“There’s no service this far from the main land. And even if there were, who do you suggest I call? StormChasers?”
Ignoring his sarcastic comment, I grit my teeth. “I don’t think abandoning ship is the answer.”
“We can’t stay here. Even if the pendant lines hold — and that’s a big if — we’re dragging the mooring’s anchor along the bottom every time a wave hits. We’ve drifted a dozen feet in as many minutes. At this rate, we’ll be on the rocks long before help arrives.”
“Then we should try to reach a harbor — Manchester isn’t that far. The storm seems to be dying down—”
“There’s another band of thunderstorms moving this way. We’re just in a lull right now.”
“But—”
“Enough!” he cuts me off tersely. “Jesus, Jo, you’re smarter than this. You’ve spent more time on boats than anyone I know. You really think we’re better off staying here?”
My chin cocks like a loaded gun. “I think getting in that water is insanity!”
“So is bobbing here like a cork, hoping for the sky to clear in a magical burst of rainbows and sunspots.”
“Don’t yell at me!”
“You’re the one yelling,” he points out with infuriating calmness.
“You… I…” I try to modulate my tone, but I’m practically shaking with anger. It flares to life in my chest, rising from long-simmering resentment to blind rage so fast I can barely process it. “I’m not leaving the boat, Archer.”
“Still stubborn as a damn mule, I see.”
“If anyone here is livestock,” I say cuttingly. “It’syou, jackass!”
We glare at each other for a long moment. In the silence, waves rock us up and down, down and up, an unpredictable undulation. I don’t generally get seasick, but these conditions are enough to make even an iron stomach toss. Keeping one hand on the rail, I press the other to my midsection to quell the queasiness.
“Look — it’s not just the storm,” Archer informs me flatly. “We’re almost out of fuel.”
I whip my head around to examine the fuel gauge behind the wheel. The red indicator hovers below the quarter-tank mark. “We have enough to get to shore.”
“Not in this weather, we don’t. We’ll burn twice as much powering through these rolling swells.”
I look back at him, eyes narrowed. “Since when are you a maritime expert?”
“Since when are you so reckless?” he counters, tone thick with frustration. “You must’ve hit your head when you went into the water. Or did you block out the fact that your sailboat just sank? Because that’s about the only explanation I can fathom for why you’d ever risk heading back out into open water, right now.”
“You don’t have to be such a jerk! I’m just trying to talk through our options—”
“The time for talking is over. This is my boat. That makes this my call. We’re going to ride out the storm here, on the island.”
As if on cue, the sky rattles with thunder, a sinister underscore to his words. I glance toward Great Misery. The shore isn’t far, but the prospect of swimming does little to thrill me. I can still feel the scorch of leftover seawater in my lungs. Each breath burns with the heat of my all-too-recent brush with death. “We’ll never survive the swim — not in these waves.”
Archer sighs. “Then we won’t swim.”
“What?”
“You said you’re not getting back in the water. Fine. I’ll drive the damn boat right up onto the beach. There’s a sandy stretch — we should be able to avoid most of the rocks.”
“You can’t do that,” I gasp, jaw hinging open in horror. “The damage to the keel—”
“Fuck the damage! I don’t care about the boat right now. I care about—” He breaks off, swallowing down whatever he was about to say. Swallowing down whatever he’s feeling inside. When he speaks again, his voice is remarkably steady. “I already had to pull you out of the water once today. I thought you were dead. Hell, youweredead. So forgive me if I’m not willing to risk your life, or mine, again.”
My jaw, still agape, shuts with a sharp click. I don’t have a single valid counterargument left at my disposal, so I simply give a small nod to show I’m in agreement.
“There’s a poncho in that compartment on your left. Put it on before you freeze to death,” Archer instructs flatly. “I’m going to release the mooring lines. Assuming they haven’t already snapped.”