come aboard then,” he said.
Jeanne hesitated.
“Are you going to Crisfield?”
“We haven’t decided,” the man answered, still staring at her without smiling. “If you want to come, come. We’re leaving.”
She slowly let her eyes drift to her left and then attentively off to her right. Lisa was sitting on the grass fifty feet away, feeding Skippy something while watching Jeanne.
“I hope to find a friend on a big trimaran in Crisfield,” she explained to the man on the boat.
The two men in the cockpit whispered together urgently. The other was a round, heavyset man in his twenties with a full black beard.
“We’ve got work to do. Come aboard, and let’s talk about it,” the older man repeated. “Pull us up to the dock, Gary.”
The man next to her pulled on a line, and the stern of the sailboat eased toward the dock. The bearded man came around to the transom of the sailboat to help her down.
She hesitated, half of her wanting to run, the other half knowing that this was probably her last chance to get a ride across the bay to find Frank. Then she felt the hands of the man on the dock take hold of her waist from behind.
“Ready?” he said.
“What?” she replied.
But he lifted her up and held her out toward the big man in the stern, who grabbed her under the armpits and slowly lowered her onto the deck, grinning in her face.
“Welcome aboard,” he said, “I’m Carl.”
“Thank you,” she said, smiling at him uncertainly. She turned to the older man.
“I… I need a ride to Crisfield,” she said again, feeling stupid.
“Come down below and have a drink,” he said. “Carl, warm the engine up.”
Again she wanted to run, but the children were safe and… she had to get them to Frank. After a five-second hesitation, she smiled again.
“Thank you,” she said. She moved past him to the hatchway and then down the steps. The two men followed her.
Inside was a pleasant galley and dinette area on one side and a long settee on the other. She sat down on the settee. The older man stopped to pour out three glasses of bourbon while Carl got the key and went back up on deck to start the engine. The older man handed her a small glass.
“Here’s to survival,” he said.
“To survival,” she replied, and they clinked glasses.
“You can come,” he said to her. “We can use a female aboard the boat.”
“I just want to go across the bay,” she said.
“What if you don’t find your friend?” the man countered. “Then what are your plans?”
“Then I guess I’m open to… suggestions,” she replied slowly. “My husband’s dead and my chil—”
“If you sail with us,” the man said, “you’d be expected to cook for us, clean up, and perform… all the duties a woman usually… performs.”
“If… if I don’t find Frank… then that… will be fine.”
“She’ll cook for all of us,” Carl said to the older man as he returned to the cabin. “And perform all her duties for all of us. Agreed?”
The man looked at Carl coldly but nodded.
“You understand?” he asked Jeanne.
“Yes,” she said after a pause. “But if… if my friend is in Crisfield?”
“We’ll leave you with your friend.”
“Oh,” she said, relief flooding through her. “It sounds fair enough.”
“Good,” the man said. “Let’s see how good a cook you’re going to be.”
“I beg pardon?”
The man put his glass down on the dinette table and came up close to her, still not smiling. He reached down with large hands and cupped her breasts, squeezed them, then ran each thumb and index finger along until he was first squeezing and then rolling her nipples through her T-shirt and bra.
“You should be an incredible cook,” he said, flushed and grinning awkwardly.
Jeanne suppressed the desire to try to free herself and simply leaned back against the cushion of the settee, her arms folded in front of her.
“Yes, I can be,” she said steadily as the man let his hands fall away but kept standing in front of her and grinning. “But there’s one other clause in the agreement,” she went on.
“What’s that?”
“You also have to bring my two children.”
The older man frowned. “Children?” he said. “Who said anything about children?”
“I just did,” Jeanne answered. “If they don’t go, I don’t go.”
“We can’t take kids, ” Carl said sharply.
“Survival, my dear young woman,” the older man said, stepping back and finishing his drink. “We’re low on food as it is.”
“Take it or leave it,” Jeanne answered firmly, now hoping just to get off the boat. “Three of us or none. And a dog.”
“Your kids will be safer on shore,” the man said. “If they come with us, we might end up having to throw them overboard.”
“Or we might have to eat them,” Carl said. “We only want to eat you.”
Carl laughed, and the older man again smiled awkwardly.
“Just take us to Crisfield then,” Jeanne persisted.
“No, honey,” the older man said. “A cook like you—”
“Then I’m leaving,” said Jeanne, and she stood up and began walking toward the steps, but Carl grabbed her by the arm.