Out here in the open, I could feel the currents of air strengthening. My T-shirt was pressing against my body, and my hair caught around my cheeks. I put on my shades and re-applied sunscreen to my arms and legs. The day was hot, the sun a brilliant white orb above us, but the wind and the water and being out at sea made it bearable—more than bearable, perfect, in fact. “Come over here,” Sullivan called, “and give me a hand.” “Hang on.” I moved up to where he was standing by the mast. “What do you want me to do?” He was gripping a rope, the tendons in his wrists and forearms tense. “You’re going to hoist the mainsail. Pull on this halyard.” I felt a little daunted by the task but grabbed the rope anyway. “That’s it, now pull, hard. The sail will flap like crazy, but that’s fine. Get it all the way up as quickly as you can.” I started to heave and pull. He was right. The sail flicked and flacked as the wind grabbed and shook it. It was as though it wanted to rip the material from Dolly Bird.
