Furious by Jeffrey Higgins (top 10 novels to read TXT) 📕

we’re clear of the marina, I want to give you a sailing refresher,” Brad said.

“You told me you would do everything.”

“You need to know the basics, so you’re comfortable taking the helm when I’m asleep or if we have an emergency.”

“The wind blows the sails and pushes us across the water, right?” I asked, attempting sarcasm.

“Actually, no. The wind pushes from one direction and the water impacts the hull from the other. We move forward because we’re squeezed between the two forces, like a watermelon seed pinched between your fingers.”

“Watermelon seed. Got it.”

“I’m explaining this for your own good. If I fall overboard, you will wish you’d paid attention.”

My stomach hardened as if I had swallowed a rock. He was right. We were sailing three thousand miles across four seas and the Indian Ocean. I needed to recover my sailing skills.

“Sorry. I’m listening.”

“The most important thing in sailing is the wind. We have an east-southeast wind blowing off our starboard side, at about seven knots, but once we pass Indonesia and head toward India, the winds will be north-northeast and more intense.”

I surveyed the giant black mast towering over the deck. “I didn’t realize geography dictated wind direction.”

“Trade winds are tied to geography and seasons affect wind speed. Around the equator, winds collide and swirl, canceling each other out. We could even hit westerly winds when we cross the Indian Ocean.”

“Can we sail into the wind?”

“Pointing the bow at the wind puts us in irons, meaning we don’t move, but we can still sail into it by shifting a few degrees in either direction.”

“Moving toward the wind always seemed counterintuitive.”

“When the wind blows over one side, it’s called reaching, and when it’s behind us, we’re running.”

“I remember the points of sail.”

“If you remember nothing else, remember this—sailing is all about the wind direction and speed.”

I shuffled to the edge of the gunwale, wrapped my fingers around the safety line, and watched the water slosh against our hull. It left a frothy wake behind us as the yacht pitched over the swells. The motion was not violent, but it was unnatural to feel the deck shifting below me. My knuckles whitened on the line.

I closed my eyes and exhaled then opened them and focused on the horizon. “It’s coming back to me. It’s simple enough.”

“It can get incredibly complicated, but we’re not racing, so we don’t need to study algorithms. Our hull will heel over in a close reach. Heeling more than thirty degrees is dangerous and we risk capsizing, so pay attention, because winds shift, waves grow, and currents change.”

“What if the boat leans too far?” I said, crossing my arms over my stomach.

“It’s called heeling, not leaning, and if it’s too extreme, let the sails out or turn into the wind. Either maneuver will right the yacht and slow us.”

“I understand . . . in theory.”

“I can talk all day, but it’s easier to show you.”

Brad turned off the motor, and the deck stopped vibrating. The whoosh of the winds and the lapping of water replaced the throaty growl of the engine. I could have been on the deck of an eighteenth-century whaler, except more electronics surrounded me than had been on the Starship Enterprise.

A hollow feeling settled in the pit of my stomach.

“The mainsail is almost eight hundred square feet. We can furl and unfurl it from the control panels at either helm. A genoa hangs off the forestay in the bow and gives us close to nine hundred more square feet of sail. We control it with this switch.”

“You memorized the square footage?” I asked.

“The sails and the wind mean everything.”

“It sounds like we need a crew of four.”

“Not with this beauty. They automated everything on this yacht. Electric winches control the sheets and pull them through the cockpit coaming until they converge at the helm.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I said.

“Watch me.”

Brad flipped through the control screens on the sixteen-inch display behind the steering wheel. The labels read: chart, echo, structure, radar, sail steer, race, instruments, video, auto pilot, time plot, and wind plot.

 “I imagine the space shuttle has controls like this.”

Brad smiled.

He hit a switch, and the mainsail unfurled above us—a massive sheet of carbon gray, almost black. The wind was light, but the sail caught it and filled. The breeze came over the stern from our five o’clock, and we heeled a few degrees to port. I grabbed a chrome handle on the side of the instrument panel to steady myself. My body tingled.

“You’ll get used to the tilt. When we’re flying, we’ll heel about twenty-five degrees more.”

“I feel like I could fall overboard,” I said, my voice a whisper.

“Always use one hand to hold on to something, and when the wind picks up, wear a safety harness and clip onto the lifelines.”

Above me, the boom swung the main sail to port. Brad hit another switch and deployed the genoa in the bow. It filled and rounded like a giant balloon. An image of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade flashed in my mind.

“The key is to trim the sails and keep them as full as possible, without allowing the wind to slip off. When the edge of the sail shakes, we call that luffing, and it’s a sign to pull in the sheet. If we heel too much, let the sail out.”

Sailing was complicated and even the basic concepts Brad explained involved deep levels of nuance—half science and half art. I had thought Brad would chauffeur me around on our voyage, but as I scanned the expansive sea around us, it became clear he would need me.

“The yacht looked enormous docked against the pier,” I said, “but now, it feels insignificant compared to the size of the sea.”

“Wait until we hit the Indian Ocean. It’s the third largest ocean, with over twenty-six million square miles. Come on, let me show you the best view onboard.”

Brad sounded professorial, pedantic. He had been unbearable at home, and now, I was stuck on a boat with