The Sea of Aaron by Kymberly Hunt Page B

permission.
    â€œWow! She’s gorgeous,” Valerie exclaimed, genuinely impressed as she stood on the pristine teak deck, looking at the polished railings. The ship was bigger than she’d imagined and blindingly white, with two broad navy stripes on her hull. “A genuine wooden schooner, too. I should have known you wouldn’t settle for fiberglass.”
    â€œAh, an African-American woman who knows something about boats,” Aaron said, watching her closely.
    Valerie didn’t take offense. “Not an awful lot,” she admitted. “But it just so happens that when I was around ten, my father allowed me to spend a summer with friends of his from Rhode Island. That whole family was into sailing, and I learned a thing or two…even how to handle a sailboat alone…a very small, basic one, that is.”
    â€œYou weren’t the typical little girl, then.”
    Valerie glanced at him, bemused. “What is the typical little girl?”
    â€œOne who plays with dolls, has tea parties, and would never sail a boat on her own, or go fishing if she had to touch a worm.”
    She laughed. “For your information, I did play with dolls and have tea parties. I was also a better pitcher and a better angler than my brother.”
    â€œJust as I thought. Come. I’ll show you below.”
    Like most sailing vessels, the living quarters below deck were tight to maximize every inch of space, but this ship definitely had more headroom than any she’d ever been aboard. The galley was neat, equipped with modern appliances; the salon area was wood paneled and a bit dark, albeit definitely masculine colors. The built-in seating had royal blue upholstery. She noticed that Aaron, at what she guessed to be around six feet, five inches tall, didn’t even have to duck when he moved around.
    â€œCustom designed?” she asked, looking at the shelving containing books, mostly navigational texts. There was also a desk with a computer, fax machine and printer.
    Aaron nodded in reply. “Sit. I’ll get some drinks. Does rum and coke suit you?”
    â€œThat’s fine,” she said.
    He vanished into the galley and she noticed a bunch of art canvases stashed in a corner, facing the wall. Funny, he hadn’t seemed all that interested in art when they were in town. Curious, she wandered over and peeked at one of the paintings. There was something familiar about the colorful island scene depicted—more familiar than just that it was Caye Caulker’s main street with its sandy road and pastel buildings. The painting was similar in style to the one she had wanted to purchase and had probably been done by the same artist.
    She selected another canvas, which looked peculiar because it was all in varying shades of aquamarine with a much deeper blue in the center of the painting, like an eye. The eye was in turn fringed by what appeared to be grainy rocks or reefs. She picked up the canvas and held it at arm’s length, trying to figure it out.
    Aaron returned so quietly she didn’t realize he was behind her. He set their drinks on the table. “ ‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ ” he said, gently but firmly taking the painting away from her and placing it back where it had been. “What’s your interpretation?”
    Though perturbed by the fact that he’d taken the painting away, she decided not to fixate on it.
    â€œWell, it kind of looked like the ocean with a giant hole in it,” she said.
    â€œCorrect. That’s exactly what it is. A few miles from here, there’s a place in the middle of the ocean called The Blue Hole. It’s a naturally formed sinkhole that’s also a great diving spot. You can only get this kind of view of it from an airplane.”
    â€œReally?” She noticed something else. On the lower shelves there were paintbrushes, other art equipment, and more empty canvases. It slowly dawned on her—and