And he hated the way Neil made all the decisions without even the pretense of consulting him. He felt like a passenger on his own boat. He knew he didn’t have Neil’s experience or instincts, but he knew his boat, had handled her more than Neil had, and resented being shunted aside. He felt he had the right at any time to override any of Neil’s decisions, but hadn’t yet found the issue that was right for reasserting his control. Neil didn’t even seem to be aware of the ways he was ignoring his skills, advice, and rights as owner.
And Neil seemed to be starting to flirt with Jeanne. Jeanne. There was the fucking rub. Frank wanted her closeness, needed her closeness to protect him from the shocks that were coming at him from all directions, felt that she needed his closeness and comfort, but suddenly, out of nowhere, there was Neil. He himself had known Jeannie since before Skippy’s birth, and in the past few years had become damn fond of her. It wasn’t so much sexual attraction, except on occasion, just a strong feeling of warmth, affection, longing even, that he found hard to express to her, but which he felt she sensed. Shit, maybe he was in love with her and had been for a couple of years.
And now Bob was dead, and he needed her, and suddenly there was Neil. It wasn’t fair. He rolled from his back onto his stomach and wrestled angrily with the pillow.
When he’d finally told Jeannie of his feelings two nights before, he’d felt subtly rejected. She’d admitted that she’d sensed his affection and appreciated it, and said she had admired him over the last year for not creating conflict for her by approaching her overtly and forcing her to respond. She seemed to think it was okay now for him to express his feelings, but,wasn’t at all sure about herself. Events had moved so fast that she didn’t think she could depend on any of her emotional responses. But now he wondered if it was all just bullshit to cover up the fact that she was turned on by Neil.
“Turned on”. Jesus, that phrase made him sick. His feelings for Jeanne went far beyond just being turned on. So Neil was younger and had muscles like a gymnast and always stood around looking like Patton in his underwear: what kind of a relationship could you have based on that?
But what could he do about it? What could he do about anything? Vagabond hissed and plunged forward as if she were an independent creature fleeing for herself southward through the sea, he and Neil her obedient servants. Would Puerto Rico solve his problems? Neil’s getting pressganged back into the Navy would certainly solve one problem… but even the idea of Neil’s leaving saddened him. Although Neil had become self-absorbed lately, normally he was the only one he’d ever sailed with who appreciated Vagabond the way he did, could communicate with a glance what a blast it was sizzling along at thirteen knots or swinging at anchor in a squall…
But even sailing these last few days didn’t inspire him with enthusiasm. Nothing did. A part of him felt he was dying and he needed someone to talk to, but she always seemed too busy. He felt lonely and alone, his two best people, Jeanne and Neil, beginning to sail away from him on a different tack. He wanted to alter course, stay with them, but in the nightmare world he was inhabiting he couldn’t find the sheets or, finding them, had no sense of whether they should be pulled in or eased. Rudderless, his life raced through the night and he, its captain, no longer knew his position or his course. He was lost. And his fucking back ached. And he wanted to puke. And it was noon: his and Tony’s watch again.
The nice thing about Neil’s insisting on a tight, rigidly maintained watch schedule was that every six or eight hours it forced you to stop thinking and act. Frank pushed himself heavily up off the berth and lowered his feet to the floor. Action. Action. Slowly, painfully, he began putting on his boat shoes.
That night in the forepeak Jim and Lisa finally found the place and time to make love. Olly and Macklin were on watch, and Tony, who also had a berth forward, was talking with Katya up in the wheelhouse. The others were asleep in their cabins. For Jim and Lisa it was the only place they could find to be alone.
The motion of Vagabond into and over the swells alternately accented and interfered with the motions of their lovemaking in ways that made Jim and Lisa giggle. Everything—even their awkwardness—was a delight. The few couplings Jim had known, burdened with the pressure of performance and the absence of love, hadn’t prepared him for the unexpected joy of being with Lisa, who, inexpert, shy, and passive, made him feel that his every touch was a miracle of perfection. When he first entered her it had been painful for her; his first climax a disappointingly minor event, soon forgotten in the midst of rising pleasure and the excitement of the continuing play of their hands and lips and words. They were naked and sweating, suppressing their noises and giggles, and enraptured with the discovery of so much happiness. When Jim had climaxed a second time, they lay side by side facing each other, grinning, laughing, trying halfheartedly to raise their conversation above the level of the idiotic.
“You did too squeal,” Lisa insisted. “And it was nice.”
Jim shook his head, smiling. “I didn’t hear a thing.”
“Do I make noises?” Lisa asked.
“I was too busy to notice.” Again they laughed, until a noise behind the curtain reminded them that they were only a few feet from the main cabin. They lay quietly, staring at each other, listening. They heard Tony swear and Katya laugh.
“Do you think they might come in here?” Lisa asked.
Jim grimaced and nodded. “They might,” he said.
“Should we let people know?” Lisa asked. “You know, about… what we’re doing?”
“No,” said Jim. “Our parents have enough to worry about without—”
“I know,” said Lisa. “After Frank and mom had that long talk after dinner tonight, I found her crying in her cabin.”
“Really? I don’t understand what’s happening with them all, do you?”
“I think—”
Katya abruptly ducked underneath the curtain and poked her head up only a few feet away.
“Oh!” Katya said. “Hey, I’m sorry. I must have the wrong room.” She laughed briefly and just as quickly stooped down to disappear behind the curtain.
As they heard Katya and Tony begin arguing, Jim grabbed his swimming trunks and pulled them on, and Lisa scrambled for her shorts and blouse.
“What is this?” Tony said, suddenly pushing past the curtain. “Neil gives me the worst berth on the boat and even then it’s not mine.”
“I’m sorry,” said Jim, whispering. “Would you please keep your voice down?”
“I can’t even talk in my own cabin?” said Tony.
“Oh, shut up,” Katya whispered from behind him. “Leave them alone.”
“We’re leaving,” said Jim. “And I’m sorry we… used your bed.”
“It’s not mine, it’s Conrad’s,” said Tony. “But it’s the principle of the thing.”
“Tony, you’ve got as many principles as an eel,” said Katya.
“Come on, Lisa,” said Jim.
“Do your parents know you’re screwing?” Tony asked.