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What is the point of sailing? Carol wondered, her sitzbones now sore from rolling against the fiberglass bench with every swell. They had tacked to starboard, tacked to port, and were no closer to the mouth of the harbor, which she kept her eye on with hope.
I’d like to say something to the group, make some crack about sailing. But in light of what Philippe said about my critique style, I’d better not. And I don’t want to offend John. Though I do feel a bit smothered. Sigh.
But I can do a little critiquing quietly, to myself. John looks so good at the helm, so much better than Philippe—even Philippe’s casual khakis don’t fit quite right, just like his suits. I’m very glad to count John as a friend and fellow brainstormer. He certainly is bonkers about boats, isn’t he? He looks rather good with the wind in his hair...Philippe, however, I bet he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing on a boat. I’m scared, the wind feels so powerful out here, I wish we’d go back.
Carol smiled at John, thinking that if she acted totally in love with sailing, maybe he’d stop working so hard to convince them that it was great and go back to the harbor.
Carol looks content enough, thought John, as the wind and sun burned his cheeks. But I wish she’d get into it more, look eager when it’s time to tack. Well, anyway, let’s race that other boat on the same tack as us. It’s a bit loony, John, to race boats with no starting line, no course marked out by buoys, and no finish line. But it’s fun.
John looked at his assistant.
Anjali was thinking that the wind was blowing her already straight hair straighter. She was thrilled with the unlimited volume of fresh sea air, of sun, and of the sound of water rushing along the boat’s hull. This would never have happened to me if I’d stayed in Mumbai, she thought. She took stock of her life in Paris. John has been a good boss, though I wish he’d learn how to print things out for himself. He can’t manage printers, but he has no problems managing this piece of technology, this bit of fiberglass hull that displaces water, and these bits of fabric that harness wind. As long as people have been doing it for thousands of years, John can do it.
Anjali smiled at John, and then at Philippe, sitting between her and John on the banquette.
Philippe smiled back and turned to enjoy the expanse of sky, clouds, and sea behind him. When he turned back, he was facing the blank white sail. He peered under it to look for boats. John shouldn’t rely on us greenhorns quite so heavily, he thought. Then he thought, Here I am, critiquing him instead of being grateful for a fabulous day on the water.
