Overboard

"I sure don't want to go out by myself, Connie. I don't think I could handle that."

"You don't need to. I'm always available to crew with you. I know my way around it pretty well."

"Yes ... you do, don't you. So ... maybe I should take her out. She's probably lonely sitting there without moving for the last three months."

"There you go, talking like it's a living being. That's more like the Tom I know," she smiled softly.

"I'll give her a once over tomorrow and we can go out Sunday if you like?"

"Why don't we do that now? There's enough light left, and if everything's okay we can make a weekend out of it. All we'd need is an overnight bag."

Tom looked at Connie carefully. They had gone from a simple comment to her suggestion that they spend the weekend together on the boat. How did things get pushed along that far he wondered?

"Can I trust you to be a good girl," he grinned.

"Absolutely not!" she replied quickly with a big smile. "Vern was right, I do have a thing for my brother-in-law. I have had since I was fourteen. I won't try and kid you about that."

"I guess I always knew that, but I wasn't about to take advantage of you ... and then ... then I was married and every other woman was off limits."

"You took those vows very seriously, didn't you?" she asked with a wrinkled brow. There was no humour in her voice.

"Yes ... of course. That's why they're called vows. I would never dream of breaking them."

Connie sat back in her chair, looking at her cup, not at Tom.

"Why don't we go check out the boat?" Tom said, breaking the silence.

"Yes. Let's go."

They were on their way to the locked gate on the dock entrance in a minute. Tom slipped his card into the slot and pushed the steel mesh door open for Connie to precede him. She brushed up against him as she passed, but didn't look back or pretend it was an accident. He watched her walk down the gangway and onto the floating dock, heading directly toward the berthing slot for the Lynchpin Lady.

Constance Fairly was single, had never married. She claimed she had never found the right man, but Veronica often remarked that she wasn't looking very hard. She was a graduate of the Interior Design class in her local community college. She had first worked for a well-known developer to get experience before setting out on her own at the very young age of twenty-seven. Surprisingly, she had been successful almost from the very beginning, and now, six years later, was well established and apparently very well off.

Veronica, her sister, had been slim and tall, perfectly proportioned but not voluptuous. Her attractiveness came from the way she presented herself. She was always conscious of her appearance, careful not to be excessively made-up or overly dressed. She was a certified accountant, but had ceased work when the boys were born, satisfied with being a stay-at-home mother at the time. When the boys were thirteen, she returned to the workforce and her old job at Samples and Reed.

She seemed happy in her job and told Tom so a number of times. She didn't seem to socialize with anyone there, however. That wasn't so surprising. Veronica wasn't an outgoing personality by nature. Their friends were people they had known for some time and Tom was careful to introduce any new people to her before suggesting they form any greater friendship.

Connie was her sister's opposite in many ways. Not as tall, but more full-bodied. Voluptuous, Tom thought more than once. She was a very attractive woman with a sparkling personality. There were times when Tom wished Veronica could be as lively as her sister. On the other hand, he was perfectly content in his marriage and put any thoughts of dissatisfaction behind him as they matured. Now, at age forty, he was beginning to think he was too young to give up on life. If he was to look for another partner, he would be very selective.

Tom Lynch was, by any account, a handsome man. An even six-foot tall, dark brown hair, and medium build. He exercised regularly and it showed. His face was highlighted by dark brown eyes, a natural smile, and a year-around tan from sailing. More than a few women were envious of Tom Lynch's wife. He was smart, successful, and personable.

It took only a few minutes for Tom to determine that everything was in good order on the boat. The fresh water tanks were empty thanks to the maintenance crews that were hired to help maintain the boats in the club's marina. Diesel fuel was past three-quarters full, the batteries were charged, and the radar, GPS systems, and radio were all functional. He left instructions for the maintenance manager to look after the water. A quick stop in the morning for some food and drink would complete the preparations.

