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Better Late – 19

Shaynah tied her kerchief tightly over her blond wig. David recognised that it was a genuine Hermes scarf as he led the way to the door. This told him that the lady could afford to pay six hundred dollars for a kerchief. Outside, in the lashing rain, he took her arm and guided her toward the dock where “Sabbatical” was moored. David leapt into the boat that rocked and tugged at its moorings and bounced against the white rubber bumpers that hung from its chrome chocks. His movements were controlled and graceful as a leopard. He turned and held his large, tanned hand up to Shaynah. She placed her small white hand within it, and she felt a surge of confidence and trust that ran through her with a disturbing sensation. Shaynah staggered on the gently rocking deck and David’s firm, gentle grim steadied her with ease. He held her hand while he led her to the cabin door and opened it for her.

“No sense you getting soaked here,” he said. “Go below and try to get comfortable. You’ll find it’s quite warm and dry down there.”

With Shaynah well out of the weather, David started the diesel auxiliary engine. Conditions were not what he’d wish for to transport a mature, Hassidic lady to sell Sequester Island. The engine throbbed softly deep in the bowels of the hull. Alone in the cabin, Shaynah heard the engine start, and she felt the tremble in the hull. She removed her headscarf and looked around while she shook the rain from her jacket. Mahogany was everywhere, in the shelves along the sides, in the galley surrounding the stainless steel gas stove and refrigerator. There was a mahogany door that she opened and saw that it was a toilet and shower area. There was a small dining alcove and she sat there and folded the silk scarf neatly and placed it on the table.

The engine warmed up while David leaped easily up to the pier to release the fore and aft moorings and toss the lines onto the decks before he leaped back aboard. At the wheel, unconcerned about the warm rain that pounded on his face, David deftly guided the craft away from the pier and headed away from the marina toward the channel that led to Sequester Island. The twenty-nine-foot yawl rode into the rolling waves with an easy rocking motion as the sharp prow cleaved cleanly through the surf. Suddenly the cabin door burst open and Shaynah rushed up the steps and ran to the side of the boat just in time to throw up into the water.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry,” she gasped and sputtered in her embarrassment.

“Please, it’s alright. It happens to everyone,” David said. “I wanted to warn you about being below decks in bad weather, but I also didn’t want you to be out here getting soaked.”

“Well, here I am getting soaked all the same,” she snapped. I could have done without the nausea.”

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