Reaching Toward Freedom

Day 3: Tuesday

Rain and wind. The tropical depression had reached the New Jersey shore. The rain started in the middle of the night, and it woke me from my slumber. I had lowered the dodger when I secured the boat and I thought that I had closed enough of the cabin hatch to keep most of the rain out and allow some air in, but a boat at the dock is not free to spin with the wind like it is at anchor, so if the wind comes up behind you the rain beats in the cabin hatch. The rain was splashing on my face and woke me from my slumber. I buttoned up the hatch, closed and locked the forward hatch, checked the dock lines, and settled back to sleep.

Morning came and still it rained. It was going to be one of those days. I'd made good progress, so I could afford to take it easy. Then again, what choice did I have? I sure as hell wasn't going offshore in a baby hurricane! The dock lines were holding, and Voyager wasn't struggling, so I settled down to sleep a little longer. I needed it. When I was finally up, I decided to fix my first hot breakfast of the voyage. I started by boiling some water to make coffee. Drinking it, I began to feel human again. Then I fried some bacon in the pan, diced a small jalapeno and added it to the pan to cook, scrambled some eggs in the bacon grease, added it all to two flour tortillas with a good handful of shredded cheddar, and spooned on some salsa verde that I'd brought for exactly that purpose. I turned them both into a tight roll, cut each in half, and sat back to enjoy the sound of the rain with a filling breakfast. I felt truly content for the first time in weeks.

I bought Voyager to sail, not to sleep. The cockpit was spacious to allow for better sail handling by a standard crew while the cabin was small and cramped. With the relatively minor changes I'd made, it was perfect for one man sailing away from his pain. With my meal consumed and a second cup of coffee I began to think about the day ahead. In time, I would get my foul weather gear and take a tour around the deck. Everything was as it should be. The sail cover was protecting the main, the jenny was furled, the jib was below deck in the forward bunk, and all the halyards were tied off. All was proper, so I returned to the cabin, stripped off my rain gear, and settled in for a quiet rainy day.

This wasn't exactly the day I was hoping for. I knew that as I sailed north, I'd have plenty of time to think about Sheila and her betrayal, but I knew that the needs of the boat would provide enough distraction to break up my thoughts. Today there would be no distraction unless I worked to create it. So I looked around the cabin and found the box of books that I'd packed for the trip. It contained only about a dozen books. Some were my favorites, and a few were new. I had packed the books not just for the voyage, but for my new beginnings as well. I didn't know how soon I would get back to retrieve the rest of my possessions and I wanted something familiar with me to start my new life.

Almost instinctively, I picked up Steinbeck's Cannery Row. It had been one of my favorites for most of my life, but now it held a special significance as if to mirror my own life. Doc was a man of intelligence who appreciated the people around him but lived in a state of self-imposed isolation. I turned to the back of the story and began to read the scene at the end of the book where Mack and the boys throw Doc a party. Doc had friends who cared about him and soon the party takes on a life of its own. It gets rowdy and the police arrive, until they soon join in the party, and it grows while Doc finds himself on the edge watching his friends enjoying themselves. It somehow seemed an apt metaphor for my own life. There has always been a part of me that is a loner who finds himself surprised by the interest and support of good friends. I knew that in time there would be new friends with unexpected challenges and some old friends as well. This wasn't an end, but a new beginning and a transition of sorts. I needed to pass through this period of isolation so I would be cleansed of the old pain and ready for the new relationships ahead of me.

As I read the book, my mind drifted back to the weeks leading up to my departure. Sheila and I were living even less like roommates and more like ships that passed in the night. We each went to work, although to be honest I never knew whether she was working or seeing her new infatuation. She would get home late without explanation, and I asked for none. We fixed our own meals without concern for the other. She made overtures tinged with condescension to try to get me back into her bed, but the thought of it disgusted me. I gave her twenty-five years of dedication and affection, but she became bored and needed something new. To hell with her!