As he lay in bed that night, he thought of Connie. He wondered what others would think if he started dating the sister of his late wife. It was too soon, of course. It wasn't incest, but it had a certain odd feel about it that he couldn't put his finger on. Perhaps he was still thinking of her as the skinny, teenager with braces and an awkward way about her. She certainly had got past that stage with flying colours. The fact that they were going out on the Lady for the weekend didn't bother him for a moment. Connie had often joined the family on weekend trips. She and Veronica made very suitable crew and worked well as a team.

When he got home that evening, he left a note for Vern and Tony that he was taking the Lady out for the weekend and they were invited to come along. He threw a few items into an overnight bag in preparation for the weekend. Strangely, although he'd been reluctant to be anywhere near the boat, he was looking forward to getting out on it once again. He went to bed that night with a jumble of thoughts on his mind, keeping him from sleep for a while.

Chapter 3 A Weekend Away

He woke with a start the next morning. He gradually became aware that someone was ringing the doorbell. He raised his head and saw that it was barely seven o'clock. Who the hell was at his door at this time on a Saturday morning? He struggled out of bed, pulling on a pair of jeans over his briefs while moving barefoot down the stairs to the front door.

He opened the door to find Connie standing there, fully dressed for sailing, and showing a bright smile.

"What the hell are you doing here at this ungodly hour?" he croaked.

"Come on, Tom. The sun's up and time's a wastin'," she chirped.

"Well ... come in then. I need to get dressed and cleaned up. Make some coffee, please."

"Sure. Don't forget to pack an overnight bag."

"Already done," he growled.

Connie moved quickly about the kitchen as Tom retreated to the bedroom, then the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, he was showered and shaved, dressed for the day, and carrying his bag to the front door. Neither of the boys had stirred and he supposed they had come in very late.

"Did you see this?" Connie asked, holding up Tom's note to the boys.

"No ... what's it say?"

"It says, Have a good time and behave, T & V," she smirked. "Looks like it's just you and me for the next two days."

He nodded with a faint smile, lifting his first coffee of the day.

"Gotta stop at the store for some groceries," he grumbled.

"Nope. Looked after it last night on the way home," she said, obviously proud of her foresight.

"Good," Tom nodded grudgingly. "When's the high tide?"

"Just about now, so we should have an easy exit."

A low tide in an overcrowded marina like Fisherman's Cove always presented a difficult entry and exit for a larger craft like the Lady. Luckily, Tom's father had secured a berth large enough and near the channel for the 46 foot motorsailer when he first purchased it years ago. There was more than a ten year wait for that size space today.

Connie drove them to the Yacht Club in her SUV, chatting happily along the way. Tom sipped on a second coffee, trying to clear the cobwebs from his abrupt waking. The groceries and supplies were neatly packed, with perishables in a cooler and dry goods in a well-used tote. They loaded them and their overnight bags on a cart and proceeded to their berth in the cool morning sunshine.

Connie skilfully slipped the lines as Tom gingerly manoeuvred out of their tight slot with the bow thruster, then into the channel. The powerful diesel rumbled beneath their feet, turning the big bronze propeller slowly as they eased out toward the open waters of Georgia Strait.

There was little wind, but since they had no particular destination in mind, Tom maintained the motor as he looked for some signs of wind out in the straight.

"Where would you like to go?" he asked as they stood together in the cockpit.

"Somewhere sunny and warm and private," she said, looking at him with a satisfied gaze.

Tom looked at her and grinned, her motives transparent to him. In the twenty years he had known Connie, he was aware of her attraction to him. At first it was embarrassing. A fourteen-year-old with a crush on a twenty-one year-old. When he married Veronica and Connie had matured into a very attractive young lady, he was almost at the point where he wanted to avoid being alone with her. Veronica had laughed when he mentioned it to her. Either she didn't see it, or chose to ignore it.

Now, everything was different. They were both single, and it had started again. Only a week after he had returned from that fateful weekend, she began stopping in to make sure he was all right. She would fuss over the boys, even though they were capable of handling most of their own needs. She did the washing, made dinners for them, hired a housekeeper to keep the place tidy, even making sure the boys cut the grass and washed the cars. This, after having spent all week at her own business.

