"You'll get used to it," he said, pointing
his pipe at Peter's rigid knees. "Just gotta go with the flow."
When they reached the ocean, Byron began yelling orders to Peter,
who followed them with colt-like shakiness. Within minutes the
mainsail and jib were swollen fully in the eastern wind.
Byron shut off the engine, and Peter observed the silence, the
power of the wind as it pushed the sleek vessel along quickly and
quietly, as if by magic.
"Here," Byron said, stepping back from the wheel. "Hold it where
my hands are."
Peter placed his hands over Byron's, ready. When Byron let go,
Peter's body gave a slight jerk. "Just keep her steady," Byron
said, returning his hands. He held them there until Peter
adjusted to the boat's pull.
Byron disappeared inside the cabin for a moment, then returned
with two cans of beer. He popped the lids and handed one to
Peter. "Top of the morning to ya," he said, tipping his can to
Peter.
The two men shared a couple of minutes of silence between them as
they sailed some distance. Peter was the first to speak up. "I've
got an idea," he said simply.
"Me too," Byron said. His gaze was focused behind Peter, at the
distant shoreline. He took a sip from his beer and gave Peter a
nod. "You first," he said.
"Okay. I was thinking about what you said the other night.
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