The Point

By Jt Kalnay

Master Chief Ginetti has recently passed away. He willed his boat, the Undine, and its logs, to his son, Charles Ginetti. Charles is a Silicon Valley icon, who started a GPS company and built it from the ground up. The Chief's will specifies that Charles should go out on the Undine and read the logs.

Sierra Marney is a fourth generation lighthouse keeper. Her family has been tending the Pigeon Point lighthouse since 1872. Sierra is intimately familiar with the legions of wrecks, and the terrible loss of life that has happened at The Point.

Charles decides to sail the Undine from Santa Cruz to San Francisco to see his daughter. But Charles' ambition is greater than his nautical skill. When he wrecks at the lighthouse, perhaps only Sierra will be able to save him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jt Kalnay
• Release date: Aug 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476061108

Jt Kalnay

JT Kalnay is an attorney and an author. He has been an athlete, a soldier, a professor, a programmer, an Ironman, and mountain climber. JT now divides his time between being an attorney, being an author, and helping his wife chase after seven nieces and nephews. JT was born and raised in Belleville, Ontario, Canada. Growing up literally steps from the Bay of Quinte, water, ice, fishing, swimming, boating, and drowning were very early influences and appear frequently in his work. Educated at the Royal Military College, the University of Ottawa, the University of Dayton,and Case Western Reserve University, JT has spent countless hours studying a wide range of subjects including math, English, computer science, and law. Many of his stories are set on college campuses. JT is a rock climbing guide and can often be found atop crags in West Virginia, Kentucky, California, Texas, New Mexico, Mexico, and Italy. Rock climbing appears frequently in his writing. JT has witnessed firsthand many traumatic events including the World Trade Center Bombing, the Long Island Railroad Shooting, a bear attack, a plane crash, and numerous fatalities, in the mountains and elsewhere. Disasters, loss, and confronting personal fear are common themes in his writing.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I’m going to take my dad’s boat from Santa Cruz up to San Francisco to see Eve, Charles Ginetti said.

You’re going to do what? his older and wiser friend John Reynolds said.

Charles stood up from behind his small glass desk, made sure he had his smart phone, wallet, keys, and map, and took the few steps across his office to stand beside the Vice President of his high-tech company.

I’m going to drive over the mountain to Santa Cruz, get on my dad’s boat, sail it up the coast to San Francisco, go under the Golden Gate into the Bay, and then see Eve, Charles said. He spoke slowly, carefully listing the itinerary the way he did when he felt John was being intentionally obtuse.

Charles, we’ve been together a long time right? John said.

Yes, Charles said. At least thirty years.

And in all that time, all those years that you built this company, all the things you’ve been through, personal, professional, business, have I ever steered you wrong? John said.

Not intentionally, Charles said.

John frowned and looked over his glasses at Charles, the way he responded to Charles’ quibbling when he knew John was right.

Charles relented under the gaze.

No John, you never have. You’re one of the only people on the face of the planet that I trust implicitly. So what’s on your mind?

There are at least three things wrong with your plan, John said. He knew that short lists appealed to his engineer friend. First, you’ve never been on any boat, let alone your dad’s boat. So it’s not very realistic to think you can magically develop skills sufficient to go sailing out on the Pacific and up a coastline where there are fogs and currents and whales and tankers and container ships. Even if you somehow miraculously make it to the Golden Gate, even the most experienced boaters have troubles going through the narrows, John said. The tides up there are some of the trickiest and most powerful in the world.

You forgot mermaids, Charles said.

Mermaids?

Yeah. You listed fog, current, whales, and other stuff, but you forgot mermaids.

Charles, I’m serious, John said.

Charles nodded his head. I have a GPS, I can’t get lost. And when I said ‘sail’, I meant take his sailboat. I don’t intend on putting up a sail because, as you so subtly pointed out, I don’t know how. I do know how to turn on an engine and check a gas tank. I’m just going to head out a half a mile or so, and then follow along the coastline. How hard can it be? With the GPS, and with a fairly good idea of what the Golden Gate Bridge looks like, I ought to be able to find San Francisco.

Second, John continued. You’re in no state to be doing anything related to your dad. In the past ten years you two didn’t get together very much. He was always trying to get you to go out on his boat with him. You kept saying no. He probably asked five times this last year alone. So for what it’s worth, heading out on his boat the day after his funeral is bad karma.

John winced at the word funeral. His gaze drifted over to the picture on the wall, a picture of him and his father on a rare warm sunny day at Candlestick Park in San Francisco. He looked back to John.