To be truthful, Tom didn't mind at all. Connie was her usual upbeat self, and that was a big factor considering what had happened. Tom saved his reminiscences to private times, usually at night. It was lonely being by himself in their bed. He was almost upset when the sheets were changed after he got home and he could no longer smell Veronica's scent on them.

They had seldom been apart. Tom travelled to the occasional trade show, but usually took Veronica with him. Chicago and Düsseldorf were the two main plastics and equipment exhibitions, and he regularly attended, taking Brian and his wife Virginia along with them. If they were in the market for new equipment, he might also include his production manager as well. If he could get away, Tony would accompany him to the Chicago show this November.

His mind drifted back to the conversation with the detectives. He was still having a hard time believing Veronica would have an affair with one of her senior managers. She had done a remarkable job of hiding it. Unfortunately for her, it wasn't flawless. Others knew, and others talked. He was left with the conclusion that the affair was real and he had to accept it as fact.

"A penny," Connie said, moving to his side.

It snapped Tom back to the present. "Oh ... sorry ... nothing. Just reminiscing," he lied.

"Tom ... it's time to stop grieving. Your sons have, even my parents have come to terms with their loss. I know it must hurt, but you've got many years to live, and they could be happy years if you want them to be."

He nodded. "I suppose you're right, Connie. Is that what this weekend is all about?" he asked with a slight frown.

"Yes. That's exactly what it's all about. You are a young, virile, healthy man in the prime of your life. What's happened to you is a horrible accident that you aren't responsible for. It happens to families everywhere all the time. I know it's hard, but each day will get a bit better. You know you can count on me to help in any way I can," she concluded in a soft but serious voice.

"Yes ... I can, can't I. You've been a rock, Connie. I'm sorry if I haven't said so, but your being around had been very helpful ... very ... comforting. Thank you."

She smiled her acknowledgement, putting one arm around his back and giving him a friendly hug.

"Have you decided where we're bound?" she asked after a silence.

"I thought we'd go south to Saturna, maybe anchor in Winter Cove overnight."

"Oh great," she said enthusiastically. "I love that place."

"Then it's settled," he said. "Why don't you take the helm for a bit, and I'll get some coffee and biscuits."

"I bought some Danish for us."

"Danish it is, then," he agreed as he headed for the companionway.

A quick look around told him the wind was finally picking up from the northwest as expected, and they could raise sail when they'd had their coffee.

Tom's father had purchased the 46 foot Hunter from a somewhat desperate business colleague when his divorce made it an expensive millstone around his neck. He then set about refurbishing and refinishing it to full modern electronic and comfort standards. There were many weekends when his father and mother, Tom and Veronica, and the two boys spent on the water in the Lynchpin Lady.

All the sail controls were in the cockpit, and it had a full canvas enclosure for rough weather. The boat proved itself the night Veronica was lost when, despite heavy seas, Tom was able to control the boat and stay on course as he searched for her. Now, more than three months later, he was reminding himself of that night once again. What could he have done differently that would have saved his wife? And if he had, what of her affair? Confusion, on top of doubt, on top of regret.

He returned to the cockpit with a tray with two cups, a thermos jug of the freshly made coffee, some creamer and sweetener, along with two of the Danish pastries that Connie had provided. They drank and ate in companionable silence as they looked about the vista before them. They were headed west out into Georgia Strait before they would turn south toward the Gulf Islands. Typical of the summer months, ferry and other traffic was frequent and they would have to be constantly conscious of it.

When they'd finished the coffee and snack, the two of them began to raise sail, beginning with the Genoa, and then the mainsail. They were a practiced team, having gone through the routine many times before. Powered winches made light work of raising and setting the large foresail and mainsail. The 14 foot beam would limit the cruising speed to about eight knots, but it wasn't built to be a racer, but a cruiser with all the comforts. It was perfect for their needs.

The wind hadn't picked up to the predicted 15-20 knots yet, but they were making way comfortably with just a light chop to break up the otherwise smooth surface. Sunglasses and sunscreen were mandatory as they sailed into the dazzling reflection off the water.

They took turns at the helm, Connie being just as confident as Tom thanks to her many hours on the water over the past years. Veronica had always invited her along whenever she was available, and Tom was always happy to have her aboard. She never failed to pitch in and help with the duties both on deck and in the galley.

