Rhonda saw that Ocean, despite her nautical name, hadn't earned her sea legs yet.
The college junior had an empty pill bottle of sea sickness medication to appeal to for proof of her will to make the trip. Still, she spent most of her journey doubled over the portside deck, a hurling, retching mess.
According to Michelle, Rhonda's niece and Ocean's friend, this outing was the gagging girl's first time on a boat―in her whole life, ever, seriously. She'd just learned how to swim a few months ago, conquering a childhood fear, so Michelle invited her to spend a weekend with their family on the water at Sugar Sand Cay. It was meant to be a celebration; an honor, a chance to meet the Roberts family and bond.
So far, the only thing Ocean had acquainted herself with was the side of the boat.
When they arrived at the Cay, Rhonda's daughters and her older sister Max dove from the anchored vessel and swam toward shore. They churned white water like olympic swimmers, skilled and graceful from oldest to youngest like the Roberts girls they were. They swam toward island paradise. Fans of palm trees, water as translucent as sea glass for nearly ten feet down, and finely grained sand made up the hidden, tropical nook. And, since only private boaters were privy to its location, the visiting family were certain they would have the majesty of the Gulf of Mexico all to themselves.
Rhonda left the gally. She hoped there might be some peace now that the boat was still. She took a tentative step on deck, hearing the familiar caw of gulls and the whip of the wind. Finally, she thought, the vacation she suspected. Nearly imperceptible, a bump of a wave lifted and laid down the boat. Rhonda heard a sour, guttural sound. It brought frown wrinkles to her face.
On her left, she took note of Ocean turning away a bottle of water from Michelle, knowing all it would do would be gagged from her at the slightest tilt in the waves. They hadn't so much moved from that same spot along the leftward railing for the whole hour's boat ride. The puke sounds were constant. They were what made Rhonda retreat in the first place and were her reason for not getting involved now.
She reversed, avoiding the urge to voice her dispiritedness. "I should feel bad for the girl. Right. Poor girl." If she didn't say it, the feelings wouldn't go away, so she chanted her new catchphrase a few times while she hunted down her baby bag. "Nevermind that this was supposed to be a family trip or that it should have been a peaceful ride over. You agreed to this. This was your choice."
She gathered the bag, a beach towel, and one sleeping baby boy―consciously leaving her cell phone in the dark belly of the ship―and returned to the deck without even glancing toward the 'poor girl'. She ascended to the captain's nest and thanked her husband for his skillful navigations, then went beneath a shady awning and took her son up into her arms. There, she had everything she needed to forget her bustling IT consulting: a shady spot with a view of the water, her two favorite men in the entire world, and considerable distance from things that grossed her out.
Caleb awakened immediately at the heat. He cooed in Rhonda's arms, greeting his mother with pleasantness and familiarity even with her aviator sunglasses. A salty breeze gusted from the gulf, whipping back her honey blond hair and rocking the boat with lapping waves. "I wish this weekend could last forever."
A dry heave carried on the wind and Rhonda grimaced.
"That girl needs to get to the beach," Mark, her husband, said with a noisy chuckle. "She'll be miserable as long as she's on this boat."
"By all means," Rhonda answered. "Give her a floaty and send her on her merry way."
Mark raised a brow. Rhonda could feel him reading her. "After the ride she's had, there's probably nothing left in the tank. Can't keep water or granola down. That's what Michelle said." When Rhonda didn't say anything, he redirected. "You're always really good at letting stuff like this go, but I can tell you're really struggling with Ocean."
Rhonda crossed her legs. The top one started to bounce, giving Caleb a ride and working out some tightly wound nerve. "You're right. I don't know what it is about that girl. Seems like she should have known this would be too much for her. From a pool to the open water?"
"How would she know, babe?"
"She wouldn't. I know that, too. And part of me feels bad because I know she's probably embarrassed and regretful and repentant. I just can't help feeling nauseous when all I hear for sixty-five minutes is―. . ."
Ocean wheezed mightily. Despite the balmy eighty-three degrees, Rhonda felt a chill and her mind pictured a bikini clad twenty-one year old throwing her upper body over a boat. It was enough to have her swallow herself. Bile was slithering up the back of her throat. It was disgusting―not to mention unfair, to Rhonda, at least.
"You've had a stressful week at work, probably looking forward to fun and sun. I definitely know how having that solace threatened fucking sucks―. . ."
"Mark!" Rhonda's eyes rounded. "Caleb."
He smirked. He'd done it on purpose. "He's a sailor, too. He'll learn to swear at some point."
Rhonda stuck out her tongue. Mark gave a big bellied laugh and sat at his captain's chair, checking dials and switches.
He continued. "This vacation will be unforgettable. I promise. Time will fly right on by."