Bad karma? Charles said. Maybe you’re right. But I’ve been thinking a lot since he passed away. Thinking about all those times he asked me to go out with him. It’s all he ever asked from me. I don’t know why I kept saying no. If somebody asks me something ten times, I usually give in. At first it was because I was too busy building up the company, or too busy with my ex, or too busy the way sons are always too busy to do something with their fathers. Then it became a habit. Those are all excuses, I know. So I don’t know why he left me his log books. Why would someone who never went sailing want fifty years of log books about sailing? I can’t figure it out. You heard what he wrote in his will. That he wanted me to go on his boat and read the logs. Not just go on his boat and read the logs, but go ‘out on the Undine’ and read the logs. After saying no all those times, it’s the least I can do, Charles said.

John patted his younger friend’s shoulder, nodded his head, and then softened his voice.

Third. And this one’s going to hurt, John said.

Charles motioned for him to go on.

You don’t actually know where Eve is, John said. Therefore it’s going to be practically impossible to see her.

Charles said nothing, pursed his lips to stop from saying anything. John noted the pause, saw the little flash behind Charles’ eyes.

Or do you? Did you hear something? Do you know where she is?

No, and no. But I have an idea of my own. It was something my ex said at the funeral.

John’s eyes narrowed at the very thought of Charles’ ex.

She had a lot of nerve coming to the funeral, John said.

Yes she did. Someone as status conscious as she is has to know how inappropriate it was for her to show up, Charles said. She got half of everything, and for what? For tricking me into thinking she loved me? I have no idea why she came. She didn’t care anything about my dad. She hated everything he stood for. I was shocked to see her. But then again, I wasn’t. Actually, nothing she does shocks me anymore. She is completely without a soul. I should have listened to you all those years ago when you told me she was just after my money.

Now it was John’s turn to say nothing. They hadn’t talked about Charles’ ex in a long time. It was one of the only subjects that was off limits between these lifelong friends. The turmoil of their marriage and the carnage from the divorce had nearly broken Charles, and the company he had founded and built from the ground up.

She knows where Eve is, Charles said.

Of course she does. She’s her mother and she got sole custody.

She never should have, Charles said. He said it by rote, the same way he had a hundred times.

You know that, and I know that, everyone except the judge knows that, John said.

It was an accident, Charles said.

Yes it was.

Charles and John both paused while they thought back to Eve’s accident.

My ex was so cruel back then, Charles said.

She’s as cruel to you now as she ever was, John said.

It’s my fault, Charles said.

No it’s not. No one deserves what she did to you, what she does to you. I think she planned it all along. I think she plans everything. You’re a good man. I’ve known you nearly your entire life, from when you were a completely naïve kid with a brilliant idea all the way until now when you’re a somewhat less naïve CEO who spends as much time volunteering as he does running his business. You did nothing to deserve your ex or what she did. You did nothing to bring this on yourself. She’s a bad woman and she tricked you. This last thing with Eve is just too much, John said. I’m going to make some calls.

No. Don’t. Maybe that’s what she wants. To stir me up, to find some new way to hurt me, Charles said.

He paused, looked out the windows from his office. From this perch, far above San Jose, from the executive suite of the company he’d founded and built, he could see for miles up and down Silicon Valley. To the west he saw the green hills that grew into the low coastal mountains that separated the valley from the Pacific. To the east he saw the brown hills that grew into the higher mountains that separated the valley from everything to the east. His eyes travelled north, to the other end of the valley, to where San Francisco was hidden in the perpetual fog.

Anyway. I think I know where she has Eve. It’ll be easy to check out once I get to San Francisco.

You’re not going to stalk your ex are you? John said.

No.

John stared down his friend, knowing how transparent he was when he tried to lie. He decided that Charles was telling the truth.

Can I at least call down to Santa Cruz and hire you a guide for the boat? Someone who knows what he’s doing, and who knows the coast? John said.

It wouldn’t be quite the same would it? Charles said.

No. It’d be a thousand percent safer, John said. And you might actually get to San Francisco. The shareholders would appreciate that.

I’ll be fine John, Charles said. If at any point I think I can’t handle it, I’ll just turn around and go back to Santa Cruz, or put in at the first harbor I see. You know I’m a careful guy. And the shareholders would love another Charles Ginetti epic story anyway.

Okay. Why don’t you take one of our new units, one with an integrated satellite phone? If something comes up that you can’t handle, just chuck the anchor overboard, call the Coast Guard, and hang on. You’re the son of the recently passed Coast Guard Master Chief Ginetti. The Coasties will take good care of you.

Sounds like a plan, Charles said.

And check in when you get to San Francisco okay?

Okay Mom, Charles said.