Meanwhile, I was talking with the upper management at work. I wanted a move, and I was fairly picky about where I wanted to go. As luck would have it, there was an opening in Maine and that suited me just fine. The company appreciated me, and they were flexible about when I would start. Then Sheila gave me the most convenient opportunity I could have hoped for. It was a Tuesday night about two weeks after she dropped the bomb. She came home late as usual and announced, "Since you have no interest in me, I'll be gone this weekend. My friend is taking me to New York for a show. I'll be leaving Friday after work, and I should get home sometime Sunday."

"You mean George, or is this a new friend?" I was being snarky and had no desire to apologize for it.

She just glared at me and walked back to her bedroom slamming the door as she went. In the adolescent tit-for-tat that had become our life, I scored that as a victory for me. She was going off to get fucked in New York, but she was getting it here anyway, so what did I care? Plus, this would make it easier for me to leave.

Friday morning came and I watched her walk to her car with a small suitcase. She wasn't planning to come back after work, so I began to prepare. I went through my closet packing most of my clothes in boxes that I lined with large plastic trash bags to keep everything dry. Winter clothes were packed for storage and the summer clothes were packed for transport. I packed my books and electronics for storage except those few books I would take with me. Then I packed my tools. There were a few things I wanted from the marriage like photographs of the kids that would go into storage. I left all the furniture except for my office desk and chair and a large comfortable leather sofa that Sheila hated. All told, it wasn't much to show for the life I'd lived, but I was never one to accumulate material things.

The last items I packed were my guitars. I had an acoustic steel-string guitar and a cheap classical. I like the classical because the nylon strings feel comfortable under my fingers, and I could work the strings to shape the notes as I played. The steel string was a lovely machine, but the classical was downright organic in my hands. When I held it, it felt like a part of me. I also had one of those indestructible plastic travel guitars that I usually kept on the boat this time of year. It was always a relaxing way to pass an evening as I savored the day and watched the sun go down.

I had already rented two single-bay storage units in town and rented a small truck to move my possessions into storage. Saturday morning a few good friends came by to help me load the truck and we had everything in storage before lunch. I wouldn't learn until much later that my friends had picked up a few things that they thought I would someday want and added them to my storage unit. I used the second storage bay for my car. From that point on, I'd get an Uber or ask a friend. A man needs good friends, and I never needed the Uber. I took my friends to lunch, and we discussed my plans. I had everyone sworn to secrecy and as we talked, I was amazed by the disgust they expressed for Sheila. It turned out that my best friends never liked my wife, but they had the good grace to never tell me until that day. Later that night as I prepared for the longest solo voyage of my life, I pondered the true value and grace of good friends.

"So, Bill, what are the plans now?" That was Craig asking. I'd known him the longest and at that moment the idea of not seeing him again filled me with more pain and disappointment than leaving Sheila. I had asked Craig to hold my guitars for me not wanting to put them into an unconditioned garage with summer coming on, and he had eagerly agreed. I knew they would be safe with him, and I knew just as well that I would see him again.

"I've got a few things back at the house - some clothes and a few books that I'll be taking with me. I figure I'll buy my provisions tonight and get settled on the boat. Tomorrow morning I'll leave and start my trip."

"You're still headed north? We can't convince you to stay?" That was Pete. I realize now that they were taking turns in the conversation, either deliberately or not, so I would know that they all cared.

I shook my head. "Too much pain and too many memories. I've already arranged a transfer at work, and I found an apartment online. That will solve my immediate problems once I get there. Then once things settle down up there, I'll fly back and get my car and boxes. I'll probably need to rent a small truck and pull the car on a trailer, but that's fine."

"Have you... uh... what are you going to do about Sheila?" Jack had a look that can only be described as disgust.

"I saw a lawyer the week she dropped the bomb on me. The kids are grown, and she has a job. It will cost me, but that's the way of things."

"You seem to be taking it surprisingly well."

"Actually, I'm getting out of town before I kill the bitch!" That earned me a laugh and I had to smile myself. I wasn't exactly kidding, but it was true that I wanted a new beginning and an end to the pain.

"So that just leaves one big question." Pete leaned across the table, pushed his glasses up on his nose, and gave me a hard look. It was difficult not to laugh before he finished. Pete is a lovely man and the furthest thing from "hard" that I've ever known. "What do you want us to do to George and how do we dispose of the body?"

