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With the sloop running at six knots under the main and genoa, and sitting up on the high side, Mitchell steered the sloop into the sea’s anonymity, his intention returning as the nautical miles rolled under the bow. His right shoulder felt like wet cement but his hand on the tiller was at ease. Andy climbed from the deck down into the cockpit to trim the sheets and stopped abruptly. He wiped two fingers through the sweat on the bridge of Mitchell’s nose. Andy showed Mitchell the moisture on his fingertips.

Mitchell nodded. "My body doesn’t like sitting on my ass."

"We don’t have to go to Portland," Andy said. "I’ve been there."

"I haven’t."

Andy looked at his fingers and wiped them across his shirt. He trimmed the sails and coiled the sheets and Mitchell glanced at Andy’s wristwatch as he stepped past to climb on deck again. Mitchell steered off course. Easterly.

The wind was steady throughout the morning and the afternoon. The heat was bearable. On the foredeck Andy inspected the genoa and the gear, taking his time as he followed the big sail aft. I brought him because I need him, Mitchell thought. If not him, someone else. It’s the truth. I have only my own purpose in mind. This is isn’t about shaking down the boat. I knew what the boat needed when we made Provincetown. I care about what I need. There is no compromise until this is finished and it will finish damn soon. There is only Andy to deal with now. And the sea and whatever happens after. He watched the light on the surface, aslant in the deep.

A ship’s sky rose and fell through the long afternoon and into the evening, undulating with purple-black waters, primal and provocative. I was born here Mitchell thought. In this eternal moment, wrestled from some long forgotten vapor.

A utensil ricocheted in the galley sink. Andy climbed into the cockpit and handed Mitchell a sandwich.

"How’s it holding up?" Mitchell asked.

"Okay, if you don’t get tired of peanut butter and jelly. Come to three-fifteen degrees," Andy said. "Head in."

"We’re too far out to head in. I’ve been steering east of our course since this morning."

Andy looked anxiously at the empty sea. "Why?"

"On this course we can heave-to for the night and put into Portland tomorrow morning. It’s half the distance"

"We haven’t sailed at night."

"We’re big boys now. We’re old enough to play outside."

"What if a storm comes up?"

"Then we’ll shorten sail and do our best. What else is there?"

Andy reached for the boom just to touch it before he sat on the bench to starboard. He shook his head slowly. "We haven’t listened for weather or charted a course. We’re not ready."

"Don’t talk yourself into anything. If something comes up we’ll deal with it. This is a hell of a good boat. We’re ready. We’ve been coast hopping long enough. It’s time to get there."