A Matter of Time by David Manuel

compass floating in the gleaming binnacle.
    Once she got used to pushing the tiller in the opposite direction of where she wanted to go, she found that the boat did not
     respond to the helm as quickly as a car. So she over-corrected. And then overcorrected again. Behind them, their wake, which
     had receded in a straight line, now resembled the track of an alpine skier.
    “Relax!” he called to her, grinning. “Give her time. She’ll come to your heading eventually. Just be patient with her.”
    She did relax. And took a deep breath. And relaxed some more. And found that only very minor corrections were needed to keep
     her on a heading in the general vicinity of 165°.
    “Now you’re getting it!” he cried. Turning to
Care Away
, he asked, “What do you think?” He listened. “Yup, I agree!” He turned back to Amy, beaming. “Hey, Ames, she likes you!”
    She giggled, feeling ridiculously pleased. How did he know her nickname?
    He taught her how to tack, come about, and avoid jibing. How to close haul and keep her mainsail taut, reading the telltales.
     How to take a reef in the mainsail, whenthe wind reached 15 knots or more and started kicking up whitecaps. And each new thing he taught her, he only had to tell
     her once.
    He really is a wonderful teacher, she thought, breakfast long forgotten. And he makes it fun. No wonder his nephew had such
     a good time.
    After four sun-dazzled hours, he headed them home. “Steady her up on zero-three-zero,” he called.
    “Aye-aye, cap’n.”
    The waves were now coming at her off the port bow. Following the imaginary line she could see through the swells forming ahead,
     she guided this magnificent blue sea creature effortlessly through them, like a skier negotiating moguls.
    “Ames!” he cried, overjoyed. “You’re a natural! I didn’t even tell you how to do that!”
    “I love this!” she called back. “This could be the most fun I’ve ever had!”
    A rogue wave, out of pattern with the rest, suddenly loomed to starboard. Deftly she fell away before it, then neatly rounded
     it, and resumed their heading.
    “Amend that!” she shouted, laughing. “This
is
the most fun I’ve ever had!”
    He let her have the helm all the way back, taking over only as they approached his mooring. She caught the buoy, first try.
    At the end of the day, tired, sun-baked, smiling, they sat drinking Heinekens at the White Horse. He looked at her over the
     little round table. “Bermuda Rules, right?”
    She nodded.
    “You’re the best first-time sailor I’ve ever seen! Man or woman.”
    “Even better than Eric?” she teased him.
    “Well,” he said, not quite willing to go that far, “he was only eight.”
    “We’re going tomorrow, right?”
    “Of course.”
    “No matter what the weather is?”
    “No matter what.”
    “Okay,” she declared, putting her bottle firmly on the table. “Bermuda Rules. After a day like today, if I had my way, I’d
     spend the rest of my life sailing.”
    Both were stilled by what she had just said.
    As she looked at him, studying his steady dark eyes, she was thinking of the one thing they hadn’t shared. They’d kissed briefly,
     careful to keep it casual. Held hands briefly, parting naturally.
    She knew she had never met anyone she enjoyed being with more. Nor had she ever imagined finding anyone she could share silence
     with. And when she wasn’t with him, she didn’t feel whole. She would wake up in her room at the Coral Beach Club and wish
     she could drag time forward, till he came to collect her.
    “I want to move aboard
Care Away
,” she announced. “Tonight.”
    “You’re sure?” he asked softly.
    She reached out and covered his hand with hers. “I’m sure.”

12      to the table down at sandys
    Saturday was turnover day in Bermuda’s hotels and guesthouses. Not all guests came or departed on Saturday, but enough did
     that places like Sandys House held a weekly welcoming party for new guests late