An ending here, of sorts. Revisions likely when I consolidate all nine chapters into one post.

Music? Paul Simon: Hearts and Bones. Yes: Hearts. Buffalo Springfield: Expecting to Fly. Linda Ronstadt: You’re No Good. The Dream Academy: Twelve-Eight Angel. Double: The Captain of Her Heart. Dusty Springfield’s version of The Look of Love, from Casino Royale, the original 1966 motion picture soundtrack.

Part Eight

After backtracking around Keflavik, Hank set his course to skirt the small islands around Vestmannaeyjabær, and once they passed the village of Vic they faced a 350 nautical miles passage to the Faroe Islands. The weather forecasts they had downloaded looked decent, not great but decent, for the next two days – but after that there was a growing possibility of storms, this time from a tropical cyclone that had skirted the Bahamas before turning towards Bermuda. This new beast was predicted to blow itself out in the mid-Atlantic, but so far this storm had defied prediction and seemed to have a  mind of its own. As for right now, there wasn’t a breath of air and both boats were motoring along at five knots. At least, Hank told himself, they were charging their batteries.

Hank had long planned on stopping in Tórshavn, then spending a week or so exploring the islands, but the plain fact of the matter was that they were running out of summer. It was already mid-August, and while it wasn’t impossible to reach Hull by the end of the month, spending a week sightseeing anywhere was looking less and less possible, and that was not what he had been hoping for. What was the point of rushing if the things you wanted to explore were lost to you? Didn’t that defeat the real purpose of a trip? Any trip?

Which had left him with the germ of an idea a few nights back, an idea that was even now rattling around in his brain.

‘What if we keep the boats in Hull for the winter, then come back next summer and retrace our path, return to the Faroes on their way north to Bergen and the fjords.

In fact, he was thinking about next summer so much that his mind wasn’t on their present situation. Grindavik was coming up on their port beam and while the shoreline was still in sight, though just barely, he saw a low, dark plume of volcanic ash streaming off the mainland straight out to sea, and the plume was maybe ten miles dead ahead. Volcanic ash, he knew, was full of all kinds of abrasive particulates, everything from silicates to larger bits of airborne pumice, but there were a gazillion different chemicals in these clouds that were toxic to breathe. The most immediate concern was damage to their eyes and lungs, and there might be carbon dioxide alerts for low lying areas, where CO2 pooled in lethal concentrations. The sea was definitely a low lying area, so would an alert apply to them?

But Judy was already two steps ahead of him when he called her on the VHF.

“I’ve just talked to one of the volcano observatories,” she began, “and they advise we head well offshore before traversing that plume.”

“How far offshore?” Hank asked, bewildered, knowing that any detour might add days to their crossing.

“Call it a hundred miles south,” she sighed. “So yes, I hear you, this is going to add at least a day to our time, but the alternative is to go around the northern coast of Iceland and that would take weeks, not days.”

Hank sighed and shook his head, but the knew she was right. He entered a new course on his chartplotter and then told Huck his plan. He hit execute on the plotter’s screen and the autopilot made the turn to starboard, then he turned on his radar and yes, sure enough, he could see the plume right there on his screen. 

He nodded – because at least he could monitor their position relative to the danger…but he was fuming now. More delays…

And then he felt a shuddering thud reverberate throughout the Goose. “What the hell?” he mumbled.

Afraid he’d run into an errant shipping container he leaned over the starboard rail and found himself face to face with the grinning white countenance of an impressively large Beluga Whale. Its face was about a foot above the mirror smooth surface, and its mouth was open a few inches. The dome of its forehead was impressively huge, and the natural curve of its mouth looked inviting. Like he, or she, was indeed smiling at him.

“Well,” Hank said as he cut power and put the transmission into neutral, “hello there. How are you today?”

And to his surprise, the whale replied, our tried to, anyway. While its enunciation wasn’t perfect, it was close, and Hank grinned at the effort.

“We’re going that way,” Hank added, pointing to the south. “Where are you going?”

But then the whale shook its head – and then it swam around The Blue Goose’s stern and literally pushed the boat to a course further west.

Thee radio hissed and came alive. “Is that a Beluga?” Judy asked.

“It is, and I told him we were heading south and that seemed to bother him. He’s pushing me to the west right now.”

“Interesting. Hank, if he swam through that plume he may have gotten a lungful of pumice, and he just might be trying to warn us off.”

Hank leaned over the port rail and the Beluga was still right there, bobbing on the waves while looking up at him again. He pointed to the west and nodded: “You want me to go that way?”

The whale responded by pushing the Goose again, and yes, it pushed the Goose to the west once again.

So Hank set a course of 220 degrees and engaged the autopilot, yet the next time he looked down into the sea the whale had vanished…just like a ghost.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath as he scanned the sea around the Goose, “now that was just weird.”

+++++

Two hours later the plume was still visible off in the distance – but it was gaining some serious altitude now. He couldn’t tell what surface conditions were like that far away, but he hadn’t seen any airliner’s contrails overhead all morning so assumed this had been a big eruption. He turned on the single-sideband radio and tuned in the BBC, and then he learned that there had been big volcanic eruptions all around the world, and that the Pacific Coast of North America had been especially hard hit just a few hours earlier. Mt. Etna, the stratovolcano on Sicily’s east coast, had just erupted, and so had Mt Kilimanjaro in Tanzania, and that volcano had long been thought extinct. There were reports of eruptions in far east Russia, but no confirmations had been received at the time of broadcast.

Hank picked up the VHF and called Judy.

“Have you listened to the BBC today?” he asked.

“No? What’s up?”

“Just tune in and listen for a while, then tell me what you think we ought to do.”

“I got it,” Huck said. “Judy’s gone down to work on it. How’re you doing over there?”

“I was doing okay until I heard this shit. Huck, volcanos are erupting all over the world, and it’s real bad on the west coast.”

“You mean like California and shit?”

“Yup.”

“Fuck.”

“Yup.”

Judy came on the air about ten minutes later and she sounded different now. Like the usual calm she projected had been ruptured. “Hank, I have no idea what we should do, but there are volcanoes all over Iceland so I think we should get away from here.”

“Agree, but where to? Keep going to Scotland?”

“There’ll be ash clouds everywhere within a few days, so our best bet is to get somewhere…well hell, Hank, I have no idea where a safe place would be.”

“I’m texting my dad. He’ll know what to do.”

“Their flight took off an hour ago,” she said. “He should be in Boston in a few hours.”

Hank didn’t like the way that sounded. If air travel was disrupted by volcanic eruptions, it seemed like the worst place you could be was in an airliner over an ocean, but now wasn’t the time to think about that. “Okay, I’m going to set a heading of 270 degrees and get away from that plume. There’s no telling how bad it is now.”

“Okay. We’ll be right behind you.”

There was a light breeze blowing now so he set the main and the genoa, then engaged the Hydrovane self-steering vane. With so much sun shining he set the angle of the solar panels to receive maximum solar gain then checked the Victron displays to see how well they were doing. He looked down, saw the surface of the sea was still sort of calm but it looked different now. Almost gritty, like there was a thin layer of gritty film spread over the surface.

And if that was volcanic grit, he thought, what would that stuff do if it got into the engine’s raw water coolant loop? Foul up the diesel? What about the Spectra water maker? Would the grit foul up the pre-filter and clog the pump? And the sails? Would grit settle onto the Dacron fabric and tear up his sails? If so, how long would it take to destroy them?

Then the thought his him.

We could be out here unable to run the engine and even unable to sail. Then what would we do?

He turned and looked over his wake and could still see Iceland back there – and that’s all it took. He swung the wheel hard over and turn back to the northwest, then he looked at Judy, now standing in the cockpit staring at him. A minute later she pulled alongside.

“I was thinking,” he began, “what would happen if we got a bunch of that ash in our engines, and then in our sails. Or the water makers. We could get halfway to nowhere real fast, then be stuck out there with no way to get anywhere…”

“Jesus,” Huck sighed.

Judy nodded. “Good call. You want to head back to Reykjavik?”

Hank nodded. “I don’t want to be out here right now. The BBC is saying nothing like this has ever happened before, so no one really knows what’s going on. It just hit me, you know? Being out here in the middle of the ocean sounds like the last place we should be.”

His phone pinged and he realized he had put the phone in its holder on the binnacle so he leaned over to look at it. He read for a second then nodded. “Text from my grandfather. They’re still at the airport, all flights grounded. He’s asking our intentions.”

Judy nodded. “Hank, we’re following you, okay?”

Hank picked up his phone and replied: “Understood. Heading back to Reykjavik now.”

A minute passed and the reply popped up. “See you at the marina. We’ve reserved your same spots.”

“Okay. Be there tonight.” He nodded then turned back to Judy. “They’re headed to the hotel and we have the same berths in the marina. I think we should motor-sail as fast as we can.”

Huck reached down and started the diesel, then turned two follow Hank as the Goose began heading northwest, back to Reykjavik. Judy got on the radio again and called. “I’m making sandwiches, so don’t get too far ahead of us!”

