As they approached the inlet, Garrett Blake turned the wheel. The sailboat responded and moved farther from the banks, toward the deep waters of the Intracoastal. Garrett looked from side to side, watching for other boats as he steadied the wheel. Despite the shifting wind, he seemed to be in absolute control of the boat, and Theresa could tell that he knew exactly what he was doing.
Terns circled directly overhead as the sailboat cut through the water, gliding on updrafts. The sails rumbled loudly as they moved with the wind. Water rushed along the side of the boat. Everything seemed to be in motion as they moved under the graying North Carolina sky.
theresa crossed her arms and reached for the sweatshirt she had brought along. She slipped it on, glad that she had brought it. Already the air seemed a lot cooler than it had when they’d left. The sun was dropping faster than she expected, and the fading light reflected off the sails, casting shadows across most of the deck.
Directly behind the boat, the rushing water hissed and swirled, and she stepped closer to take a better look. Watching the churning water was hypnotic. Keeping her balance, she put her hand on the railing and felt something that had yet to be sanded. Looking carefully, she noticed an inscription carved into the railing. Built in 1934—Restored in 1991 .
Waves from a larger boat passing in the distance made them bob, and Theresa made her way back toward Garrett. He was turning the wheel again, more sharply this time, and she caught a quick smile as he motioned toward the open sea. She watched him until the boat was safely clear of the inlet.
For the first time in what seemed like forever, she had done something completely spontaneous, something she couldn’t have imagined doing less than a week ago. And now that it was done, she wasn’t sure what to expect. What if Garrett turned out to be nothing like she had imagined? Granted, she would go home to Boston with her answer . . . but for now she hoped she wouldn’t have to leave right away. Too much had happened already—
Once there was enough distance between Happenstance and the other boats, Garrett asked Theresa to hold the wheel. “Just keep it steady,” he said. Again he adjusted the sails, seemingly in less time than it had taken before. Taking over, he made sure the boat was headed up-weather, then tied a small loop in the jib line and looped it around the capstan in the wheel, leaving about an inch of slack.
“Okay, that should do it,” he said, tapping the wheel, making sure it would stay in position. “We can take a seat if you want.”
“You don’t have to hold it?”
“That’s what the loop is for. Sometimes—when the wind is really shifty—you have to hold the wheel the whole time. But we got lucky with the weather tonight. We could sail in this direction for hours.”
With the sun descending slowly in the evening sky behind them, Garrett led the way back to where Theresa had been sitting earlier. After making sure there wasn’t anything behind her that might snag her clothes, they sat in the corner—she on the side, he against the back—angled so that they could face each other. Feeling the wind in her face, Theresa pulled her hair back, looking out over the water.
Garrett watched her as she did it. She was shorter than he was—about five feet seven, he guessed—with a lovely face and a figure that reminded him of models he had seen in magazines. But even though she was attractive, there was something else about her that caught his eye. She was intelligent, he could sense that right away, and confident, too, as if she were able to move through life on her own terms. To him, these were the things that really mattered. Without them, beauty was nothing.
In a way, when he looked at her, he was reminded of Catherine. Especially her expression. She looked as though she were daydreaming as she watched the water, and he felt his thoughts wandering back to the last time they had sailed together. Again he felt guilty, though he did his best to push aside the feelings. he shook his head and absently adjusted his watchband, first loosening it, then tightening it back in its original position.
“It’s really beautiful out here,” she finally said as she turned toward him. “Thanks for inviting me along.”
He was glad when she broke the silence.
“You’re welcome. It’s nice to have some company once in a while.”
She smiled at his answer, wondering if he meant it. “Do you usually sail alone?”
He leaned back as he spoke, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Usually. It’s a good way to unwind after work. No matter how stressful the day is, once I get out here, the wind seems to blow it all away.”
“Is diving that hard?”
“No, it’s not the diving. That’s the fun part. It’s more or less everything else. The paperwork, dealing with people who cancel their lessons at the last minute, making sure the shop has the right amount of everything. It can make for a long day.”
“I’m sure. But you like it, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do. I wouldn’t trade what I do for anything.” He paused and adjusted the watch on his wrist. “So, Theresa, what do you do?” It was one of the few safe questions he’d thought up during the course of the day.
“I’m a columnist for the Boston Times .”
“Here on vacation?”
She paused only slightly before answering. “You could say that.”
He nodded, expecting the answer. “What do you write about?”
She smiled. “I write about parenting.”
she saw the surprised look in his eyes, the same look she saw whenever she dated someone new. You may as well get this over with right away , she thought to herself. “I have a son,” she went on. “He’s twelve.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Twelve?”
“You look shocked.”
“I am. You don’t look old enough to have a twelve-year-old.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said with a smirk, not rising to the bait. She wasn’t quite ready to betray her age. “But, yes, he is twelve. Would you like to see a picture?”
“Sure,” he said.
She found her wallet, took out the photo, and handed it to him. Garrett stared at it for a moment, then glanced at her.
“He has your coloring,” he said, handing the picture back. “He’s a good-looking boy.”
“Thank you.” As she was putting the picture away, she asked, “How about you? Do you have any children?”
“No.” He shook his head. “No kids. At least none that I know of.”
She chuckled at his answer, and he went on: “What’s your son’s name?”
“Kevin.”
“Is he here in town with you?”
“No, he’s with his father in California. We divorced a few years ago.”
Garrett nodded without judgment, then looked over his shoulder at another sailboat passing in the distance. Theresa watched it for a moment as well, and in the silence, she noticed how peaceful it was on the ocean compared to the Intracoastal. The only sounds now came from the sail as the wind rippled through it and the water as Happenstance cut its way through the waves. She thought their voices sounded different from the way they had on the docks. Out here they sounded almost free, as if the open air would carry them forever.