I don't think there was another serious word spoken for the rest of the afternoon.

Sitting in Voyager's cabin with an unread book in my hand, the sudden rocking of the boat woke me from my thoughts. The rain was light, so I stuck my head out of the hatch. It was just a lobster boat passing close by and the wake had broken the stillness of the morning. He was probably getting fuel for tomorrow. I doubt he was heading out of the harbor on this day. I pulled the hatch cover closed and resumed my meditation.

After lunch on Saturday, I said goodbye to the bulk of my friends with a promise to send them my contact information once I was settled. Craig drove me to get the last of my things at the house. Then he accompanied me to the food store and dropped me at the marina. After loading my provisions I invited him to have a drink with me. Yes, I forgot to say that I cleared out the liquor cabinet when I packed and then I put the cabinet into storage with the rest of my possessions. It turned out the liquor cabinet that I built myself years before held better memories for me than the marital bed where our children were conceived. I spent hours, off and on, wondering about that and similar things. It's funny how it took Sheila just two weeks to change how I viewed everything in my universe.

Craig and I sat in the cockpit of Voyager, sipping our bourbon and talking about the surprises and curves that life throws us. "You don't deserve this, Bill. I hope you know that. This isn't something that you did. You were betrayed and had an unacceptable demand dropped on you. There is nothing else you could have done."

I was nodding and I knew in my heart that Craig was right. I wasn't made for life as a cuckold. "You know, next to the Chesapeake I think Maine is the most interesting place I could settle. It's wooded with farmland and the cities are small. The sailing is good and there are lots of islands to explore with harbors up and down the coast. I think I'm going to like it up there."

Craig gave me a serious look and said, "Don't forget that if you run aground up there it won't be a sand bar that you hit. There's rock everywhere you go, and it will tear the keel right off your boat if you aren't careful!"

The thought had occurred to me. Still, I couldn't let him leave on such a serious note. "There's really just one question that worries me."

"What's that?"

"Can you put Old Bay on a lobster?" It was a stupid joke, but we were both Maryland boys born and raised, and we knew that challenges could come from the least expected places. Maybe more to the point, I was looking for any reason to laugh if only for a moment. These were the last few hours of my life in Maryland, and I knew that nothing would be the same again.

"You can put Old Bay on anything!" Craig said. With that we clinked our glasses in a toast and sat in relative silence as we finished the last of our drinks.

When the sun was going down Craig stood and said, "You know, I've got to get home. Are you going to be okay?"

I thought for a moment and nodded. "I have a lot to work through, but now that I'm committed to a path, I feel like I'm finally going to be okay." I looked at my friend and asked, "Are we still on for Boston?"

"Damn right we are!" He gave me a hug and stepped off the boat. As he started down the pier, he stopped and turned. "You know, none of us are going to tell her where you are. Not your friends, not our wives, nobody. You tell her or don't tell her, but she won't learn it from us."

I nodded my appreciation. I had already decided that I wasn't going to hide. I was just leaving her.

He looked back several times as he walked to his car. As I stood there watching him leave, I knew I was leaving behind good friends, but I knew, too, that they would remain a part of my life for years to come. I briefly wondered whether Sheila could say the same.

Once alone, I finished stowing my gear. I found dry places for the few books and boxes of clothes that I'd brought. Food is in some ways both more and less complicated. Ice keeps a few days at sea if you don't open the ice box, but only a very few days. Steaks last no longer than the ice and fresh vegetables are about the same. I knew the first few days would be long and I may not have time to cook a real meal, so I bought canned meats and vegetables. They're not fancy, but they feed the machine. Dried spices will keep for a time, but the humidity at sea is high. The best way to inject flavor into a meal is with items like canned chili peppers, basil and tomato pesto, and jars of red and green salsa. Eggs keep if they don't break. Pasta sounds good, but water is slow to boil, and pasta requires too much water. Bread and crackers will keep in sealed plastic bags.

