Adrift: A True Story of Love, Loss and Survival at Sea. Susea McGearhart

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СКАЧАТЬ said he had met her in the Caribbean while he was waiting out the hurricane season. They hit it off, and Lizzie had decided to sail to San Diego with him. He had chosen San Diego after receiving a letter from Eric telling him what a great place it was to “winter over.” Richard also was told he could prepare his boat for the South Pacific there and, with his skills, could easily find work on boats.

      If Richard could have read my mind just then, he would have heard me thinking, You came here because you were meant to find me.

      Richard totally captured my attention when his electric blue eyes penetrated mine, and he confessed Lizzie just wasn’t the one—they weren’t cut from the same cloth. He was born to see the world, and nothing—nobody—would stop him. It was clear he wanted me to know this right from the start.

      I wondered what his plans would be after he’d sailed around the world. Would he just keep going around and around? I found a subtle way of asking this, and he said he didn’t know for sure, but thought he would like to have a family one day. Maybe he’d even buy a little boatyard he’d seen in the south of England, if it went up for sale. But first, the South Pacific. He asked somewhat cavalierly whether I would like to go with him.

      I laughed, but deep down inside, I tingled. Was he serious? “It’s late; we need to slow down,” I said, even though one part of me wanted to jump on his boat and leave for the South Pacific that night.

      When we walked to my car, he leaned over and gave me a light kiss good night. It was like heaven, but hell too. I was dying to abandon all “good girl” protocol and throw my arms around him and never let him go. But, to my dismay, the sensible side of me won out, as it usually does. Lizzie needed to be out of his life before I could let myself in.

      As I drove home I was smiling from ear to ear. I had never felt this way about any man before. I knew then and there I was going back to the South Pacific. “Mauruuru, mauruuru, mauruuru roa, atua. Thank you, thank you, thank you very much, God.”

      About a week later, Richard told me his grandmother had passed away in England, and he needed to go home for the funeral. Lizzie would be on the same flight. I felt he was trying to tell me it was over between us. Clenching my fists, I politely offered my condolences, turned around, and walked away. He caught up to me and explained Lizzie was going home to England and not returning to America, but he would be back soon. As Richard said good-bye to me, he said, “Tami, now that I’ve found you, I’ll never let you go.”

Three

       Coming To

      I opened my eyes and saw blue sky and wispy, white clouds. My head throbbed. I went to touch it, but things, I didn’t know what, lay on top of me, smothering me, crushing me. What was going on? I couldn’t think, I couldn’t remember. Where was I? My hammock hung cockeyed. I dangled near the floor. A can of WD-40 clanged against the table post. I moved, and a book splashed into the water.

      I struggled to free myself. Dead weight pinned me down. Cans of food, books, pillows, clothes, a door, and panels of the main salon’s overhead liner spilled off me as I struggled to sit up. I recoiled for I was covered in blood. I could feel a horrendous cut burning my left shin.

      Where was I? What had happened? I was confused. I couldn’t orient myself. The clock on the wall ticked a beat. 4 P.M.? That didn’t seem right . . . My tether, still clipped onto the table post, confined me. I was obviously on a boat—what boat? My weakened hands frantically tried to unclip the tether.

      Once unclipped, I strained to see around me. My vision was blurry; the pain in my head excruciating. Putting hand to brow, I flinched. I looked at my hand and saw crimson. Uncontrollable shivers engulfed me.

      Laboriously, I crawled out of the labyrinth of wreckage. I stood up unsteadily. My back was wet and the water was over knee high. I felt faint. Slowly, one careful step at a time, I waded, negotiating my way through the obstacles floating in the two feet of water that lapped above the floor frames. This was crazy. The interior of the boat was chaotic. My God, what had happened? Books, charts, pillows, silverware, floorboards, cups, clothing, cans of food, spare parts, beans, flour, oatmeal—everything was either floating or stuck to the overhead, or to the bulkheads, or to the hull. The oven had been ripped from the starboard side of the boat and was now wedged into the nav station’s bookshelf on the port side. What boat is this? Where am I?

      I headed for the forward cabin—the V-berth. “Hello?” I called out. My voice sounded strange. I gaped at the turmoil in every nook and cranny. Cautiously moving toward the bow, I peeked in the head. There, in the mirror, I saw a frazzled image, its face covered in blood, the forehead cut wide open. Long strands of hair, wild and matted with blood, shot out from its skull. In fear, my hands flew to my mouth. I screamed. Then I screamed again. The ungodly sight was me.

      “No!” I shouted, crashing into the bulkhead as I tried to escape.

      I stumbled into the V-berth. Everything there too was topsy-turvy. The storage hammocks that hung on each side of the berth were overturned; spilled clothes lay every which way. Paperback books were off their shelves. The long mattress for the bunk was kinked, out of its place. Cans of food and even broken dishes lay strewn about.

      I shook my head and wondered how the food and dishes got into the V-berth. In disbelief I backed into the main salon.

      “Ray?” I apprehensively called.

      Ray? I wondered where that had come from. It’s not Ray. Ray’s the hurricane. Hurricane? Hurricane Ray—Raymond. Where’s Richard? Richard . . . “Oh my God . . .” But that’s what he had said. . . .

      Fear dropped me to my knees. I retched. Bilge water splashed against my cheek. Richard had not come below with me.

      “RICHARD?” I screamed. “RICHAAARRRD!”

      I pulled myself to my feet, but had barely taken a step when the heel of my foul-weather boot slid. I fell against the salon table and threw up again. I looked at the ship’s clock once more and desperately tried to concentrate on its second hand jumping: one thousand one, one thousand two. It read 1600 hours—4 P.M. Wait, that’s not right! my rattled mind screamed. It had been one—one in the afternoon. “My God. . . . Oh, Richard . . . RICHAAARRRD?” I wailed as I crawled toward the companionway ladder, my hands splashing water in every direction as I knocked food, cushions, books, whatever, out of my way.

      “RICHARD? RICHARD?” I screamed over and over, choking on my words.

      The companionway ladder had broken off its latches—it lay sideways against the nav station seat. I pushed it to the floor, out of my way, and climbed up on the back of the settee, screaming Richard’s name. The companionway’s main hatch was torn from its sliding tracks, leaving a gaping hole. As I hoisted myself up into the cockpit, I hit my head on the boom, which was blocking the entryway. “GODDAMN IT!” I howled and then painfully climbed over it.

      There I saw Richard’s safety line secured to the cleat on the cockpit coaming. The tether hung over the side of the hull. My God, could he be on the other end?

      I lunged for the safety line, grabbed it tight, and yanked hard. It flew into the cockpit, the metal making a sharp craaack against the fiberglass. There lay the bitter end—the D-ring had parted.

      Desperately I looked in every direction. Where was the howling wind? Where was the pelting rain? Where had it all СКАЧАТЬ