It was late in the afternoon when they reached Winter Cove on Saturna Island. It was a familiar location and they noticed right away that their favourite spot to anchor was available to them. After lowering sail and motoring into the large cove, Tom watched the depth sounder for the area he wanted to anchor, knowing he would have plenty of water under them even at low tide. Shelter from a westerly was provided by the land and trees, but the wind would likely drop at sunset.

Tom handled the anchor while Connie followed his instructions to make the set. It was an excellent bottom for a large boat like the Lady. When he was satisfied that they were properly hooked, he signalled Connie to kill the engine. The silence that followed always amazed them. No cars or trucks, no trains and few planes. The jet-ski crowd had retired for the supper hour, so the peace they longed for was there for them.

"What did you decide on for our meal, Connie?"

"Nothing fancy. Pork and beans on a paper plate," she said with a straight face.

"You liar," he laughed. "Okay ... come on ... what did you get?"

"A variety of cold cuts, cheese, coleslaw, fresh baked rolls, and two nice big lemon tarts," she admitted.

"Sounds like health food to me," he grumbled. "Anyway, I trust you not let us starve, so I'll leave you to it. Any particular wine you'd like?"

"You still have that nice Spanish red ... what was it ... Castillo something?"

"Yup. I'll open it now. I've got a bottle of Beaujolais with a couple of glasses left in it. Want to start on that?"

"Sure. I'll put the dinner together while you set up the table," she volunteered.

They would eat at the back of the cockpit, enjoying the last of the sun and its warmth in the quiet cove. The table was stowed in the locker along the stern, and only took a minute to set up. He dropped into the galley to retrieve the open bottle of French red from the cooler, then extracted the cork on the Spanish red to let it breathe. He poured the last two glasses of Beaujolais and handed one to Connie. They touched glassed silently in salute.

Connie had understated her food selection. The variety of meats and cheeses were a perfect complement to the wine. They couldn't possibly eat everything, and there would be plenty left over for a lunch-on-the-go tomorrow.

"I'm really glad you decided to do this, Tom."

"Go sailing?"

"Yes ... that ... and invite me along."

"As I recall ... this was all your idea," he said with a wrinkled brow.

"Would you have gone if I hadn't suggested I come too?"

He stared at her for a moment before dropping his eyes to his plate.

"No ... I guess not."

"Any regrets so far?"

He looked up and smiled.

"No ... none."

Connie shrugged and went back to eating her lemon tart. Tom was just picking at his. He'd eaten more than he usually did and didn't have any appetite left. They were well along on their first glass of the Spanish wine. There hadn't been much conversation, but it wasn't awkward or uncomfortable. They had known each other too long to need to keep the other interested in what they had to say. On the other hand, they were seldom afraid to say what was on their minds.

"Tom ... do you know what the five stages of grieving are?"

He looked at her, again with a wrinkled brow. Where was this going?

"Yeah ... well ... I've heard of them. I don't remember them off hand."

"Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance," she said unemotionally.

"Okay ... yeah ... I remember now. Why do you ask?"

"Isn't that obvious? Where are you right now? Which step are you at?"

"I haven't given it any thought. No point in denying that Veronica is gone. That's real enough. I was angry with myself for letting it happen. I blamed myself and thought a thousand times about what I could have done differently. I don't know about bargaining. But depression was certainly there. I think I'm getting through that, but it seems like a long road. Every time I see or hear something that reminds me of her ... well ... the hurt is still there."

"So ... you're almost through, then? Almost at acceptance?" she quizzed.

"It isn't that simple, Connie. There are other things ... things that I know ... that I found out about ... us ... things that change everything."

Connie had a look of confusion at first, then it morphed into surprise.

"She cheated on you, didn't she," she said angrily.

He looked at his sister-in-law. How could she have come to that conclusion so quickly ... so easily? He shook his head, not in denial but in surprise at her statement.

"She did ... didn't she," Connie reiterated.

He nodded, but said nothing.

"That selfish, stupid, egotistical bitch!" she spat. "How did you find out?"