“Okay, take your time.” Hank said as he cycled the chartplotter to the radar screen, then set the range to 36 miles, the maximum on this unit, and the plume was still there, only now in his mind it was a dark, malevolent thing, something that could hurt him, even kill him, and then the thought hit him. 

The world had just changed. Not a little, but a lot. Reality had shape-shifted and this was a new world…

Now even the air he breathed could no longer be taken for granted, then an even scarier thought hit. If it was bad here – what was it like along the Pacific Coast? How long would it take for all that ash to make it here? He remembered a couple of movies about that volcano under Yellowstone National Park, what the scientists called a ‘Super-volcano.’ In one movie more than half the country had been buried under ash, and the sun didn’t come out for a couple of years. 

Would that happen now? 

But why were volcanos erupting in Italy and Russia, and why were they all erupting at the same time? And then there was that extinct volcano in Africa? That just seemed beyond weird.

He turned the chartplotter back to the main chart display and noted they were coming up on the point at the southwest tip of the island, labeled Reyhkjanes on his chart, so now they had 20 miles to go to reach the lighthouse on the point, the old Garður lighthouse, where they would make the final turn into Reykjavik…

“Hank,” Judy said over the radio, “come and get it!”

“Okay, I’ll cut power, tell Huck to come alongside, make it starboard side and I’ll put the fenders out.”

“Okay, got it.”

They were only a few hundred yards off so it took just a few minutes, and she already had the cockpit table set up. She’d made Huck’s favorite, a pitcher of cherry-limeade from frozen concentrate, and then she handed up a platter of shrimp salad sandwiches and a bowl of tabouli salad. 

“Wow, what a feast!” Hank said as he sat down in the cockpit. The sandwiches were on big sub rolls, and she’d sprinkled fresh dill on them so they smelled great. The tabouli was full of lemon and parsley and fat, juicy chunks of tomato oozing with summer freshness, and it all looked so good, almost like a celebration.  And maybe it was. Because maybe this was the end of the trip. Maybe this would be the last meal they had out here for a while.

So he looked at Judy, and then at Huck, and he kind of choked up when he thought about that. To come so far, to get so close, and then…to end like this…?

“What are you thinking?” Judy asked.

And Hank snapped out of it and looked over at her, not really sure what to say. 

“I guess this is it,” Huck said, beating him to the punch. “Our last day out here.”

Hank nodded. “Yup.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Judy said, smiling. “We don’t know what’s really going on or how bad it is out west.”

“I’ve been watching the news feed on my phone,” Huck sighed, “and it looks pretty bad to me.”

“Like what did you see?” she asked, now concerned.

“Seattle is gone. San Francisco too. Los Angeles was having big earthquakes early this morning and then the news stopped coming out of there. That sounds bad. Real bad.”

Judy nodded. “It is.” She looked up at the sky and Hank thought she looked calm, maybe too calm, given the circumstances, but sometimes that’s just the way she was. Like the worse things got, the calmer she became. He had no way of knowing, but she was worried about Liz and how she might take it if she was cut off from Henry and Hank, but that was out of her hands now. Her doctors at DHMC would have to handle all that now.

Her phone pinged and she looked at it, saw a text from Emily. She sighed then opened it.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, WE are.”

“Where are you?”

“Returning to Iceland. How are things there?”

“Strange. People real nervous. All airline flights cancelled. Grocery store in Lebanon packed, shelves at the Co-op picked clean. No deliveries from Fed-Ex or UPS today. I went by the Langston’s house. Ellen is still there, still taking care of the kids. Elizabeth is back at DHMC, something to do with a bad liver function test. I want to talk to you. When can I call?”

“Tonight.”

“Okay. I guess you can’t talk now. Bye for now.”

“Goodbye. Take care.”

She looked up and sighed, then looked at Hank. He was looking at her, and he seemed concerned.

“Emily?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“She doing alright?” 

Judy nodded. “Things are a little chaotic there. I’ll call her later.”

He nodded. “Huck, maybe you should call your mom.”

Huck nodded and went up to the bow and sat with his legs dangling over the side, and Hank looked at Judy again. 

“Okay, what are you not telling me?” he asked.

Judy shrugged. “Your mom is back in the hospital, a bad blood test. She’ll be fine.”

He grimaced, looked away.

“Your grandmother is still there, Hank. She’ll know what to do.”

He nodded. “Need some help with the dishes?” he asked.

“No, I got it. You go on back, we’ll be fine here.”

Hank stood to go but she reached out and stopped him. “Could I have a hug, please?” she asked.

He looked into her eyes, saw the pain, then something else he didn’t recognize, but she was reaching out to him and he stepped into her arms and wrapped himself around her. And he found he couldn’t move, that he didn’t want to let her go, and it felt like she didn’t want him to, either. He felt her face on the side of his chest, felt the heat of her body against his own and that same strange nervous feeling he’d felt on Pegasus, when he first went to Tarawa, returned to him. 

Minutes passed, or perhaps it was days or years, then she let him go and he stepped back, then turned and hopped over to the Blue Goose. She cast off his lines and pushed him off, and he went to the cockpit and turned on the engine. He looked at Huck and waved as he motored ahead of The Untold Want once again, and he was by himself – again. Judy had started the diesel and engaged the autopilot, and was clearing the cockpit table just now, Huck still up on the bow, still talking to his mom.

Still talking to his mom.

How long had it been since he’d talked to his mother…? Hank wondered.

He’d been so mad at her after Thanksgiving, when she’d invited Carter Ash and his family over, that he hadn’t wanted to talk to her – and so he hadn’t. Maybe he’d said a few words to her in passing, certainly nothing of consequence, but the odd thing, the really painful thing, was that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d told her he loved her. And then she’d gone from their lives.

Why? Why had that happened? What had happened that made him feel that way? Did anger prevent us from seeing love, the love that mattered most?

And it hit him then, in the stillness of that one crystalline moment.

Is that what love is? Does love transcend everything else, every other feeling?

Is love the most important thing we’ll ever feel?

“But…what if I can’t feel love?” he asked a passing gust of wind.

He turned and looked at Judy and he knew in his heart that he loved her. And he knew in his heart that he loved Huck, too. And Bud. And his father. 

But did he love his mother?

Judy waved at him and he waved back, then he watched as she went below and Huck returned to the wheel, and he sat down and looked at the chartplotter, then over his right shoulder at that spreading plume of fouled earth spreading out over the sea, over the earth, over all of them, everything he had loved or might ever love. And he felt a thump alongside the hull again. A gentle, but insistent, thump.

And when he went to the rail he found himself face to face with the same white grinning face he’d first seen just a few short hours ago, only now the Beluga was surrounded by dozens of his kind, maybe hundreds of them. Most were swimming to the northwest, swimming away from the spreading plume, but not this one. No, he was down there looking up at him, and he wasn’t smiling now.

“Are you as sad as I am?” he asked the Beluga as he cut the throttle again.

And the Beluga just looked up at him, not sad, not grinning, just looking.

Another, smaller Beluga stopped and seemed to hover by the first one’s side, and it too looked up at him, but this one seemed intent on studying him. Another stopped and stared, then another and another and soon dozens had stopped.

And he realized what he saw on their faces, and in their eyes. It was regret. And was that pity he saw?

Or was that a reflection he saw? A reflection of his regret, the pity he saw in their eyes nothing but his own self pity?

And one by one the Belugas slipped beneath the gritty surface of the sea and disappeared. All but one, the first one.

And Hank couldn’t move now, couldn’t not stare into the Beluga’s eyes, and for how long they held each other like that he could not say, then this last Beluga slipped away, a ghost melting away inside an infinite, bottomless darkness.

“Hank!”

He shook his head, tried to break loose from the spell.

“Hank!”

It was Huck, and he wasn’t on the radio, he was calling out to him.

He turned and looked and Huck was waving frantically at him. He picked up the radio and called. “Yes, what is it?”

Huck reached for the radio’s microphone. “It’s Judy! She’s gone!”

“Gone? What do you mean, gone? Is she in the head?”

“I called out and nothing. I went down to check on her and she’s not here. Not in the head, not in the v-berth. She’s gone!”

“Were you in the cockpit the entire time? Is there anyway she could have fallen overboard?”

“No way, dude! I was right here!”

He nodded. “I’m coming over.”

Hank threw the wheel over and cut the power again, then made an S-turn to pull alongside Judy’s boat, and he tossed the fenders down again and tied off after he jumped across. Huck was frantic now, his eyes darting about, lost somewhere between guilt and helplessness and not knowing where to turn.

Hank went below and walked forward to the v-berth in the forepeak and he found a logbook from the library sitting on her pillow. And as he picked it up an envelope fell out onto the bunk.

It was addressed to him.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath then opened the envelope.

He read through her letter twice, tears filling his eyes from time to time, until he was finished reading and could take no more, until he was sure he understood what she had told him, then he climbed up on her bunk and sat there feeling numb inside.  

“Hank! What’s going on?”

He slid off her berth and went to the head then carefully opened the door, and he stood there, staring into the mirror over the sink, lost inside the infinite possibilities of her loneliness. 

