Read Stay for Free Online

Eighteen, nineteen. He had cargo shorts on, no shirt.
    Tousled black hair, the scruffy start of a beard, the kind of eyes
    you’d call sweet. “It was named before the perfume,” he said.
    “You folks want a ride?”
    “I won’t step one foot on a boat,” my father said. He didn’t mind
    looking at the water, he just wouldn’t get in it or on it. No way in
    hell. I had no idea why. Childhood trauma, general fear, who knew.
    “We’d make sure you didn’t fall in more than once,” the other
    guy said from above, his legs dangling down. They had to be brothers.
    They looked just alike, with that same dark hair and scruff, though
    the one above us was older, leaner. Longer hair. Sunglasses that hung
    from a leather lanyard around his neck, a pair of keys on it, too.
    “She’s beautiful,” my father said. “Is she your obsession?”
    “I guess you could say that,” the guy on deck said. “Tours are
    an hour, hour and a half if we like you.” He looked at me when he
    * 33 *
    Deb Caletti
    said that. My stomach did a little flip, and I cursed it. So what if he
    looked like that. “We go out past Possession Point. Got good wind.”
    “Possession Point?” I said.
    “Out there. That bit of beach that juts out?”
    I nodded. Sure we knew it. It’s right where our house was.
    “How fast does she go?” My father was still stuck on that boat.
    “Oh, she’s gone twenty-five knots downwind with the spin-
    naker up. Ten to twelve on a usual day.”
    “Fast for a boat that big.”
    “We race her in the off season. Crew of eight, ten guys.”
    Dad shook his head. “How big? What, maybe fifty feet?”
    “Seventy.”
    Dad whistled. He was loving this, the short clip of guy talk.
    He could edge right in and make it work. You’d never guess he
    was the same person who could speak in loops and swirls that
    were basically poetic. “The mast?”
    “Ninety.”
    Dad shook his head with appropriate appreciation. I did the
    same, though numbers were as hazy and hard to grasp for me as
    ideas were for other people. Ninety, okay. It was tall. Really tall.
    And that guy was hanging up there like it was nothing.
    “If you change your mind . . .” the guy above shouted. He
    took out his wallet from his back pocket as he dangled there. A
    business card fluttered down and landed in the water. A seagull
    paddled over to see if it was something he could eat.
    “Moron,” the guy on the deck shouted up. He took out his
    own wallet, handed my father a card, and then another to me.
    Finn Bishop , it said. Sailor .
    * 34 *
    Stay
    “Bishop?” my father said.
    “The old dead captain was some sort of relation, though my
    mother always gets the story screwed up.”
    “Pleasure meeting you guys,” Dad said.
    “You too.” He paused for a second. Grinned. “Hope you’ll
    come for a sail sometime,” he said to me.
    My stomach flipped again, making its point. I looked down,
    smiled in spite of myself, and then we waved and crossed back
    over the dock. I was blushing, but I hoped Dad didn’t see. Oh,
    Jesus. I didn’t need to worry about Dad, though—he was in his
    own world, as usual. He turned back around and shouted. “You
    guys know where someone could get work?” He crooked his
    thumb my way.
    “Dad, for God’s sake,” I hissed. Shit, he could be so embar-
    rassing. I know parental embarrassment usually stops some-
    where at fifteen, but he just kept on giving me good reason.
    I tugged at his arm, waved my hand at the guy to indicate he
    should just ignore him. Too late; the guy was already shouting
    back.
    “Try the lighthouse. Sylvie Genovese. She’s always firing
    someone.”
    “Thanks.” Dad waved his arm again.
    We had a humiliating and lengthy wait at a dont walk sign,
    with not a car in sight for miles. Dad was a priss about jaywalk-
    ing.6* Finally, we were back on the other side of the street, and
    6 Or maybe he just liked to stare down what he’d testily call the “grammatical error
    sanctioned by the