And Charles, John said.

He put his hand back on his friend’s shoulder. His voice softened, and he looked directly into his tired eyes.

I know you didn’t have a lot of time for your dad these last years, but I know you loved him, and I know he loved you. I know he respected what you’d done with the company, and with the technology. I know he respected what you’d done for the area too. He was very proud of you. I’m sad to see him go, and I’m sad for you too.

Charles nodded his head, took John’s hand and shook it.

John looked his oldest and dearest friend straight in the eyes.

I don’t know why he wanted you to go out there either. So I hope you find something out there. Something in those logs, John said. He gave them to you for a reason.

Thanks, Charles said.

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Chapter 2

Sierra Marney stood alone in the light room atop the Pigeon Point lighthouse, keeping solitary watch, like she had so many times over these dozens of years. The Pacific stretched away as far as the horizon up and down the coast, but dissolved from view entirely in a fog bank just a few hundred yards off shore. She knew the currents had forced unusually cold water to the surface just off the point, where the water was already frigid year round. The resulting thickness and persistence of the fog was odd, even for this most isolated spot on the northern California Coast.

The chirping of the growler phone broke her near reverie. If she didn’t have a hundred things to do, no time to do them, and almost no help, Sierra would have stayed in the light room all day to watch the whales feeding on the krill so close to the surface, or to watch the ocean, or just because.

The growler phone chirped again.

Yes Abilio? she said.

The barometer, she still go down? Abilio asked from the small shack at the base of the cliff.

Yes. This could be very bad, Sierra answered.

Can you come down and help me with the shutters? Abilio asked. The wind is too much already.

I’ll be down in a minute, Sierra said, adding yet another task to the endless list she kept in her mind. No matter how hard she tried, she could never keep up with everything that had to be done. And with the storm that was gathering out to sea, there was more than ever to do.

Sierra took one last look out over the ocean, saw yet another blue whale feeding just yards from the point, and then reluctantly stepped over to her teak desk. In her small, neat hand, as she had done thousands of times, she carefully noted the time, temperature, barometric pressure, wind strength, and wind direction. She respectfully closed the leather bound journal and slid it into a desk drawer, where it came to rest beside an old photograph in a silver frame. She slowly removed the photograph from the drawer, traced her finger around the silver frame, and then put it back beside the journal.

I miss you, she said to the man, woman, and child in the photo. You have no idea how much I miss you.

Is it still going down? Abilio asked.

Yes, Sierra answered. It’s almost as low as I’ve ever seen it. And it shows no signs of stopping.

Abilio and Sierra both looked out to sea, then looked north and south up and down the coast, trying to see something other than the impenetrable wall of fog to the west. The wind blew a few tendrils of long blonde hair that had escaped Sierra’s pony tail.

The waves are getting bigger, Abilio said. He tugged his cap down tighter over his ears.

Yeah they’ve been building for a couple of days now. They’re still regular, but they’re getting huge. I wouldn’t want to be out there. Not even on an aircraft carrier or a super tanker.

Abilio looked at Sierra, then back at the ocean. Me neither, he said. He looked back to Sierra. We could head into town, wait it out there.

You know I won’t do that, Sierra said.

No one is going to be out in this. And no one’s going to come for a visit in a storm, Abilio said.

Still, Sierra said. It’s my duty.

It’s your choice, Abilio said.

Sierra paused, considered his words. It was the same exchange they’d had so many times. He always called it a choice, and she always called it a duty.

You could go. Just this once, Abilio said. Teresa and I could handle things here.

I couldn’t. And I don’t want to either. This is my home, and my post. I’m meant to be here. My responsibilities are here. There’s going to be a storm. We both know it. If anyone does happen by they’re going to need us more than ever. We can’t let them down, Sierra said.

Do you think anyone even notices us out here? Abilio asked. Now that they have navigation gadgets and gizmos?

Yes I do. Especially people who need us, who depend on us being here.

You like being needed don’t you? Abilio said.

Sierra turned her gaze away from the waves, whose sound had risen a few decibels in just the past couple minutes while she’d helped Abilio close, latch, and bar all the shutters on the two small buildings at the base of the lighthouse.

That’s an odd question, Sierra said. She pushed one of the loose strands of hair back behind her ear, then posted her hands on her hips.

Not really. Not for people who’ve known each other as long as we have, Abilio said. It’s more odd that we don’t ask each other questions like that more often. After all the years we’ve spent out here.

Sierra searched his face, his eyes. She saw his earnest, genuine expression and thought about how long Abilio and Teresa had been here with her.

I suppose you’re right, Sierra said.