CODA

“Every voyage is a journey of exploration, yet each and every voyage is an exploration of yourself, of your own mind. But Hank, only open minds learn from what they find out there.”

How many times had Bud told him that? When would his words finally sink in? When would he have the courage to face the world with an open mind?

His father and grandfather were on the dock again, at the same marina, and as Hank approached the piers jutting out into the little harbor he saw them pointing at Judy’s boat when they realized Huck was alone. It was obvious, of course, that she was gone. Not so obvious was why.

But Hank still didn’t understand why.

She should have returned seconds later, moments after she left, no matter how long she stayed. And he couldn’t understand because he had simply refused to open his eyes. He had from the beginning of this voyage. He had never opened his eyes long enough to see her. As she really was, someone lost and in love.

Even though her letter to him spelled it all out. Her love not just for Henry, but for him. “Because,” she had written, “you are one and the same.” She had admitted to herself that she could never have him, just as she had come to understand that Hank’s distant relative was indeed the template, the mold into which Hank had been poured. Yet she was a physician, a psychiatrist, and when she had recognized her love she had knowingly recoiled from it, then grudgingly accepted the reality – and the impossibility – of her love. She had distanced herself from his mother after that, and to a degree even his father, because she now felt that she had violated their trust, but when the trip emerged from the recesses of his mind she had seen this voyage as an opportunity. Not to love Hank, but to understand herself. Because love had finally opened her eyes, no matter how painful the journey.

As Hank backed into the same slip again, his father hopped onboard while Bud tied off the bow line, yet Bud couldn’t take eyes off his grandson. The pain in the boy’s eyes was impossible to ignore, and Bud was – perhaps – the only person in the universe who could understand that pain.

Huck backed in next to slip next to the Blue Goose, his father jumping onboard and helping with the lines, and then the two boys just stood there, staring into the moment. At each other, for a moment or two. When the enormity of their loss became overwhelming.

Yet Bud knew. He knew as soon as the logbook disappeared from his library. He knew what the outcome would be. And still he had let his grandson undertake this voyage. Only Bud knew what Judy’s heartbreak was capable of uncovering. Because every voyage is an exploration. Of the mind. And of the soul.

+++++

“As soon as the ash settles,” Henry said to Carter, “the rains will start. Cloud cover will envelope the planet, temperatures will fall, gradually at first – then temperatures will plummet – and after that, of course, the snow will begin. It might snow for months, or it may for years, and there’s also the possibility that so much snow could trigger a new ice age.”

The boys were in their rooms; Carter Ash and Bud were with Henry in the hotel’s rooftop bar, ostensibly to watch the latest technicolor sunset. People at nearby tables were listening to Henry, because here was someone who appeared to know what was really happening. And what would happen next. And while local news stations were still on the air, satellite coverage had dropped off hours after the eruptions as the ionosphere was overwhelmed by charged particles from the ongoing disruptions and signal degradation as the upper reaches of the atmosphere filled with refractive silicates. As sources of hard news dried-up, speculation and rumor filled the vacuum; reputable authorities were scarce, and none were willing to go on the air.

“Does that mean we’re stuck here?” a plump midwesterner from Duluth, Minnesota asked Henry.

Henry turned to the man and his wife and shrugged. “Air service might not resume, perhaps not in your lifetime, so you’ll want to think about your alternatives.”

“What do you mean, our alternatives,” a woman at another table said.

“I mean, where do you want to spend the rest of your life.”

“That’s hardly fair,” the woman’s partner said.

“Life isn’t fair,” Henry said, “and this new chapter of life on Earth is going to be a lot less so. Plan accordingly, or don’t. Life doesn’t care one way or another what you do, and frankly, Ma’am, neither do I.”

“So,” Carter said, his voice now almost a whisper, “what do we do now?”

Henry nodded. “Well, we have an advantage. We have two well-found cruising sailboats. We have food and we have water. And, most importantly, we have time. A narrow window, but it’s there right now.”

“A window? What do you mean?”

“Most of the computer models for an event life this show planetary temperatures stabilizing in two to three years, and the best place to weather the storm will be in the equatorial regions. That’s the zone between the Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn. And guess what? That includes the Caribbean, Central America, and even Cuba. Miami and the Keys are very close to that zone, too…”

“And that’s why I called my wife a few hours ago and told her to start heading to Florida,” Bud said. “On my instructions, she’s called all my employees, and they’re loading all their tools and families and heading for Miami.”

“Our objective,” Henry said, “should be to sail south to the Azores, then Bermuda and Miami.”

“Our Holding Company has land in San Juan,” Bud continued, “Puerto Rico, and last night I instructed my attorney to negotiate terms on a two hundred acre parcel in Boca Chica, and as that’s in the Dominican Republic we should have decent options going forward. Boat building is about to be a big business again.”

“You don’t mean yachts, do you?”

Bud shook his head. “Clipper ships, Carter. Much more advanced sailing vessels than we used to build but, oddly enough, for some reason I kept all the plans to all the ships our company ever built. Without such sailing ships, global commerce falls off a cliff, and if that happens…well then, civilization falls right along with it.”

“And,” Henry added, “it’s not our intention to sit back and let that happen.” 

+++++

“So that’s why she named her boat The Untold Want?” Bud sighed as he read through Judy’s letter one more time. “She couldn’t tell you how she felt, and yet she wasn’t sure she’d ever find Henry again. At least not the same Henry she met the first time she went back, but then again she had you.”

“So, she went back anyway? Why, Grandpa? I just don’t understand why she went back again?”

“Because a slim chance was better than no chance at all. But Hank, step back a moment and look at the facts, will you? Well, just one fact, really.”

“What?”

“What’s the one fact that stands out to you right now?”

“That Judy’s gone. She should have reappeared moments after she left, but she didn’t.”

Bud nodded. “Correct, but what do you think that means?”

Hank shrugged. “I don’t know…”

Bud nodded sympathetically, because obviously the boy’s eyes hadn’t been opened yet. “She chose not to come back, Hank. She lived the life she found back there, and then she died. Died back there, wherever that was.”

Hank looked down at his hands crossed in his lap and he shook his head slowly. “This is a nightmare…”

“It is, yes, if you choose to look at life that way.”

“What? What other way is there?”

“She chose the life she wanted, Hank. If she’d found herself in someplace she didn’t want to be, well, all she had to do was come back to us. But that’s not what happened, is it? No…and perhaps she chose a new journey, a new way to explore, and it’s my hope she found happiness, wherever, or whenever, she found herself, and with the people she found there.”

Hank looked up at his grandfather and nodded. “Could I go back to find her?”

Bud swallowed hard, but neither did he look away. “You could, yes, but the same risk applies to you. You might arrive in a timeline without her, and then, hopefully, you’d return to us. But worse still, Hank, imagine going tomorrow. You’d still be, what? Twelve going on thirteen? The same dilemma you presented to her now would apply then, and nothing would be different but the time.”

“What if I waited until I was the same age she was?”

Bud looked his grandson in the eyes, and one thing was becoming clear. “So, you love her too?”

Hank nodded.

“You mentioned the girl you encountered at Tarawa at that news conference in St John’s. You were certain that reporter was the same girl. Why?”

Hank closed his eyes and thought back to that moment in Newfoundland. “Something about her eyes. I saw something in her eyes…”

“She’s sitting over there, you know? Her flight was canceled, too.”

Hank whipped around and looked at the woman, then, as his face turned red he turned back to his grandfather. “I’d need to go back to Tarawa. I’d have to see her again to know for sure.”

“Yes. You would.”

“Why are you looking at me like that, Bud?”

“Think about it, Hank. If that woman is indeed the same girl, then…”

“She can do it too!” he blurted loudly.

Bud looked at Linton Tomberlin who, however unlikely it may have been, seemed not to have heard Hank. Then he looked at Hank again and smiled. “Alright. Now what?”

Hank crossed his arms over his chest and furrowed his brow. “There’s nothing I can do about it now, Grandpa. The logbooks? They’re in the library, and I can’t get to them now, can I…?”

“I see.” Bud said as he looked at Hank, but then he leaned over and pulled a logbook, and just the one in question, from his briefcase. He looked at it for a moment, turning it over in the dim light, then he handed it over to his grandson. “By any chance, would this help?”

Hank did a double take then leaned over to take the book from his grandfather.

“How did you know?” Hank asked. “I mean, how could you?”

“Yes, that’s odd, isn’t it?”

“Well? Are you going to tell me?”

Bud smiled as he watched his grandson leaf through the book’s musty old pages. “Remember, this is a journey, Hank, so don’t forget to open your eyes from time to time. Take a look around, smell the roses. You’re smart, so you’ll know what to do when the time comes.”

+++++

Two small sailboats left Reykjavik a few days later, both boats sailing south, both bound for the Azores. Two sons, two fathers and a grandfather were onboard, and the Icelandic Coast Guard followed them out, then wished them a safe crossing. Strange weather patterns were taking shape and the way ahead wasn’t clear to either the sailors or the crew on the Coast Guard ship, but there was nothing to be done about it now. 

