Suddenly Overboard Read Online Free Page A

crew.
    But this one, Hank, seemed conflicted and was arrogant to boot. He couldn’t quite admit he needed help to sail his 8.5-meter sailboat from Chichester Harbour in the south of England to Dartmouth for a winter refit, roughly 120 nautical miles. He acted almost as if he was letting William come along for the short voyage as a favor. He was too bossy for William’s taste. Well, he thought, as he signed the delivery contract after inspecting the boat, Hank also seemed the type to end up seasick down below, and William didn’t mind sailing by himself, not at all.
    It wasn’t the best forecast, but perfect weather was rare in the UK in November. Today the wind was supposed to be 15 to 20 knots southwest, so they’d have to beat their way west through the Solent. Tomorrow it might get heavier, but they’d deal with that tomorrow. There were plenty of good harbors to duck into if it got nasty. “Any port in a storm,” he’d said to Hank as they made plans, but the guy had only scowled as if to say
he
wasn’t afraid of weather, come what may.
    To top things off, Hank was late to their meeting so they missed the ebb when they left Chichester Harbour. It was late afternoon before they’d motored over the bar and made full sail, shutting off the noisy old diesel that Hank was having rebuilt in Dartmouth.
    The beat through the Solent was much the same as always, something William could do with his eyes closed. The little sloop did a lot of crash-banging nonetheless, but he was happy enough to be underway, even in the chill of November as the sun dropped. And he was happy that Hank stayed huddled under the dodger and kept quiet while William took the helm.
    â€œOught to put on a life jacket,” he’d advised Hank once, eliciting that arrogant scowl again. To which William made a show of clipping his tether to the binnacle, which he might not have done otherwise unless it got rough. But he always wore his PFD with a harness, which felt comfortable after years of wear. William had seen four or five life jackets and harnesses stowed below when he’d checked out the boat yesterday, but he preferred to bring his own.
    Hank took the helm for a while before dark, when William tucked in a reef for the night and the building wind. William didn’t care for how the man steered, however, heading up and falling off repeatedly, and soon reclaimed the helm.
    At ten o’clock he put in another reef and turned on the radio for the hourly forecast. Didn’t sound good: gales were imminent. Oddly, Hank didn’t even look up from his place under the dodger during the forecast. It was as if he was going to force William to be the one to say anything, since he himself was a masterful enough sailor for anything.
    â€œWe have a couple options,” William said at last. “It’s pointless to beat into a gale all night and get nowhere. So I say we put in at Lymington or Yarmouth. Either harbor will get us through the night, and hopefully things will settle for a morning start.”
    In the dark Hank’s eyes were barely visible as he stared out from the dodger, but he didn’t speak.
    â€œI’d vote for Yarmouth myself,” William went on. “Better protected if the blow goes more southerly. But it’s your boat, so you decide.”
    Hank hauled himself out from under the dodger into the full force of the wind for the first time in hours. He staggered as hestood and watched the flickering lightning off to the west. “No,” he said slowly. “If you won’t go on, let’s go back to Chichester.”
    That made no sense to William. Why give up the 26 nautical miles they’d already made?
    But Hank offered no good explanation, and William soon got tired of talking about it. Boatowners! As if this tired old sloop demanded its royal berth home in Chichester. But he gave in and set a return course on a broad reach back toward the east.
    Gales