“Would you like to see the rest of the boat?” Garrett asked.
She nodded. “I’d love to.”
Garrett rose and checked the sails again before leading the way inside, Theresa one step behind him. When he opened the door he paused, suddenly overcome by the fragment of a memory, long buried but shaken loose, perhaps by the newness of this woman’s presence.
Catherine sat at the small table with a bottle of wine already open. In front of her, a vase with a single flower caught the light of a small burning candle. The flame swayed with the boat’s motion, casting long shadows across the interior of the hull. In the semidarkness, he could just make out the ghost of a smile.
“I thought this would be a nice surprise,” she said. “We haven’t eaten by candlelight in a while.”
Garrett looked to the small stove. Two foil-wrapped plates sat beside it.
“When did you get all this on the boat?”
“While you were at work.”
theresa moved around him silently, leaving him to the privacy of his thoughts. If she had noticed his hesitation, she gave no sign, and for that, Garrett was grateful.
On Theresa’s left, a seat ran along one side of the boat—wide and long enough for someone to sleep comfortably; directly opposite the seat on the other side was a small table with room enough for two people to sit. Near the door were a sink and stove burner with a small refrigerator underneath, and straight ahead was a door that led to the sleeping cabin.
He stood off to one side with his hands on his h*ps as she explored the interior, looking at everything. He didn’t hover over her shoulder as some men would have but instead gave her space. Still, she could feel his eyes watching her, though he wasn’t obvious about it. After a moment she said, “From the outside, you wouldn’t think it’s as large as it is.”
“I know.” Garrett cleared his throat awkwardly. “Surprising, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is. It looks like it has everything you need, though.”
“It does. If I wanted, I could sail her to Europe, not that I’d recommend it. But it’s great for me.”
He stepped around her and went to the refrigerator, bending over to pull a can of Coca-Cola from the refrigerator. “Are you up for something to drink yet?”
“Sure,” she said. She ran her hands along the walls, feeling the texture of the wood.
“What would you like? I’ve got SevenUp or Coke.”
“SevenUp’s fine,” she answered.
He stood and handed her the can. Their fingers touched briefly as she took it.
“I don’t have any ice on board, but it’s cold.”
“I’ll try to rough it,” she said, and he smiled.
She opened it and took a swallow before setting it on the table.
As he opened his own can of soda, he looked at her, thinking about what she’d said earlier. She had a twelve-year-old son . . . and as a columnist, that meant she probably went to college. If she’d waited until after then to get married and have a child . . . that would make her about four or five years older than he was. She didn’t look that much older—that much was certain—but she didn’t act like most of the twenty-somethings he knew in town. There was a maturity to her actions, something that came only to those who had experienced their share of highs and lows in life.
Not that it mattered.
She turned her attention to a framed photograph that hung on the wall. In it, Garrett Blake was standing on a pier with a marlin he’d caught, looking much younger than he was now. In the photo he was smiling broadly, and his buoyant expression reminded her of Kevin whenever he scored a goal in soccer.
Into the sudden lull she said, “I see you like to fish.” She pointed toward the picture. He stepped toward her, and once he was close, she felt the warmth radiating from him. He smelled like salt and wind.
“Yeah, I do,” he said quietly. “My father was a shrimper, and I pretty much grew up on the water.”
“How long ago was this taken?”
“That one’s about ten years old—it was taken right before I went back to college for my senior year. There was a fishing contest, and my dad and I decided to spend a couple of nights out in the Gulf Stream and we caught that marlin about sixty miles off shore. It took almost seven hours to bring him in because my dad wanted me to learn how to do it the old-fashioned way.”
“What does that mean?”
He laughed under his breath. “Basically it means that my hands were cut to pieces by the time I was finished, and I could barely move my shoulders the next day. The line we had hooked it on wasn’t really strong enough for a fish that size, so we had to let the marlin run until it stopped, then slowly reel it in, then let it run again all day long until the thing was too exhausted to fight anymore.”
“Kind of like Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea .”
“Kind of, except that I didn’t feel like an old man until the next day. My father, on the other hand, could have played the part in the movie.”
She looked at the picture again. “Is that your father standing next to you?”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“He looks like you,” she said.
Garrett smiled a little, wondering whether or not it was a compliment. He motioned to the table, and Theresa sat down opposite him. Once she was comfortable, she asked:
“You said you went to college?”
He met her eyes. “Yeah, I went to UNC and majored in marine biology. Nothing else interested me much, and since my dad told me I couldn’t come home without a degree, I thought I’d learn something that I might be able to use later.”
“So you bought the shop. . . .”
He shook his head. “No, at least not right away. After graduating, I worked for the Duke Maritime Institute as a dive specialist, but there wasn’t much money in that. So, I got a teaching certificate and started taking in students on the weekends. The shop came a few years later.” He cocked an eyebrow. “How about you?”
Theresa took another drink of the SevenUp before she answered.
“My life isn’t quite as exciting as yours. I grew up in Omaha, Nebraska, and went to school at Brown. After graduation, I bounced around in a couple of different places and tried a few different things, eventually settling down in Boston. I’ve been with the Times for nine years now, but only the last few as a columnist. Before that, I was a reporter.”
“How do you like being a columnist?”
She thought about it for a moment, as if she were considering it for the first time.
“It’s a good job,” she finally said. “A lot better now than when I started. I can pick Kevin up after school, and I have the freedom to write whatever I want, as long as it’s in line with my column. It pays fairly well, too, so I can’t complain about that, but . . .”