Linton Tomberlin, the CBC reporter, watched the sailboats leave, while her cameraman recorded scenes that would never be watched by television viewers either in Canada – or anywhere else. She watched the boy sailing The Blue Goose, the boy who had once seemed so familiar to her, and she wondered if she would ever see him again.

© 2025 adrian leverkühn | abw | adrianleverkuhnwrites.com | and this is a work of fiction, plain and simple.

Dramatis personae 

The Langston Family

–   Hank, aka Eldritch Henry Langston V

• Hannah, Hank’s oldest sister, from his father’s first marriage
• Jennifer, his next oldest sister, also from his father’s first marriage
• Ben Langston, Hank’s younger brother, from his father’s second marriage
• Elizabeth Langston, Henry’s current wife and mother of Hank and Ben
• Eldritch Henry Langston IV, Hank’s father
• Eldritch Henry Langston III, Hank’s grandfather
• Ellen Langston, Hank’s grandmother
• Eldritch Henry Langston, Jr., Hank’s great-grandfather, Captain of the Pegasus II
• Eldritch Henry Langston, Sr., Hank’s great-great-grandfather, Captain of Pegasus I

At the Langston Boat Company, Melville, Rhode Island

• Ben Rhodes, foreman

In Hanover, New Hampshire and Woodstock, Vermont

• Carter Ash, Elizabeth’s suitor
• Huck, or Carter Ash Jr., Carter’s son, who is not quite a year younger than Hank

In Norwich, Vermont

• Dr Emily Stone, the Langston family’s veterinarian
• Dr Judy Stone, psychiatrist, Emily’s wife and Elizabeth’s psychiatrist

In St. John’s, Newfoundland

– Linton Tomberlin, reporter for the Canadian Broadcast Corporation.

So, this is my first post of 2026 and my 21st year writing these short stories. What a kick in the ass that is! Time flies when you’re havin’ fun.

Willie has been on my mind (alas, not Georgia), and I read an interesting article about him last week in the New Yorker, titled How Willie Nelson Sees American. He’s 92 and still has a unique point of view. Once you meet the man you’ll never forget him, and after reading this article I was reminded why that will always remain true. As music always matters, why not walk down memory lane with him and see what you find in your memory warehouse. I hope you find your way to his rendition of September Song.

Part Seven

Hank looked at the apparent wind display and winced: the last gust had clocked-in at 67 knots and the had Goose shook it off – but only because the waves had blocked some of the wind. Both boats were dealing with twenty foot waves now, for the most part, but every now and then a sneaker caught them off-guard. Judy was exhausted and it was now too rough to even consider having Huck go over to lend a hand, but the good news was that the Hydrovanes were working as advertised and steering both boats without problem. Both boats were flying storm staysails and storm tri-sails on their masts, and the forecasters were still saying the wind would be tapering off ‘anytime now.’

The wind hadn’t gotten that memo yet, however, and it was still kicking the snot out of them.

He changed pages on the chartplotter and noted the seawater temp was still 37 degrees, and in 48 hours they had made good a solid 220 miles from St. John’s. Of course that meant they still had 1200 miles to make Reykjavik, but at least nothing on either boat had broken – yet. Huck slipped open the companionway and poked his head out into the space under the dodger and smiled.

“You want a sandwich or anything?” he asked.

“No point,” Hank replied. “As soon as I choke it down it comes right back up.”

Huck popped down below and came up with a Gatorade, the red kind, and handed it to Hank. “See if you can hold this down. You need a Zofran?”

Hank shook his head while he grabbed the bottle, then he slammed it down. “Thanks, Amigo.”

“Hey, no sweat. You want me to take it for a while?”

Hank had realized that Huck was stronger than an ox and was no longer bothered by seasickness. On the other hand, the wind and the waves still scared him, and when the boat heeled in a big gust he still got kind of weird, like the ‘world-is-coming-to-an-end’ kind of weird. Hysteria, Judy called it. Almost like he was losing control. So…Hank still kept an eye on Huck when he took over at the change of watch. 

“Come on up when you’re ready. I want to tighten the bolts on the Hydrovane again.”

The VHF squawked. “Hank, you on frequency?”

“Judy! How’re you doing? Did you get some sleep?”

“Yup, but my Hydrovane is making funny noises.”

“Get a 10mm socket and tighten those two bolts I showed you. It’s on the right mounting bracket on my unit. Try that one and let me know.”

“Okay, will do.”

“Damn,” Hank sighed, “one of us needs to be with her until we get out of this crap.”

“You want me to try and…”

“Hell, no. At 38 degrees you’d last thirty seconds in this water before you were fucked up.”

“I know, man. Just askin’…”

“As soon as it’s safe, Amigo.”

“Okay, Hank. Now, how ‘bout a sandwich.”

“Maybe. Just no tuna fish, okay…?”

+++++

They enjoyed three days of benign conditions, with temperatures in the low-50s and winds out of the west at 15 knots. Huck managed to hop aboard The Untold Want and get Judy below for a full night’s sleep, and when she woke the next morning he handed her a bowl of hot oatmeal, then some scrambled eggs on toast. With a chaser of blue Gatorade. Judy smiled and ate everything, then went to call Hank.

And she received no reply. 

She tried again. No reply.

She slid open the companionway and looked ahead and saw that the Blue Goose was sailing merrily along, and Hank appeared to be sound asleep, though still in the cockpit. She went back down the steps and turned to Huck. “How long have you been over here?” she asked.

“Hank dropped me off as soon as you went below. I turned off your alarm so you could get some sleep.”

“Yes…but…how long have you been here?” 

“Maybe 18 hours? Why?”

“You need to get back and relieve Hank!”

“He said he’d call when he needs me.”

“So he decided I need help.”

Huck nodded. “Yup. He was real worried about you for a while.”

She shook her head and sighed. “Yeah, I was too, so I guess I should be thankful. I really needed the sleep.”

“I know. We could hear it on the radio.”

“Really?”

Huck nodded. “So, can you take it for a few hours? I’ll do the four-to-midnight watch if that’s okay with you?”

+++++

Hank jerked up and shook himself awake, then heard the insistent beep again. He slid down the cockpit seat to the wheel and looked at the chartplotter and saw the red radar guard zone alarm flashing, and he muted the audible alarm while he shook the cobwebs out of his skull.

There! Right at the edge of the 36 mile ring on the radar. Two big returns. No…three. Make that ten…

He shook his head, changed the range to 24 miles and the targets disappeared, and when he ran the range back to 36 miles dozens of targets appeared. And that just didn’t make sense.

Then it hit him.

Icebergs. Those are icebergs. Dozens of them – and dead ahead.

He went to the radio and called Judy.

“Is your radar picking up targets about 35 miles ahead?” he asked.

“I was just about to call you. Could those be icebergs?”

Hank chuckled. “It’s either that or the Spanish Armada.”

“How close do you want to get to them?”

He thought about that for a moment then replied. “Maybe a quarter mile, enough to get some good shots of the boats around the bergs with the drone.”

“Huck says he wants to take the Zodiac over and walk on one.”

Hank shook his head. “Of course he does.”

“Okay. I’ll try to talk him out of it.”

There was a thin layer of mist hanging over the water that morning, so binoculars were pointless for anything more than a mile out, so he watched the radar then scanned ahead visually, looking for small bergs that might not show up on radar. 

Fifteen minutes later he began seeing little chunks of ice, some the size of a basketball, others the size of a small car, and none of them were showing up on radar…

So he let out the main and furled the genoa, dropped his speed down to 3 knots, then called Judy. “We’re coming up on some growlers, too small for the radar to pick up. I’ve slowed down to about 3 knots.”

“Okay, got it,” Huck replied.

“Is she asleep?”

“No. Making breakfast.”

“You had any sleep?”

“Lots. I’m good. How ‘bout you?”

“I was asleep when the radar alarm went off, so I think I got about three hours.”

“Judy’s making breakfast burritos. Want one?”

“No, I want two. Maybe three.”

“They’re pretty big, Hank.”

“Then two. That ought to do me.”

“Wow…”

“Huck, I haven’t eaten in two days!”

“Neither have we.”

“Okay, well, I’m coming over now, and putting some fenders out.” 

“It almost looks calm enough to raft up for a few minutes.”

“Almost,” Hank sighed, “but not quite.”

“Okay. I’ll hand over a plate when you come alongside.”

Judy was on deck when he came alongside, and she stepped over with two plates, then stepped down into the cockpit with Hank.

“Here you go. Breakfast in bed!”

Hank smiled as he took the plate, then he sat behind the wheel and wolfed down a whole burrito in three bites. Judy shook her head, amazed, then took a small bite. When she looked up Hank had already finished his second burrito.

“You weren’t kidding, were you?” she asked.

“I could eat three more. I’ve never been so hungry…”

“I’ll make you a big lunch. Now go down and get some sleep.”

“No way.”

“Hank, you slept out here all night. You’re pale, you need hydration, and you need deep sleep. Doctors orders, so go below and hit the sack. I’ll wake you when I think you’ve had enough.”

