"Fine," Arthur gasped, clutching a handrail. "What was the name again?"
"I told you, Artie," Miller shouted over the groan of the hull. "You want to cross the Gulf in a boat this narrow, you don't just hope for flat water. You prepare for the roll."
Arthur pulled out his phone, the screen slick with mist. He typed three words that felt like a ransom payment for his sanity: . buy wesmar stabilizers
"Wesmar," Miller grunted, easing the throttle. "Triple-fins. Digital helm control. It’s the difference between a gimbaled life and living in a washing machine."
The salt spray was beginning to taste like missed opportunities. Arthur stood on the bridge of the Salty Dog , a 52-foot trawler that currently had the grace of a drunken toddler in a bounce house. Beside him, Captain Miller gripped the wheel, his knuckles white as the foam crashing over the bow. "Fine," Arthur gasped, clutching a handrail
Miller let out a rare, jagged laugh. "Smartest thing you’ve done all trip. By the time we head back, you'll be able to set a glass of wine on the dashboard and not lose a drop."
Arthur checked his watch. He had a meeting in Cabo in forty-eight hours, and at this rate, he’d arrive either three days late or at the bottom of the Pacific. Every time the Dog tipped past fifteen degrees, Arthur felt his stomach attempt a solo mission out of his throat. You prepare for the roll
Arthur looked out at the churning gray horizon. He wasn't thinking about the wine. He was just thinking about a world that stayed level.