The Raft
Chapter 32
The Freaky Kon-Tikis were well underway as the Soft Cell sailed into the vicinity of Friday Harbor.
Maggie intentionally lagged back, letting the vast body of Raft vessels race past her in the warming, clearing afternoon weather. She was in no hurry, there was no prize for reaching the Kon-Tikis before everyone else, and much to lose should the news of Gandalf's absence leak out.
Maggie furled the sails and went below and made lunch. Or rather breakfast. She cut some two-day-old bread and made French toast in an iron skillet on the impossibly small galley cook top. She brewed coffee in a rusty percolator next to the frying pan as she hobbled back and forth on her injured foot. Rachael watched from the companionway, sitting on the threshold, her feet handing down into the cabin. After all the events of the morning, she was finally hungry. Ravenous. She hardly felt seasick at all, though the Soft Cell was aggressively bobbing on the wakes of the passing Raft.
“Sit, eat,” Maggie commanded, transferring French toast from skillet to plates.
Rachael did as instructed, quickly leaping down from the companionway, bellying up to the galley table and gulping down the first helping of toast with a generous amount of syrup. As a second batch sizzled in the pan, Maggie poured out two half-full cups of coffee and placed them on the rocking table.
Rachael ate and drank and only paused to allow Maggie to spatula another piece of toast onto her plate. She felt revitalized, the thumping in her head subsided as the rush of caffeine and sugar surged through her body.
The cooking finished, Maggie dropped herself down onto the galley bench with a pained sigh. She favored her injured foot, extending her leg out the length of the unoccupied bench, pointing the toes at Rachael. Maggie turned her attention to her breakfast as Rachael finished up the last of hers.
Wiping syrup and dried blood from her mouth, Rachael focused in on Maggie's bare foot. Tentatively, she reached out a finger and touched the leathery ball of the foot. Maggie responded with an agonized howl.
“I think you might have broken something,” Rachael said, trying to look sympathetic.
“Goddamn jackbooted goon landed on it with all his weight,” Maggie said, returning to her food.
“You should have it looked at.”
“I will,” Maggie said around a mouthful of toast. “The Sawbones will be at the Races along with everyone else. But first thing's first.” Maggie gulped down the last of her breakfast and washed it down with the last of the coffee.
“At lesat let me bandage it up,” Rachael offered.
“I'll live,” Maggie said, scooting off the end of the galley bench.
The sound of revelry floated down through the open companionway. Maggie hopped the length of the cabin, and winced her way back up the short ladder and out into the Soft Cell's cockpit. Rachael followed, trying to pour what small dribble of coffee was left out of the percolator.
Back out in the fresh air, Maggie inspected the gauges on the console, checking the charge left in her batteries.
“Have you thought about what you're going to write?” Maggie said conversationally. “When you get back to dryland? About all this?”
Rachael, who'd taken her usual spot on a cockpit bench, shot up in shock. “Oh God!” She suddenly remember she had a job – a real day job. “What am I going to write about?”
Maggie laughed. “You came out here to write about the Raft, correct? Well, you can still write about that.”
“Yes, but half of what I've learned turned out not to be true, and the other half, if I write about it, will get me fired... or worse... a one-way ticket to Guantanamo Bay...”
“Then quit,” Maggie said without emotion. “Write what you want. Start your own newspaper. Sell up and buy a boat. The Raft has never had a press, maybe it's about time it grew up and acquired one.”
“Maggie...”
“Just think about it.” Maggie shot Rachael a glance, playing off the comment with an amused shrug. “You have to admit that life aboard the Raft is exciting.”
“Ugh,” Rachael collapsed back against the bench cushion. “I'm seasick, my teeth are loose, I'm hungover and worried sick. This is exciting?”
“You've got to admit, I know how to show a girl a good time.”
“Next time you have a party, count me out.”
“Well, how about you give the Raft one more chance? I know today so far has not exactly seen the Raft at its best. But it's early yet.” Maggie pointed forward into the empty waters before the Soft Cell. “Maybe there's a chance for you to see the Raft in a better light. The Kon-Tiki Races... they can be something else.”
Rachael looked up from her bench and gave Maggie a warm smile. Even after everything that had happened, Maggie was still attempting to boost the Raft. Rachael couldn't summon up the strength to disappoint her. Even though Rachael was sick to her stomach with boats and guns and open water and rainy Northwest mornings, and wanted nothing more than to get back to dryland and never set foot off shore ever again, she smiled and lied to Maggie. “Well, I promise to keep an open mind,” she said.
“That's all I can ask.” Maggie returned Rachael's smile.