+++++

The way ahead was relatively clear of big icebergs, but the smaller ‘growlers’ were now everywhere. Most of the small stuff was easy to spot, but Huck was up on the Goose’s bow, pointing out when to turn port or starboard, and Judy was following just a few yards behind Hank. Whenever a larger, car-sized berg appeared, Huck shouted out the alarm and Hank cut the throttle and drifted in the direction Huck pointed. 

The latest ice report indicated this ice field was about 20 miles across, and they’d already traversed half that distance when the way ahead began to look impassable, with the growlers packed so tightly the area was turning into a solid sheet of uninterrupted white. Hank saw an opening to starboard and took it, Judy turning where he’d turned, and about a half hour later the ice began to thin again. Two hours later they were back in open water, almost all the large icebergs showing ten miles off their port beam. Hank opened the weather app on his iPad and the latest updates streamed in via StarLink, and as he looked at the forecast for the next day he groaned. Another low pressure system was coming down the Labrador Sea, following the same track as the one that had just slammed them, and instead of ten days of good weather it looked like they might get half that number.

They were now almost 250 miles due south of Nanortalik, Greenland, which put them, according to the chartplotter, 717 miles from Reykjavik. So they’d covered half the distance in eight days, one day longer than he’d expected. Because they’d slowed to deal with the ice, of course. But now they needed to put some distance between them and this new low pressure system, and that meant raising sail and pushing hard. He waved at Judy then pumped his fist, their agreed upon signal to pull alongside for a chat.

“Got time for a sandwich?” Judy asked as she pulled alongside.

Hank nodded. “We got another storm coming, same track as the last one. We need to put some miles between us, and fast, so let’s eat and then get all sail up and see if we can’t outrun that thing. I’ll take a nap, and Huck can come take over for you in four hours.”

“Okay. Can Huck take the wheel while I make sandwiches?”

Huck jumped but his timing was off, and Judy’s boat fell away as Huck’s foot bounced off the rail, and just like that he was in the water. His Mustang life vest popped and then inflated, scaring him, then shock of the icy water caused him to scream out in pain; Hank started the engine and put the wheel hard to starboard, and he dropped the main while the boat began to lumber around the turn. He rolled in the genoa and got behind the wheel and made a course correction, then got the folding boarding ladder in the port-side boarding gate deployed. He tied a bowline in the main-sheet and tossed it down to Huck as the boat drifted to a stop, then he pulled him over to the ladder.

“Can you make it?”

Huck looked up at him, now helpless and in tremendous pain, and shook his head. Hank leaned out, got the looped main-sheet under Huck’s arms then went to the electric winch and started tailing the line as Huck was hauled back onboard. Hank got him out of the rope and down the companionway and, leaving the diesel on to provide power, he turned on the Espar heating system and grabbed a handful of towels then started rubbing Huck’s arms and legs, drying him and getting his circulation moving again. He felt a bump, a hard one, and heard Judy hopping onboard then racing down the companionway. She came in and started working on Huck, checking his vitals then getting a blanket wrapped around him. She continued rubbing him down, concentrating on his extremities…

“Hank, could you get some hot cocoa going?” she said softly.

“On it,” he said, his hands now beginning to shake as the enormity of the moment finally hit home. He shook his head – hard – then got the stove going and water on to boil. He looked up, saw Judy getting Huck’s clothes off, and a minute later she was taking him into the head, sitting him down and turning on the shower, using warm water to get the boy’s core temperature up slowly. Five minutes later she walked Huck into the forward cabin and got him under the blankets, wrapping his head in a towel and just leaving enough face exposed to insure an unobstructed airway.

She came back to the main cabin a few minutes later, and she was pale, seriously shook up.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I think maybe he got careless, or maybe he just didn’t time his jump right…”

“Goddamn…I don’t know why but I started a timer on my watch. He was in the water over four minutes…I’m surprised he’s still breathing…damn, Hank, what did we do? Are we getting careless?”

Hank shrugged. “He didn’t have his harness hooked on, we never do when we jump across. I think I need to rig a longer line to hook onto so we’re tied to the boat when we make the jump…”

“Right. Good idea.”

“Judy? Is he going to be okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I think so. Hank, he’s in such good shape, his heart is as strong as anything I’ve ever seen, so yeah, he should be okay in a few hours.”

“Did the shower work okay?”

She nodded. “Yes, and the heater was a great idea. Glad we have those now.”

“I’ll get a fire going. Are you tied off okay?”

She shook her head. “Just one line. I’ll go set some fenders…”

“You stay here. I’ll do it, you stay with Huck.”

She nodded and watched as he went up the companionway, and then it hit her. Hank was so much like Henry, her Henry. Resolute, and he never panicked, not once that she had seen, and his speed and concentration saved the day. He had saved Huck’s life, pure and simple, and yet all he could think about was how to fix the problem going forward. Again, just like Henry. Don’t blame anyone, just identify the problem and fix it. No hysterics, no bravado, just steady as she goes and get back to work. She got lost in the moment, thinking about Hank and Henry and even Bud, and she realized there was a straight line running between them, connecting them through time, and she of course understood genetics but had never really seen the consequences in such a direct, a profoundly direct, way. She stepped into the galley, everything the same here as on her boat, only the way food was stowed marked the difference between the two. She found what she needed and made grilled cheese sandwiches and chicken noodle soup, and soon the cabin smelled like home, her home when she was a kid, when her own mother made the exact same thing and it hit her, she was part of another line extending back in time…or forward, into the future and into the past – because such lines are infinite…

Hank came down and ate, but she was aware he was looking at her much more than he usually did, and she looked at him in kind. “What’s on your mind, Kiddle?” she asked, gently, maternally, just like her own mother had always asked when she knew something was up.

“You, I guess.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I’m beginning to feel something different when I look at you. I can’t explain it but it’s there.”

She nodded. “I know, and I understand, Hank. When you start to rely on people in situations like this a special kind of bond grows. It’s almost like a new kind of family.”

He nodded. “When did you fall in love with Henry?”

“In France. We took a long walk one evening. It was in Normandy, on a chalky white trail in an impossibly green pasture, right alongside a cliff. We came to some rocks, big rocks, and we sat and watched thunderstorms out over the sea and it was like watching life, the entire cycle of life from birth to death, taking shape and playing out, and I looked at him and knew. I just knew. I was married once before, to a really mean person, a man I met in college. He was so sweet when he wanted to be but it was all an act, a show, and after we were married he felt like he didn’t need to hide anything anymore and he became like this whole other person. He was the same on the outside, ya know? But he was hiding something monstrous on the inside.”

“Did he hurt you?”

She nodded her head, looked away. “Just once, but that was all it took. I called the police and moved back in with my parents until I finished medical school, and then one day I met Emily and suddenly I felt safe again. Or maybe I felt safe for the first time in my life…”

“Are you going to leave her after when finish this trip?”

She nodded again. “Probably. I’m not, well, I’m not into the things she is. I wanted a friend, a companion, but she wanted something else. Something I can’t give her, and that isn’t fair. To her, I guess, more than anyone else.”

“I’ve always liked her. Every time we take Daisy in for her shots I watch her, the way she relates to Daisy, the way she feels, I guess.”

“It’s not an act, Hank. She really is that way. She has a big heart, a gentle soul. I love her, and I always will, but kind of in the same way I love you and Huck.”

He nodded. “I guess I understand, but I’ve never felt what I feel now when I look at you. You’re not my mother but sometimes it almost feels that way, then it feel different than that. I can’t describe it, but I feel it.”

“Okay, thanks for telling me, Hank. And it’s okay to feel that way. Like I said, I love you guys too, I love you because you’re becoming not just friends, but best friends, and I think we always will be, too.”

“Yeah, that’s it, I guess. It just feels really strong sometimes.”

“I know, but real friendship is like that sometimes. Overpowering. When you realize there’s someone out there who really gets you. Those are great moments, Hank. Really great. Now…who gets to do the dishes…?”

+++++

They weren’t fast enough.

The storm swept over southern Greenland and turned east as steering currents from a frontal passage coming up from the Great Lakes pushed the storm east, and directly at The Blue Goose and The Untold Want. Hank felt the change almost a day before the first winds hit, before the dark gray storm clouds appeared along the western horizon, and a quick glance at the chartplotter revealed a 300 mile gap between them and Reykjavik. 300 miles was three days, give or take, so at least two days of the storm and a final approach into an unfamiliar port. 

And right now there was no place to run, nowhere to hide, no island redoubt, no harbor of refuge. Just 300 miles of open North Atlantic Ocean, and with water temperatures now down to 35 degrees. In other words, even more deadly. Huck still wasn’t a hundred percent, and his fingers were still numb 20 hours after he went overboard. He also seemed more hesitant walking around on deck, like the experience had really messed with his head.

When the first icy fingers of wind struck they did so gently, almost seductively, daring Hank to leave too much sail up, to not be prudent and start reefing the main and rolling in the genoa. He’d heard their music before and wasn’t falling for it this time.

