Sailing to Grenada
Rich set a southwest course, to where he was not certain. He laid on the bench in the cockpit and stared towards the northern horizon where Barbuda rested. “It seems like loneliness has a way of finding me,” he said. “And trouble. I suppose given the choice between the two, loneliness isn’t so bad.”
Shortly he heard a Caribbean accent over the ship to shore, “Hello Odyssey, hello Odyssey.”
Rich grabbed the mic to the radio. “Odyssey here, over.”
“George, here. It seems like not only the car had a flat tire, but also the plane. Tires are hard to come by, over.”
“Thanks, George, over.”
“In case you have not noticed, I have returned your packages. Keep safe, over.”
“Thanks, George, over.” Rich smiled. He opened the bench in the cockpit. His cache of weapons and ammunition were neatly stored.
Soon the sky turned overcast and rain fell lighlty. Anticipating heavier rain he erected the pilot house and made the decision to leave it in position with the thought of only removing the canvass top during fair weather.
He brewed a pot of tea and wrapped a piece of salted fish in a slice of bread. He sat at the chart table and pulled out a chart. He ran his finger south, west of the Leewards. “Granada,” he murmured. He climbed back on deck and set a 170 degree course.
It was his first night sailing without Salty. Melancholy set in like the gray clouds overhead. Rich now decided to sleep in the main cabin closer to the radio and helm. However, this night was spent in the pilot house sleeping to the rhythm of raindrops on the canvass.
It was lonely and Rich wrote a story in a steno tablet; a story of the love he lost – Kiara.
“It has to be written,” he thought. “If in my head it might be in danger of being lost forever, it must be captured on paper to relive later. These feelings will pass and it will be good to recall what love is.” With that, he thoughts turned to a golden hair farm girl named Jenny. “I wonder how she is? I wonder if she has found love beyond the child she bore? Love is so painful.”
His days and nights were consumed with writing the story of loves that never were, but should have been; first Jenny than Kiara.
The Odyssey sailed beautifully for those three days and just as Rich calculated Granada rose from the port bow subtle and green.
Rich did not know what awaited him there. “Has White’s and Smithson’s cohorts beat me there and waiting with open arms?” he thought.
Rich recalled something Smithson said in passing, “Guilty criminals hide in the shadows and out of the way places. The best place for a crook to hang out is the bar across from the police station; the last place you’d expect a crook.”
“I’ll sail right into St George’s, Granada,” Rich thought. “I’ll sail in like I belong there, hiding and running from no one.”