My Sister's Keeper

Chapter 52

52

TIFFANY FOUND THE NOTE and the key and immediately ripped the tags off a new string bikini her mother would never have allowed her to wear. Strutting about under the watchful eyes of every man on the dock, she cranked the engine, brought in the lines, shoved the magnificent sailboat off, and motored Steal Away out to the channel where she found a strong southerly breeze—perfect for a reach down the river.

Bringing the vessel about, she headed directly into the wind, set the brake on the wheel, and raised the mizzen to steady the boat. Electing to keep the mainsail furled, she climbed barefooted onto the roof of the cabin, sidled toward the bow, and—bending her knees as the vessel rose to meet each wave—reached to the low side and tugged the line to release the jib. As the massive sail unrolled like a window shade, its bitter end flapped loosely in the wind, snapping and popping against the mainmast, sending her heart to racing.

Releasing the brake, she steered the boat away from the wind letting the loose end of the jib flap out to the side as she expertly wrapped the sheet around a winch. Then, with the wind in her face and the sun on her back, she cranked the massive sail in. As it filled with air and caught the wind, the boat leaned and she felt a surge of power.

Back at the helm, she turned the switch and the putter of the engine died, replaced by the sound of water swishing along the side of the hull.

For Tiffany, this was heaven. There was nothing better than sailing and the best life she could imagine would be to sail about the world forever.

She'd admired the boat's sleek lines as it came together on its construction frame at her father's shipyard with its golden teak deck, lacquered black hull, and brass fittings—a beauty to behold. But it was on its maiden voyage that she'd really fallen in love with it. It was the majestic way that it sat in the water and the ease with which it handled that she loved. 'A pussy to sail' as the men in the yard would say. And she loved the name. "Steal Away," she whispered into the wind.

It was a quick ten miles to the farm—too quick—and she had time to spare so she marked the location on the global positioning system and sailed on for another ten miles before coming about and returning to the farm.

After tying the boat off at the end of a twisted weather-grayed dock with boards missing here and there, Tiffany went for a quick swim, changed into Bermuda shorts and a T-shirt, and took the short walk up the dock. Keeping a sharp eye out for snakes, she followed a dirt path through long-shanked reeds to a hundred-year-old barn that had long ago given up holding back nature. Tallest at the center, it spread wide at the bottom including an open shed on each side. Its rusting tin roof lay folded back on one corner exposing a sagging, black skeleton of a roof underneath. The boards that made up its skin had over time been bleached gray and warped by the sun, a few breaking free and hanging by a single nail. The three openings on the back side—two ports near the top and a tall narrow rectangle at the bottom—were black in shadow and reminded Tiffany of the terrifying mask used in the "Scream" movies.

There was a pair of doors on the far right held shut with a padlock that opened with the key. Inside she discovered a cache of cardboard boxes and wooden crates, some closed and some open. There was food of all kinds, enough to last at least a month. There was water, wine, paper products, pots and pans, utensils and dishes. There were towels, pillows, life preservers, and a broom.

Starting with the heaviest boxes, she lifted a case of wine and stumbled out the door struggling to carry it. The bottles clinked against each other with each step and she had to stop twice to rest before getting it on deck and into the cockpit. The boxes of canned food seemed even heavier. She found a loose board in the reeds and dropped it across the span between the boat and the dock to use as a ramp, and pushed the seventh box—a wooden crate—across it to the boat. As she maneuvered the box toward the galley, it fell open exposing the butt of a pistol wrapped in newspaper.