So Hank didn’t listen, as warm and tender as their music at first appeared to be. He rolled in the main to the third, deepest reefing mark, the point where the sail’s reinforcement was strongest. He went forward and pulled in the genoa and the staysail, then hoisted the storm staysail on the Pro-furl furler. He folded the bimini and lashed it, and when Judy saw what he was up to she began to do the same.

And then Huck saw her, and he looked at Hank. “I better go and give her a hand,” he said.

Hank nodded. “Ready when you are.”

“You know, Hank, I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready again.”

“Okay, understood. You want to take the wheel. I can go over if you don’t feel up to it.”

Huck looked down and shook his head. “Man, I don’t feel right. Something’s fucking with me, Hank. I’ve never been scared like this, like I am right now.”

“I understand, Amigo. We’ll just take it one step at a time, okay?”

“I feel like I’m letting you guys down, ya know…”

“You’re not, Huck, so don’t sweat it.” He picked up the VHF and called Judy, told her he was coming over and Huck came and took the wheel as Hank disconnected the Hydrovane. Hank hooked onto the new, longer safety line then went to the boarding gate, waiting for Huck to steer them into place. He jumped over without incident and changed out Judy’s sails while she steered into the wind, and when he went aft to the cockpit she was looking at him.

“How’s Huck?” she asked.

“Still pretty freaked out.”

She nodded. “Want me to make a couple of sandwiches?”

“Sure. That’d be great. I’ll take the wheel now,” he said as he went to the wheel and checked the chartplotter. He steered until they were back on the correct heading, then set the Hydrovane to hold the same angle to the wind.

She came up with four sandwiches in a sack and took the wheel. “See if you can get him to come on over after he eats. Tell him I could use a hand.”

He looked at her and nodded. “Understood,” was all he needed to say, because they were thinking the same thing. The first thing you do when you fall off a horse is get right back on. You never walk off, you never give in to fear.  Bud had told him that a million times.

She steered over and watched as Hank handed Huck a sammie, then a second one, and she watched them talking and laughing a little, and then she felt something wrong, something big, and she turned around and looked behind them.

The dark gray wall was getting closer, and she turned and looked at Hank.

He looked at her and nodded.

There was no need for words now. He knew what she was going to say, and probably before she knew it, too. They were on the same wavelength, operating in some other zone, someplace she had never been before, and when she realized that she was suddenly unafraid. 

“How strange,” she said to the wind. 

When she looked at Hank a few minutes later he was looking at her, and then he smiled.

And when she saw Henry inside that smile she knew everything would be okay.

+++++

“Oh fuck!” Huck screamed. “Judy! Hold on to something!”

The wave had crept up on them, silently, like it had been stalking them. And now it had decided to pounce.

The waves and swell had combined now, combined into something new and fierce. Tall things, now just big. Tall, but this one reared up like a cobra getting ready to strike as it came up behind them. Huck had one chance to get this right, to steer a little to starboard and try to surf across the face of the wave before it broke and fell on them, and he turned the wheel, felt the stern lifting and the rudder biting hard, trying to overcome the wave’s boundless force. The Untold Want slid to starboard and began surfing along the side of the wave, and as he held on tight he guessed it had to be 25, maybe 30 feet tall, but right now this wave felt mean and angry. He found the slot, the way out and in an instant they were free of it. Free of this one, anyway, and he looked to his right, tried to see the Goose and he just caught sight of her red running light, up on the bow pulpit. Saw her rising to meet the same wave, then falling off and surfing down the back side and he smiled. He smiled because he knew Hank was smiling, and inside that one singular moment he felt truly connected to Hank – like maybe they had been friends before, but this storm, like all the storms they had endured before this one, was a forge. A forge that had cast them into something beyond brotherhood.

And Judy, winching in the staysail then letting it out, controlling their speed on each concussive gust, on the front of the next wave, and then again, coming off the backside and into the next windshadow, deep inside the next looming trough. 

Steer up the backside and point into the wind a little, then look behind and gauge the distance to the next face, get ready to fall off and surf the face of the next one.

Hank was struggling because he couldn’t leave the wheel so had sheeted his lines in, and the Goose went from overpowered on the crests to underpowered in the troughs, so he compensated with the various wind angles by steering, and his shoulders were beginning to burn – because they’d been at it now for 12 hours straight. And still, there was no end in sight.

Except Reykjavik. 

Their last ace in the hole…and the only hand Hank could play now…was to get them into Hafnarfjordur, into the marina on the south side of Reykjavik, or possibly the Snarfari Docks, deep inside the city, but while both offered protection from the storm, getting into either presented serious challenges. Getting into any slip in 80 knot winds was going to be a bear, and with Huck on Judy’s boat he would have to do it alone.

His phone rang.

The number popped up on his iPad, which was mounted under the dodger, beside the companionway, and he sighed. It was his grandfather, but taking the call now meant leaving the wheel, and he just couldn’t do it.

The line went dead, then a text appeared. The iPad was too far away to read, but he could pull up texts over Bluetooth on his chartplotter and the text popped up, overlaid on the current active chart.

“Have a slip for you at the Snarfari Docks, more protected entrance than Hafnarfjordur. Your fathers and I standing-by to help with lines.”

He dashed forward and replied. “Received. Huck with Judy, bad out here.”

“We’re here so take your time. We have you on AIS.”

Hank made it back to the wheel in time to counter the rising stern, and he turned, looked at the wave and groaned.

“Oh, you’re a big one, aren’t you?”

The wave was curling now and about fifty feet above him, the roaring noise of the falling crest wiping out all other sound – and in the next instant he was under water, his body being pushed forward into the companionway slides. His line held and he tried to pull himself back to the wheel – but it felt like the Goose was beginning to roll so he reached for the binnacle and held on tight…

But the Goose held on, she didn’t roll. She shrugged off the wave and stood tall, and Hank found himself face up on top if the dodger, his legs caught up in the mainsheet traveler. He pulled himself free, saw Huck and Judy fighting the next one as he fought his way back to the wheel and reoriented the Goose to the waves. Next, he started the engine – more to make sure the fuel pumps hadn’t been compromised in the near-roll, then he set up an intercept course for the approach to Snarfari.

He called Judy, told her their destination and that Bud, Henry, and Carter were already there, waiting for them.

“How far are we now?” she asked.

“Fifteen miles from the lighthouse on Gróttutangar, another three to the marina after that.”

“Okay. Are you okay? It looked like you rolled a few minutes ago…”

“Yeah, close call. Look, I think I broke some ribs…”

“Is it hard to breathe?”

“No, but there’s a sharp pain on my left side and it hurts to twist my body.”

“Then don’t! I’ll come over and check you out when we get closer.”

“Okay. Out.” He knew that wasn’t going to happen, not until they were in the marina, and right now the storm wasn’t letting up. And steering hurt. A lot.

He had to start coming to port in order to get on the new heading, and to make matters even more interesting they were now approaching a lee shore. The storm was, in short, pushing them towards the rocky coastline, and if they couldn’t get far enough to the north to enter the harbor, their trip would be over, their boats dashed against the rocks.

So now they had to ride dead downwind, with the waves coming directly from the rear. And if he surfed off the backside of these wave, he’d have to go to port, towards the north, where the waves appeared to be even larger.

But there were no other options now. He was running out of luck, and right now it was either make this happen or lose the boat. 

+++++

“This isn’t funny!” Huck snarled. “God! If you’re doing this, would you knock it off, please? Now?”

The wind speed was a constant 65 knots, gusts were now approaching 80 knots. The wind was blowing so hard that waves were now having a hard time forming. They were being blown flat, and the spray felt like a shotgun blast to the face.

And that was exactly when the snow started. Fat and wet, horizontally blown snow was suddenly streaking by at 65 knots, coating the inside of the dodger, the standing rigging, and soon, the back of his jacket. And his neck. He’d almost been able to see the lighthouse on Grotta Point, at least he was certain he’d seen the light, but not now, not with this snow. The chartplotter was standing in for his eyes, the radar too, but radar was less effective in heavy snow. The hull was bouncing around so erratically that even the readings from the depth-sounder were unreliable, leaving the only human sense that mattered, vision, shut down and irrelevant. Both boats were relying on instruments now, like pilots flying in fog…

But…

…his ears were working and they heard breaking surf. He double-checked their depth; it now showed a solid 25 feet under the keel, and according to the bottom contours on the chart, that put their boat about 300 yards from the point, and the lighthouse. Judy sheeted in the main and they picked up speed, then they saw the light on top of the lighthouse, like a dim flash inside deep blue-gray fog. Really, it was more a diffuse brightening within the fog – and snow – and wind driven spray, but it was there, really there, and right where it was supposed to be.

The Blues Goose was a hundred yards behind them when the Untold Want made the turn and fell within the windshadow of land and a sudden urban landscape, and almost instantly the wind speed fell to 20 knots, then 15. Hank pulled alongside and the three of them exchanged a quick glance, and a half hour later they pulled up to the marina.

Huck saw his father standing there and at first wanted to cry, then he realized that no, big boys don’t cry.