Rhonda hoped so. It felt more like déjà vu at this point, like she'd been stuck in the same time loop. She knew that was wrong, though. Her feelings were wrong and Mark was right.
"Maybe you can give her a ride to the beach on the skiff? That way she won't have to make the swim. Once she's feeling better, we'll feed her and get to know her some," Rhonda nodded. When she looked up, Mark was hovering over a screen on his console by the steering wheel. "I'm sure she isn't intentionally messing up our vacation, right? Mark?"
He turned to her briefly and answered in a monosyllabic affirmative. "Sure."
"Is everything alright dear?" She knew it wasn't by how his expression kept changing.
"Yes. Just a few showers popping up offshore. Summer rains, I bet. They shouldn't ruin the weekend." The space between his eyebrows shrank, suggesting the opposite. "Sure, I'll give the girl a ride. But then, how are you and Caleb going to get to the beach?"
Rhonda was a strong swimmer but she knew what Mark meant. Carrying a baby who wasn't even a year old while swimming was always a risk―even if she felt she could manage. "For the record, I've got two, very full floatation devices that would probably keep us safe." Rhonda scrunched her nose playfully. "But I understand what you mean. He needs to be fed anyway and I feel like I'm about to burst, so we can try that."
"Think he'll eat a full meal this time?"
"Gosh, I hope so," Rhonda wheezed in a tired breath. "And it'll be rough, but it can be done."
"I'll just take the girls to shore on the skiff, then come back for you two. Take your time." Mark walked over and kissed the same spot on Rhonda's forehead that he kissed every time they parted; the spot she hid behind her bangs that he seemed to enjoy finding. He then noogied the tuft of orange-gold hair on his only son's head. "And you eat up, alright? I need you to grow into a big, strong first mate. You've no idea how hard it's been running the ship with a bunch of girls. Your sisters are great, don't get me wrong, and they'll give you all sorts of advice, but don't listen to a thing they have to say about knot tying or―. . ."
Rhonda clued into Mark's true intentions when she found the parting words turning into a short monologue. "Are you taking advantage of your son to sneak a peek at me? That's low, even for you."
Mark balled Caleb's stumpy fingers into a clump and fist bumped the infant. Caleb looked confused, but then content as if he was fine with whatever had been done at his expense. "Don't drink too much, though. Mom's got her preggo tits and it's super hot―. . ."
With a fist to his shoulder, Rhonda sent Mark on his way and started unshouldering her white, netted top. "Thanks, perv," she called after him with a smile only he could bring to her face. She felt better, now.
Only when she heard the door click shut did she find the privacy to lay her outermost top on the white vinyl seating beside her and unfurl her bikini. The racer black top slung away from her like rubber bands. Her chest rushed into liberty, then lulled into the slow rise and fall of her breathing. It was a relief to be free and open instead of clawed and squeezed as she'd been by her terrible clothing choice for the whole ride.
Her son seemed to know what was going on. All interest vanished at once. "So it's like that today, huh? Well, you're going to at least have to play nice," Rhonda compromised. She laid baby Caleb against one of her breasts and he seemed agreeable enough to rest noiselessly. The guy wasn't a small infant but Rhonda's tits were just so immense, he could curl himself around one with only a palm's assistance on his diapered rump.
He was not eager to drink, not one bit.
Rhonda found herself thinking what might be wrong with her then realized she'd thought the same thing a few times. Mark had been ravenous of her body lately. Usually, she was down to play ball, but lately? Well, she wanted to blame the pregnancy, the baby, and the stress of work. It wasn't that she didn't want him equally―the man had fathered all three of their children, and not without superior effort in the creation and sustenance of each, not to mention sparing all the love and affection Rhonda needed―demonstrated minutes ago by quelling her with humor.
Something was just off. He hit every base and flipped every switch, but the light within her was dimmer still.
They needed a spark. Actually, Rhonda felt like she needed to find the spark. As she'd already established, her highschool sweetheart wasn't slacking, so it had to be her. Her conscience was heavy. She hoped Mark hadn't noticed. If he hadn't he would. Sex was going to be a big part of their vacation, and Rhonda could only pretend something wasn't wrong for so long. She thought she was in a time loop before. Just imagining the slow grind of forcing one-hundred percent when she was only at sixty-five in the bedroom made time stand still.
What was she missing? What did she need? The sexual equivalent of a caffeine shot?
She felt reality weeping from her enormous titty as Caleb decided he was hungry or bored enough to move his lips over and clamp over her nipple. He barely had to do any sucking, as Rhonda let down immediately. In fact, she had to monitor herself and her output. Her moment came crashing back in worry as she held Caleb tentatively, looking for signs of choking or trouble breathing. The little soldier handled the heavy flow, though, and thank goodness her mothering body knew just how much he needed, limiting herself.
