One Step at a Time

“Fred needs a new captain. Asking $12,000. Reply with offer, intentions and sailing resume,” read the classified ad in the local sailing magazine. She thought the instructions were odd; it was a 32 ft, 40-year-old fiberglass sloop, not a vintage Master Mariner schooner by any stretch of the imagination. She answered with full disclosure of her situation, hoping it would pull at the owner’s heartstrings. It was the truth: her college scholarship didn’t cover housing and she needed this boat to live on as she couldn’t afford rent in the City. She added that she grew up in foster care and the local community sailing center was the only place she found peace as a teenager. She was looking forward to sailing the Bay again and spending weekends studying at anchor in nearby coves. Her offer was under asking price, leaving room for negotiation, so she was surprised when he accepted it without countering. They met at the marina and she peered into the bilge with a flashlight, started the engine and examined the standing rigging for rust or wear, making copious notes. He was obviously impressed with her knowledge, and they shook hands on the transfer of ownership, contingent upon a test sail. Angie’s heart soared as the sails were raised and they softly heeled. They did a few tacks down the channel and a downwind leg back to the marina. The boat was in excellent condition and Angie couldn’t find a single fault in its performance. After docking, Angie handed him an envelope with cash. He folded it and put it in his shirt pocket without even looking at the bills. “Why did you name her Fred?” Angie asked. “It’s Danish for “peace.” It was always my peace and now it’s yours,” he said with a sad smile. “Give me a call if you have any questions.” “Thanks! Good luck on your move to the east coast,” Angie said. “I know you’ll take good care of her. That’s why I chose you,” he said wistfully, giving one long, last look at his boat. He walked to the end of the dock, turned, and offered a hand salute. Angie waved, knowing that the farewell was for Fred, not her. When she was sure he couldn’t see her, she climbed onto the bow and hugged the mast. “You’re all mine now!” She couldn’t believe her luck. “Bzzzzzz,” the cellphone vibrated in her pocket. It was the picture he had taken of her and Fred after handing her the keys. He must have sent it from the parking lot. Angie pulled a faded picture of a young man out of her wallet. He was about her age, standing next to a small sailboat. She compared the picture of her and Fred with the one of her father and his boat, Joy. She never got to sail with him. He died before she could walk. And now, one step at a time, she would live both of their dreams.