Judy saw that Emily hadn’t come and she sighed, but she understood. Emily’s letter had spelled it out in plain English. They had reached an end. It was time for them to move on to the next chapter.

Judy knew that was true, but even so, the sudden emptiness of the moment hurt. Hurt more than she had expected it might. And Huck sensed that. He sensed her sudden loneliness, the deflation of no one waiting on the dock – for her.

“Hey Doc,” he said to her, breaking her reveries, and when she turned to him he continued. “We did it. You and me, together. We did it.”

She smiled and nodded. “We sure did. Your father looks so happy to see you.”

“And I feel happy to be here with you, like you’re my new bestest friend ever.”

She looked at him, puzzled now and wondering where this was coming from. “You okay?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. Not really, but I’m glad you and Hank are here.”

She nodded. “Me too. Can you believe how fast that wind disappeared? What a hoot!”

“And no waves,” Huck sighed. “My shoulders are burning…”

Hank pulled ahead and swung a lazy arc in front of his family and the CBC news crew – who were on the dock recording everything, which meant they were going to record their docking, and when Huck realized that he looked at Judy and shook his head. “You want to take it? I don’t want to screw up on camera.”

“You’re doing fine, Huck.”

He nodded and watched as Hank backed into his slip, his father hopping on board and throwing dock lines to Bud and Carter. He executed the same sweeping turn, then backed into the slip next to Hank’s – and in that moment he seemed to deflate as two weeks of solid tension evaporated. It was raining here and he just didn’t care. His clothes were soaked, his skin moist and chafed in spots, but he didn’t give a damn. His took lines from Judy and he helped them tie-off, then Carter came aboard and went straight to his son and held him close.

Huck grabbed hold of his old man and didn’t let go for a very long time.

The CBC camera crew recorded it all, but the reporter kept back. She had been instructed not to intrude on the moment.

+++++

Bud had decided he wasn’t going to mention the missing logbook to anyone, not even Hank. Hank probably had every reason to know, but the decision, ultimately, was Judy’s. If she was planning on using the log to go back to France, to Henry and her daughter, there really wasn’t much he could do to stop her. He’d told her of the dangerous possibilities, and she was an adult. She could make her own decisions.

Which was why, when Judy first hopped down to the dock in Reykjavik he ignored her. Carter was with his son Huck, Henry with his son Hank, and then there was Judy Stone, all by herself. And he couldn’t do it; he couldn’t ignore her, not when she was alone like this.

“How are you holding up?” he asked as she wobbled around the dock, trying to shake off being on solid ground again.

“Is it just me, or is the ground moving?”

He grinned. “It’s you.”

“I’ve never been so happy…when I saw the three of you up here I was about to cry. And we need to get Hank to a doctor’s office. I think he’s got some broken ribs and we need an x-ray to confirm.”

Bud nodded. “To the doctor’s office, now!” he said to his son.

Henry nodded. “Got it.”

“How did you know he was hurt?” Judy asked.

“Just a precaution. We got in two days ago and spotted out all the places we thought we might need to visit. What broke on your boat?”

“Nothing, really, but Huck went overboard.”

Bud stopped walking and looked at her. “How long was he in the water?”

“Four minutes.”

“Damn it all!” Bud grumbled. “Did he forget his safety line?”

“It was too short, so yes, he unclipped before he jumped.”

He nodded then resumed walking. “We rented a van, and we’ve got a bunch of rooms at the Hilton. The hot water seems endless, and I got you a room with a jacuzzi.”

“Oh, bless you. I’ve been dreaming of boiling myself in an endless bath…!”

“There are hot springs here, assuming that volcano doesn’t eat it for breakfast tomorrow. Swimsuit optional, I hear.”

“Really…? That sounds fun. You want to go?”

He looked at her and chuckled. “We went yesterday. Nice water, very hot, but yeah, I’ll go with you – if you need a chaperone.”

“It might help Hank,” she added hastily.

“That it may. Well, here we are,” he said as he opened the sliding door for her. As soon as everyone had piled in Henry got behind the wheel and drove the few blocks to the Landspitali University Hospital. 

“The doctor in the emergency department gently palpated Hank’s chest then sent him straight to radiology. The x-ray revealed two broken ribs on his left side and one on the right, and the doctor wanted to know how this had happened.

So Hank told him, and the more he described what had happened out there during the storm the more alarmed the doctor became. “You are out there alone and you are twelve years? This is madness! Madness!”

After the doctor finished wrapping Hank’s chest with thick, heavy white tape, the entourage returned to the marina to secure the boats from the storm, which had followed them into the city, then they went to the hotel. Huck had a room with his dad, and of course Hank was staying with his dad, which left Bud and Judy – in two separate rooms. But as tired as everyone was, and even with three of them in dire need of a shower, no one wanted to do anything but talk.

About the storm. About everything that had happened, but especially when Huck went overboard. Carter listened, appalled, then proud of them all. He too could see what was happening now. His boy was turning into a man over the course of one summer, one month, really, and it was astonishing to watch the transformation. Hank talked up Judy’s burritos, Judy talked up Huck’s tuna salad, and slowly but surely Huck’s eyes grew heavy. Then Hank’s did too. Judy called time and they got the boys to their rooms and tucked in, then the adults went out to dinner.

And they talked and talked, mainly about the storm and the toll it had taken on the boats and their crews. Judy had been terrified twice, when Huck went into the water and when The Blue Goose had almost rolled when that colossal wave hit her. Which was when Hank’s ribs got busted, she reminded them. The Goose was on her beam ends, her sails in the water and it looked like the cockpit had flooded, but the boat righted and Hank was okay, or at least he had  looked alright.

But that moment, Judy said, had marked a moment in her life bigger than anything else she had ever experienced. She made another startling admission then, too. She was beginning to love the boys almost as if they were her own boys; the feeling was that intense. When they did something impressive she felt impressed, but she also felt proud, and these feelings were all very unexpected to her.

Bud sat back and tried not to interrupt this manic display, because he knew she really needed to vent, to get these feelings out in the open. Henry knew enough to let her talk, but Carter wanted to know all about his son’s trip into the icy cold North Atlantic.

“There’s not much to tell, really. He misjudged the distance and he’d taken off his tether so he could jump across. His life vest inflated as advertised, and Hank got to him faster than fast, and Hank had also gotten him up on deck by himself, and down below – by himself.

And Carter Ash was as mystified as he was grateful.

“So, what you’re saying is that Hank saved my boy’s life?”

“Oh, yes, without a doubt. I think not one of you appreciate just how calm he is, but especially when things are going wrong. Hank just keeps his cool and carries on. It’s impressive to watch, really.”

“Henry, I had no idea,” Carter sighed. “You have one helluva boy.”

Henry nodded but he just looked down into his drink, then he looked up – at Judy.

“Where were you during all this?” he asked Judy.

“I got out of his way, then after Huck was safely aboard and the waves settled a little I went over and tied off to the Goose and went below to help. Everything happened so fast, we didn’t have time to think. Everything was just pure adrenaline and instinct.”

Bud looked at Henry, then at Judy. “So, what say we load up after breakfast and head over to the hot springs again. I bet the boys could both use a long soak.”

And that was the cue to break off the interrogation for the evening, because that’s what it had turned into. Two overprotective dads trying to figure out what went wrong – when nothing unexpected had happened. Going overboard was predictable, and Hank had everything onboard to pull off the rescue. And so he had, under the most difficult conditions imaginable, but he had.

And once Judy was in her room, Bud turned and lit into his son.

“Damnit, why did you turn that into some kind of FBI interrogation? She’s done nothing wrong, Henry, nothing. And if you can’t be nice to her, then just leave her the Hell alone.”

Henry turned and looked away. “Is that what I was doing, Dad?”

Bud nodded. “Both of you were. It was a tag-team match, like watching two bullies beating up on an innocent bystander. And Henry, it wasn’t enjoyable to watch. You each owe her an apology.”

“Damn, Dad, what’s with you? You falling in love with her?”

Bud wheeled around and got in his son’s face. “Don’t you ever speak to me like that, not ever again.” And with that, Bud turned and stormed off down the hallway to his room, and he even slammed the door as he went inside.

Henry stood there for a few minutes, wondering what the hell had just happened…

…then it hit him.

‘If I’m that obtuse, that much of a bully, have I been doing the exact same thing to Liz? Have I been running all over her, pushing here around – just because I can? Do I owe her an apology too?’

And he’d left her in Norwich – again. With his mom. Because her psychiatrists had told him it was too soon. She shouldn’t travel yet, she was emotionally too unpredictable, even on her meds, and might end up arrested by Homeland Security for making a disturbance on the flight.

But she was home, without her husband and one of her boys. Alone, again, to drift within her dreams once again.

