Oceania, The Search for Patriots Point

Chapter 13:00: He Was in the Navy

Song: "Eternal Father" - The Navy Hymn

"Dad, I don't want to go sailing!" I tossed a dandelion sundress into our red and white canvas beach bag.

Sophie, our Maine Coon, rubbed her soft fur against my leg.

Dad jogged down the tan, carpeted stairs of the beach house, followed closely by Mom. He stopped and gripped the wooden railing with both hands. "Oh, come on, Teuila. We're only going out on the Laser."

Was that supposed to make me feel better? A Laser was still a sailboat.

I pulled some of my curly, brown hair behind my ear and picked up Sophie.

She purred deeply into my polka dot bikini, like when a mother cuddled their infant.

"Why can't I stay here with Sophie?" I asked. "The little booger could use some company."

Mom, who fiddled with a camera, bumped Dad's back. She looked up and smiled nervously.

Dad glanced over his shoulder at her. He ran his fingers through his short, brown hair and jogged the rest of the way down the stairs. Dad almost crashed into the front door's glass. That's how excited he was.

He pinched my cheek and shook my tan skin. "Oh, come on! What happened to spending days with your old man?"

I felt myself blushing. "Daddy, I'm in college. I've been so busy lately. All I ask for is a quiet summer break."

College of Charleston got out only a few days ago. To celebrate completing my first year, Mom and Dad booked a beach house for us at Seabrook Island, an hour away from campus.

Dad took Sophie out of my hands and set her on the tile floor. "And what better way to chillax than on a sailboat?"

"But look at the weather!" I whipped my phone out of the bag and pulled up the Weather app. I held the screen up to Dad's face. "80% chance of rain! Wind speed of twenty-five miles-per-hour, and that's just inland."

"Yes, but if you look at it again, Teuila..." Dad pointed at the hourly weather chart. "It's not supposed to hit until three o'clock, and it's only ten. Between now and then, the weather is great for sailing. It's a bit sporty but perfect!"

"Oh, come on, dear. At least give it a try." Mom joined us at the bottom of the stairs. She kissed Dad's cheek. "I want to get some pictures with my new camera."

"But I don't like sailing."

A few years ago, Dad took Mom and me on a sail on his keelboat in the Charleston Harbor. We ran aground near Castle Pinckney and were stuck there until the tide shifted. We did not get back to the docks until after dark.

Dad loved that adventure. He used to sail the harbor all the time when he was in the Navy. Running aground was rare, but it was part of the challenge, or so he says.

I kneeled to Sophie and ran my hand across her back.

She slipped through my fingers and trotted into Mom and Dad's room at the end of the condensed hallway.

Mom chuckled. "You'll see the cat again." She took my arm and pulled me to my feet. "Now, let's go. North Beach is waiting."

I groaned but followed Mom and Dad outside.

A zephyr that smelled like pluff mud passed through my nostrils. My cinnamon-colored eyes landed on the condo's steep staircase. It broke off into two smaller ones at the base.

A car passed before the house. Two paddleboards were on top of it. Heck, why couldn't I paddleboard instead?

Mom, Dad, and I moved swiftly down the stairs. Mom and I's flip flops and Dad's sailing shoes touched the driveway.

Beside us was the garage and our tan Suburban. It was almost too big for the enclosure. The car's nose was right up against two kayaks at the back of the garage. Its trunk was open. Inside were sails and gear for Dad's Laser. Her name was Oceania.

He set the canvas bag under a few extra sails and squeezed in some chairs on the side.

I roamed a bit to take in my surroundings: the lines of condos and cottages running up and down the road, the marsh, and the supply of palms that provided them with much-needed shade. The air was hot but not sauna-like. It was a comfortable temperature. Just feeling it, I knew I was at the beach.

Dad shut the car's trunk. He slapped his hands together. "All right, we're all set."

Flash! Mom took a sudden picture of me with her camera. "Time to go, Teuila."

White and black dots clouded my vision. "Mom, what was that for?"

"I'm going to do a before and after photo blog of the sailing trip."

I couldn't help but notice Mom's menacing look. Although she shared my curly, brown hair, hers was much fluffier than mine.

The drive to North Beach was quick—merely six minutes. Unlike its next-door neighbor, Kiawah Island, Seabrook Island was only three miles roundtrip.

Mom rolled down her window and snapped pictures of the looming live oak trees lining Seabrook Island Rd. I think she liked that new camera a little too much.

Dad batted the gray steering wheel with his palm. "So, I've got it all planned out, Teuila," he excitedly explained. "We're going to sail across the inlet to Kiawah Island, make our way along the length of the beach, and head up the river to Bohicket Marina."

I wasn't paying attention. I was too busy slathering myself with sunscreen that smelled like baby powder.

"Your mom will meet us there. We will pull the boat in and have a late lunch," Dad continued.

My butt itched on the Suburban's back seat, but I shifted my body weight to make myself comfortable. My eyes landed on a few bikers who carefully rode in the bike lane of the road. "Great, Dad. That sounds wonderful," I mumbled.

"I know, right?" It looked like Dad had a hard time distinguishing sarcasm from obligation.