About which thing?

About both actually. We have known each other a very long time. As long as I can remember you and Teresa have been part of this place, just like me. And yet apart from the facts that you love Teresa, that you are a faithful, dependable, and diligent assistant, that you love this place as much as I do, and that you inherited and refined every bit of Portuguese nautical lore there is, I really don’t know that much about you.

So tell me then, Abilio said. You like being needed don’t you?

I suppose I do. It runs in my blood. My family have been the keepers of this lighthouse for three generations. We’re good at it. It’s who we are. I get some satisfaction from knowing that we help keep people safe.

You better get busy if you want there to be a fourth generation, Abilio said.

Sierra narrowed her eyes, breathed in severely, then let it out slow. Abilio saw the warning signs.

You must get lonely, Abilio said.

I don’t know, Sierra said. I’ve spent my whole life here. Sometimes it seems like two lifetimes. But I don’t know that I’ve ever been lonely. I don’t know anything else. I might not work anywhere else. I might not fit anywhere else. I probably wouldn’t get along with anyone from the other side. Sierra gestured towards the coastal range that separated the Northern California coast from San Francisco, San Jose, and the rest of Silicon Valley.

You do okay when the tourists come. Or the scientists, Abilio said. They all like you.

That’s different. That’s playing a part. It’s only for an hour, or for a tour, or for a few days while the scientists count or measure something. It’s finite, their time here is finite. I’m just a cameo in their movie.

There’s usually someone who gets interested in you, Abilio said.

No there’s not. Well maybe sometimes. But they don’t even know me. It’s just the place, how remote it is, how different it is. But haven’t you noticed that they always go back to where they came from? They all go back, don’t they?

Si. But someone might hang around, or come back, if you gave them just the least little bit of encouragement, Abilio said.

I couldn’t lead someone on like that, Sierra said. I couldn’t try to trap someone into living here. Because you know I’d never live anywhere else.

Smiling at someone and saying ‘please visit again’ isn’t ‘trapping’ someone, Abilio said.

Sierra shook her head slowly.

Aren’t you even open to the possibility that someone could be interested in you? Abilio asked.

Perhaps. But not really. Not the real me. They see the ocean and the wind and fog and how stark and romantic it all is. They see the whales or the seals, and the circle of life laid out before them. For a few minutes or days they’re somewhere else and feel like someone else. They don’t know how to handle it. So they transfer all those feelings onto the first person they can associate with the place. That’s me. That’s all it is. They always go back.

I don’t know Miss Sierra, Abilio said. You are a very smart and very beautiful woman. I think it’s more than just the place. I think it’s more than just you being the lady in the lighthouse.

Sierra returned her eyes to Abilio. She reached out for his hand. Holding his hand she tilted her head slightly to the side and looked into his dark brown Portuguese eyes.

Thank you, she said.

Abilio’s voice caught in his throat. Teresa’s warm touch came to mind and in that moment Sierra released his hand, and then released his gaze.

Come on. We’ve got to get everything ready for the storm, Sierra said.

Si Miss Sierra, Abilio said.

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Chapter 3

Charles took another deep breath at the top of the cliff at the Pacific end of 41st street in Santa Cruz. Bright sunshine bathed him, and created little spectrums in the thin and patchy mist hanging just above the Pacific. Down below, surfers rode the Point Pleasant break to where it flattened out on a knee deep sandy bottom. The surfers would jump off, stand up, and then push seaward to paddle back out in an endless repetition.

To his left, a hundred boats swayed gently back and forth in the sheltered harbor. They were mostly white boats, some stained, some dark wood. The sound of a hundred metal and rope lines clinking against a hundred masts reached across the bay to where he stood. A sea gull called out above him, and then another answered from farther away, speaking a language of birds and wind and water that only they understood. Charles watched as fishermen rinsed the transoms on their boats, and rinsed their rods and reels, in the perpetual ritualistic cleaning of their boats and gear.

Charles smiled at three tanned young girls who decided to dry off five feet to his right. They smelled of sun and lotion and carefree youth. They were wearing short shorts with bikini tops. All three shared the golden northern California tan.

Charles thought back to when he’d met his ex-wife at the pool at his country club. She was so young then. He was younger, but no longer young. He pictured her in her bikini top, and the diaphanous wrap that covered her long, tanned legs. He replayed the scene again and again, how beautiful she was, how he could barely speak. He remembered then that she must have had it planned all along. As he had a million times, he tried to figure out how she’d been able to trick him so easily. And as he had also done a million times, and as he had done so often lately, he realized he’d just been lonely and inexperienced, that he had been prey for her kind of predator.