+++++

How, she wondered, could that man be such an asshole – while his son was nothing less than a saint? Was it Bud? Had Bud made all the difference in the boy’s life, had he learned from the mistakes he’d made when he was raising Henry? Or had sailing played a role, because the self confidence Hank displayed didn’t just spring up out of nowhere. Yet his father was almost arrogant. ‘No, he is arrogant!’ she said as she washed her hair for the second time. The water was not quite hot enough but it was getting the job done, and she was looking forward to going out to the hot springs in the morning. Maybe the warmth would finally penetrate the cold that seemed to have taken root in her bones, a cold she just couldn’t shake.

+++++

They came out of their changing rooms into a low ceilinged rock passage that led to some stone steps, and the steps led to a pool with another tunnel like exit that took them out into a series of pools that twisted and turned until they were in a rock lined infinity pool perched above a ledge overlooking the North Atlantic.

“Shit,” Huck sighed, “we were right out there yesterday morning.” He was pointing to the sea and he wasn’t incorrect. 

They had sailed right by this place, the Sky Lagoon, a hot springs located almost right in the city center, and the place was gorgeous. The water temperature was hovering right around 40 degrees celsius, while the wind, on the other hand, was still ripping in from the northwest. And it remained as unseasonably cold as it had been yesterday.

Judy sunk down to her neck and literally shivered, not because of the cold air but because the enveloping heat felt so good. She wanted to lay back against the rocks and just sleep…so she did. And then Hank joined her.

“You don’t look right,” he said quietly as he waded over to her. “You looked like you were upset at breakfast.”

She nodded. “Because I was.”

“Is it my dad?”

She nodded. “Yes, and Carter. I think they’re mad at me for coming on this trip.”

“Why? You’ve been so cool too be with, and you’ve been helping us every day…”

“I don’t know, Hank, I really don’t, but maybe because they think I haven’t been protecting you guys well enough.”

“Protecting…enough? Damn, no way. You saved Huck after he went in the water…”

“No, Hank, actually you did, and Huck wouldn’t have gone in the water in the first place. He was trying to jump across to me, so I could get some sleep. Remember?”

“Of course I remember, but they’re ignoring all the good things you’ve done. All the good things we’ve talked about, that we’ve learned. And I hate to say it, but you’ve been the best thing about this trip.”

“That’s such a sweet thing to tell me, Hank. It means the world to me for you to think that.”

Bud drifted over and leaned into the rocks and sighed audibly. “Damn, I just about fell asleep in this very spot yesterday, and I do believe I might again. I’ve never felt as good as I do right now, right here on this rock. I could be a turtle and just bask here for the rest of my days!”

“Your wife might not like that, Bud,” she said.

“I hear Icelandic Airlines allows women on their aircraft,” he grinned. “We could just lay here, side by side on the rocks, like a couple of beached whales.”

Hank snorted and looked away.

“You be careful there, you young whippersnapper,” Bud growled – even though he was smiling. “Don’t be disrespectin’ your elders!”

Hank smiled but a minute later he drifted off to join Huck and both their fathers, but when Hank was out of earshot Bud turned his attention to Judy.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to say to him when he tells you that he’s fallen in love with you?”

She shivered – again. “Yes,” she said, before she sighed and closed her eyes. 

So he leaned back and sighed. “Good,” he finally managed to say, just before he too closed his eyes.

+++++

Bud went into the port-side salon lockers on Judy’s boat and took off the teak covers that concealed the chainplates and he used his small Surefire flashlight to examine them, one by one. 

“This one here,” he said to Judy. “There’s a little rust on this one, too. It’s 316 stainless so it shouldn’t show signs of rust so soon. That means the new chainplates we installed are probably inferior metal.”

“Inferior?”

“The supplier we’ve been using for decades closed shop during the pandemic, and we ordered these from another shop in Massachusetts. At any rate, we should change these again once you get to England.”

“Why not now?” she asked.

“We could, if you don’t mind staying here a month. That’s how long their wait times are right now.”

“Anyone else you could try?”

“I called an outfit in Charleston last night. I can get some in three days, but they’ll be made out of titanium, and they won’t be cheap. You’ve got six chainplates and they’re asking 900 a pop. Then there’s shipping and import duties. We can put ‘em in right here.”

“So, eleven grand and change…for piece of mind.”

“If I was a betting man, which I’m not, I’d say there’s a ninety nine point nine percent chance they won’t fail.”

“And if it was your boat?”

He sighed. “I’m going to order replacements for Hank’s boat.”

“Then double the order.”

+++++

The CBC reporter moved about uncomfortably in her chair, squirming a little as Hank stared into her eyes. 

“So, tell us…what was that last storm like? Is that when you broke your ribs?”

“Yes, that’s right. And it was pretty intense.”

“Oh? How big were the waves?”

Hank shrugged. “I dunno. Huck? How big do you think they were?”

Huck was leering at the reporter’s legs again, but he looked up and grinned. “Oh, I don’t know, I think up to eight, maybe nine inches…”

The reporter turned crimson and started stammering. “Inches? Surely you mean feet, or even meters…?”

“If you say so, and who am I to argue with you?”

“Hank? Perhaps you’d like to have a go at that question?”

He nodded, though he was scowling at Huck again. “My best guess is about two-thirds of our mast height, so around 30 feet.”

Her eyes went wide. “Thirty feet?”

“Yup. The one that got me was bigger. Maybe forty feet, maybe bigger, but it had crested and was breaking over the boat so I wasn’t in a good position to see.”

“I was,” Huck said, suddenly serious, “And it was the biggest wave we’d ever seen, maybe twice the height of our masts.”

The reporter blanched at that figure. “But that would be…”

“Ninety feet,” Huck stated emphatically. “It was huge and Hank never had a chance. We saw him try to surf out from under the worst part, the part that was breaking on top of him, but it caught him. We thought he was dead, the boat destroyed, but a few seconds passed and the Goose was spit out the side of the wave and dropped into the next trough. We tried to get to him as fast as we could because we could see him splayed out on top of the boat…”

“Do you remember that part, Hank?” she asked.

He nodded. “Very much so. Water had flooded the cockpit and, well, I just fought my way back down there and started working the pumps. It hurt a lot, but the water was gone in a few minutes.”

“So, are you two ready for the next part of your trip?”

“I can’t speak for Huck, but I sure am. If you’ve seen the prices in the grocery stores around here, you’ll understand why, too.”

She smiled dutifully and then turned to Hank’s partner-in-crime. “And you, Huck? Are you ready?”

“Are you going to be in England when we get there?” Huck asked.

“Why yes, I am.”

He leered at her legs again, then looked up at her eyes and smiled. “Then I’ll be ready.”

+++++

Hank was down on his belly scrubbing out the bilges on the Goose, as two plastic squeeze bottles of honey had split open in the knock-down and drained their contents inside one locker, only then two pints of rich, delicious honey had oozed down into the lowest spot on the boat: the bilge. After untold days sloshing around down there the entire boat now smelled like rotten flowers, and everything in the bilge was sticky, including the fuel tank and the emergency bilge pumps. He had unscrewed and pulled up all the floorboards over the tanks to get to the entire area, and was only now taking a sponge and diluted bleach to the entire, effected area, while Huck was taking the sponges that Hank handed up and then squeezing them into a bucket. When one bucket was full, he went topsides and carried it up to the marina’s bathroom and dumped the nasty water in the toilets, then he trudged back to the boat for the next round. Six hours later the bilge was dry and both of the boys were exhausted.

The next day was spent at an Icelandic version of a mariners’ market and everyone gasped when they saw the prices of even basic foodstuffs. They had put off buying fresh vegetables and fruit until the last moment and even these were obscenely expensive at this store, and then Bud reminded them that literally all the food on the island was imported – aside from a few things grown in greenhouses. Milk and cheese, too, were a bargain, but most people on the island didn’t regularly eat beef, or most any other animal. “And after seeing these prices I can understand why!” Carter grumbled. Seafood was the cheapest protein available, and it wasn’t cheap, but they stocked up on cod and whitefish, and a couple of large salmon filets, then hauled everything to the boats and put the fresh fish in their refrigerators. It took another day to unpack the food lockers, then repack them with all their new stuff.

The chainplates cleared customs and Bud supervised their installation, first on the Goose then on the Want. He then went topsides and retuned the rigs on both boats and, as the sun was still out, helped them disassemble their cockpit winches, grease them and put them back together. Everyone went back to the Hilton covered in lithium grease and sawdust.

“Who doesn’t love the smell of WD-40!” Bud declared as they sat for a last supper together.

Everyone raised a hand.

“Well,” he sighed, dismayed, “that settles that.”

Ten days after their arrival Bud cast off the Goose’s bow lines and tossed them to Huck, while Hank backed out of their slip, then he went over to The Untold Want and cast off Judy’s lines.

Before she backed out of her slip he looked at her and nodded, then spoke quietly, yet carefully, so she would hear him. “Be careful out there,” he said, speaking directly to her soul.

She nodded, then slipped the transmission into reverse and backed into the fairway. She turned and waved to the men on the dock as she followed Hank out the docks area and towards the open ocean once again.

© 2025 adrian leverkühn | abw | adrianleverkuhnwrites.com | and this is a work of fiction, plain and simple. Thanks for dropping by, and we’ll see you soon for the conclusion.