After Craig left and my supplies were stowed, I turned in for an early sleep. I'd already informed the marina of my departure and there was nothing more to do that night. I would be up and leaving early the next morning, so I'd take my sleep while I could. Laying in my bunk, I tried to asleep, but sleep was slow in coming. My mind was a jumble of anger and pain with trepidation over the life I had ahead of me. I was consumed by conflicting doubts and resolve but in the end, I knew that this was the only course forward. The sound of the water on the hull was soothing until sleep finally claimed me.

Turning away from my thoughts, I looked around my cramped cabin and felt strangely at home. I had food, clothes, something to occupy my mind, and a warm, dry place to sleep. It didn't seem like much, but it was all that I needed that day. I decided to set my book aside and hit the bunk to catch a few minutes of sleep. I was still exhausted from my first two days and all the preparation before I left.

I woke about two in the afternoon and fixed myself a plate of cheese and crackers. With a glass of hot tea and a little honey, it was the perfect late lunch. A quick look about showed that Voyager was doing fine, so I settled down with my guitar and snack and played my way into evening. I had spent enough time that day thinking about the past. With it growing dark, I had a bowl of cereal for dinner and turned in early. Tomorrow would be a long day.

Day 4: Wednesday

I had another long sail ahead of me and the North Jersey shore is notorious for having too few safe harbors. I headed out before dawn with the dodger rigged and my harness on, going down that last stretch of the Manasquan, and I was out in the Atlantic as the sun rose above the horizon. The wind was moderate, but it was enough, and there was a swell left over from the storm the day before. The wind would strengthen as the day progressed, so I spread sail and headed northeast. This was the most dangerous passage of the voyage. I would be crossing major shipping lanes into and out of New York City and I needed to watch for big boat traffic.

All was clear, but I didn't want to spend too much time below cooking breakfast, so I made myself a bowl of cereal and settled onto the cockpit sole to eat and watch for traffic. Day or night, around the clock, the big boats were passing through this part of the coast. The Coast Guard rules say that a boat under sail has the right of away over a boat under power. What a lot of sailors never learn is that this rule applies only to recreational power boats. Sailboats do not have the right of way over commercial traffic, and experience teaches that a sailboat that claims the right of away over a commercial tanker or cargo ship goes to the bottom and the skipper is seldom seen again. I felt like Gulliver in the land of the giants. I spent the day trimming sail and navigating my course between the big ships with little time to think of anything else until I rounded the northern end of Long Island. It was well after dark when I found an anchorage close to shore and I set the alarm on my GPS in case I dragged the anchor. I was beat. I'd already had two bowls of cereal and endless glasses of iced tea, and I was too tired to fix dinner. I settled for a granola bar and a glass of milk, and I went to sleep.

Day 5: Thursday

I woke before the sun. My dreams that night had not been pleasant. I was once again reliving the days before I left, the days and nights after Sheila dropped the bomb on me. I looked across the surface of the water and thought, "To hell with her!" I have miles to make today, so I dressed and started some water boiling for coffee. This was going to be a good day. I was hoping for a strong breeze that would have me making good time, and I would soon be out of the shipping channels. There would still be some big ships, especially until I had crossed Block Island Sound, but I was hoping for an uncomplicated day, or at least as uncomplicated as travel under sail can be.

The cabin was cold that morning compared to the night before and the coffee felt good. It warmed my hands before it warmed my core, and I fixed a bowl of cereal for breakfast. It seems I was eating a lot of cold cereal on this trip, much more than I usually have, but it was convenient, and it filled my stomach.

I'd been gone four days already, five if you count loading the truck, and my cell had been off the entire time. When you're offshore, there is little to no cell reception, but I'd not even thought of turning it on in the harbor at night. The last thing I wanted to deal with was Sheila yapping at me. This morning my thoughts turned from Sheila to my kids, and I wondered if they knew I was gone. I hadn't told them I was leaving. Instead, I planned to contact them once I reached Portland, but if Sheila got to them and knew the boat was gone, she might have them worrying needlessly. Then again, that remark of hers about my "little snit" was still burning in my gut and I'd had all of that I ever intended to swallow.