Although Cody’s face looks bad, the rest of him seems okay, physically, that is. He’s sober and serious, though, and seems to feel he has to make up for lost time. He’s like a one-man Mr. Fix-it, very focused on exactly what needs repairing and how to do it.
The rest of us are only able to function in short bursts, but Cody doesn’t stop, not even to sleep. Everyone wants either Cody or me at the helm because we seem to have found a way to keep the boat in tune with the waves, and they say The Wanderer rides more smoothly when we guide her. I can’t stand there very long, though, because of my legs hurting so bad.
Everyone is grateful for Cody right now. I haven’t heard anyone say that out loud, but I know it’s true. Maybe they are even a little grateful for me, too, but it no longer seems important to worry about that.
Uncle Dock has confirmed that the GPS, ham radio, and radar are all out. We don’t know where we are, and no one else knows where we are, and we can’t summon help if we get really desperate.
We are still without sails, praying for the wind and seas to calm, and in the meantime, we spend all our waking moments and energy cleaning up the mess. We are all quieter than usual, thinking about being alive, and how fragile a line there is between being alive and not being alive.