The Concerned Captain

By the time I change out of my robe and get myself to the Bridge like a drunken skunk, I swear I have about a dozen bruises from being thrown onto walls and handrails, or tripping on stairs as the yacht rocked. The one on my shin is smarting as I knock on the wall to announce my presence. I'm glad my stomach is empty but for a bit of tea, because right now, I'm channelling the young maid. I make a note of where the bin is as I enter, just in case.

He's at the wheel, staring at the dark, swirling inky that is the sea, from the bridge. I eye the throng of ink clouds brewing over the whole damn South Pacific as if attendants at a funeral. I try to shake that knotty thought from my mind as I stand beside him, putting on the most jovial voice I can manage.

"Captain Parry." Queasiness wells in me as the sea churn, rocking our yacht and my empty stomach. For a brief moment, I'm that young Devi Dhungel on her first cruise again, trying to find my sea legs or stomach.

"She's looking nasty, Ms Le Fontaine," he pointedly draws out my name.

I glare at the middle-aged seafaring man who knows these waters better than anyone. He has a stocky build, with salt and pepper hair that's lush, so lush I almost want to run a hand through it. No sign of a hairline recession here! In fact, there is too much hair, what with that trimmed beard too.

"Fine, Parry," I use his first name. He and I, have this thing—since those early days—we hate being formal, so Parry and Devi is it unless we are dealing in an official capacity, and this felt like official capacity, being summoned to the Bridge. "What's up?"

"That." Parry looks out over the bridge at the sunless morning. "I don't like it."

"I agree. It needs a splash of colour, maybe a whole bucket. Some fuschia, some sunflower yellow, maybe even a tangerine orange."

He tries not to crack a smile and nudges me with his arm. "It's been a pleasure having you on board again, don't get me wrong, D, but this"—he nods at our killer view—"it throws a spanner in your works, not colours."

"How big a spanner?" I brace the chair nearest me, hoping it has no wheels as a swell throws us.

"Think Jackman's Wolverine-sized spanner. It's got some muscles. The forecast predicts the storm will hit this evening and clear in the morning. I know it's a special trip out here for you, but I have to turn us back around and head for the shoreline. If we stay out here in the open, we'll be widely off course, or worse. We need anchorage somewhere, preferably near land in case we need to make it to the shore."

"The yacht can handle this weather, no?" I feel a tight squeeze in my chest. I don't want to cancel our trip short. I need tonight to go smoothly, and I need it to go smoothly out here, where they are all contained or my plan won't work.

"I'd rather not risk it. It's going to be choppy all day. And later in the evening, we might sit right in the middle of it." Parry scratches his trimmed beard, bushy brows dropping in concentration.

"But I don't want to go back yet."

Parry rubs my back like I'm a child having a hard time dealing with the bad news that we are out of ice cream. "Just close enough to the shore. We can stay out on the water, but safety first."

I chew my lip. Even if Parry sets the return course, we won't reach Darling Harbour tonight. So there is that. I am going to have my night out on the seas for my birthday like I want, regardless, but how close to shore is he talking? Like, if someone wanted to run away from me, would they be able to swim ashore?

"Where are we right now?" I ask.

"We passed Montague Island last night, so we're a few hours south from there, near Mystery Cove."

"Mystery Cove?"

"It'll be better than being sitting ducks out here. I heard they used to fish for abalone there. You like abalone, don't you?" Parry tries his hardest to sound chirpy as the yacht rocks violently yet again, just to prove his point. "Calmer waters mean a better party!"

He had to go there, didn't he? "You are coming?" I suddenly remember he has not given me an answer.

"On land, maybe." Parry holds the wheel and stares out at the sea like a dignified man. "The bridge needs to be manned around the clock in this weather."

"Parry!"

"Enough!" He snaps, only then to smile at me. "I know it's a special night for you, D, but Charlie would hate it if I abandon the bridge to join a party. I'd rather keep you and your guests safe and sound. Just save a piece of that cake for me." He winks.

"If there's any left. People kill for Toby's pastries, remember."

"Then I shall come armed!" He leans in with a hearty chuckle and kisses my cheek. "Happy birthday, beautiful lady. We'll grab a drink back on shore."

"I'll hold you to it." Before I even turn around, I hear Parry on the radio informing the Coast Guard of our change of course. A strange flutter settles in my heart as I fight to keep my balance while exiting the Bridge. How bad is this storm going to be?