Reaching Toward Freedom

I turned on my cell for the benefit of my kids and waited while it went through the usual powering up noises. In time I heard the usual cacophony of beeps and dings that told me I had mail, messages, and texts. There were texts and emails from friends who wanted to hear that I was alright. It hadn't occurred to me that they, too, were watching the weather and might be worried for me. Sitting alone in my little cabin, their messages touched my heart. Word was out that I was gone, and I had received a flood of support, but those who knew where I was headed had kept their promise, so everyone wanted to know where I was and where I was going. I decided to send out one group text and told them, "I'm well. I've had three good days of steady wind, spent the storm in a safe harbor, and I am making good progress." I thought for a moment and decided there was no point in keeping it a secret any longer, so I added, "I'm sailing for Maine and hope to be there in a few days. The boat is handling well, and I know now she was an excellent choice when I bought her. She can do everything I ask of her and more. It's a great change!" Then I added a smile emoji. I figured they'd get the joke.

I did have phone calls and text messages from the kids, and they seemed worried. I had kept them in the dark this entire time and not told them anything about their mother's new lifestyle, but they needed to know why I'd left. They're adults and Sheila made her bed, plus the divorce papers were prepared and had probably been served shortly after I left, so I sent them a short text telling them that I was fine, that I was sailing to Maine, and I promised to tell them more later. I ended by telling them that I love them and always would. I realized later that my cryptic message may have worried them more which was not my intent.

With that done, I turned to the calls and text messages from Sheila. I considered just deleting them, but information is power, and I figured I could endure hearing her crap one more time. I started with the phone messages. They began with insults and a tirade about how my not being home Sunday night had inconvenienced her. Typical. By Monday she was annoyed and by Tuesday she was pissed. So, it was business as usual. I guessed she was served on Wednesday because around noon that day she went off on me. What did she expect? After twenty-five years, she should have known I'd never put up with that shit! Her most recent calls had shown some small measure of concern, but who knew why or if it was sincere? I listened to them all, but I didn't respond. Then I turned to her text messages, and they followed the same progression from annoyed to pissed to very pissed and back to concerned. No surprises there. I thought of her with George and any concern I had for her dissipated. I decided that I would give her one clear and definitive response, so I texted her that we were done, I'd left her, she had the papers, she should sign them, and that was that.

Then I read the one short text from my lawyer telling me that the papers had been served. I'd guessed as much. The simplicity and directness of his message appealed to me at that moment.

I had just one more thing to do before I could turn off the cell. I had no idea whether I'd have cell coverage this day, so I sent a text to Craig saying, "Weather permitting, I plan to stop in New Bedford tonight and Plymouth tomorrow. After that, I could reach Boston or Gloucester and then Portsmouth. I'll be out of communication today but drop me a text and I'll pick it up when I reach the harbor tonight." Craig had been in on my plans from the start and I had promised to pick him up somewhere along the coast as I moved north.

The sun was coming up by the time I'd finished with breakfast and the phone messages, but I had time to savor a second cup of coffee, so I sat in my cockpit and watched the sun rise. It was a new day and for the first time I felt it really was the start of a new life. I was halfway there and no longer running away from the pain and what I felt was my failure; I was now running toward my new life.

The fishermen were already on the water by the time I was ready to pull anchor. The wind was steady from the west, and I set a course northeast toward Buzzards Bay. I was still undecided about how to get past Cape Cod. The idea of sailing further offshore and rounding the cape to the east was very appealing, but this was my first solo voyage in the open ocean. Besides, I'd made other commitments.

Once past New Shoreham I turned ten degrees to the east and set Voyager on a broad reach to port. The main, jib and genny were all drawing well, and I began to make the best time of the voyage. There was a gentle rolling sea coming from shore and Voyager was lifting and falling rhythmically as I was putting miles under the keel. I thought, "This is what it's all about! I have a good boat beneath me, a steady wind behind me, and a destination calling me. I need more of this and less of what I left behind."

I soon returned to the same position that had brought me this far. I sat on the cockpit floor contemplating my voyage, and I watched for ships. There wasn't much to see and that suited me just fine. If things went as planned, each leg from this point on would be shorter than those along the New Jersey and Long Island coast. From this point on there were safe harbors everywhere along my course and little to no need to make enough miles to find a safe place to spend the night.

As with the days before, my mind began to wander. I wonder why Sheila never could appreciate sailing? It was liberating and exciting, much like I assumed flying must be. The sails harness the invisible wind as the sea pounds against the hull as mile by mile it propels you forward. The boat demands your attention, but it gives you time to think as well.

Time to think. Why did she think she needed more than what we had? Our life together was always everything that I ever needed. Why was I not enough? What was so magical about this George and how could she imagine that I would sit by while she was going to bed with another man? That's when it hit me. With all that she had thrown at me, with the condescension and betrayal, I never found out who this man was? Was he someone she worked with? If so, I'd never met him. I don't even remember her mentioning him in conversation. Was he someone new in her life, or had she been keeping him a secret for longer than she admitted? She certainly lied to me about not having already slept with him. Was he someone who came to her office from time to time, or did he only need one short visit to turn my wife's head?

My anger flared for a moment, and I gazed off to the eastern horizon to clear my head. Someone was sailing close hauled on port headed south across the bay. I wonder where he was sailing from and what he was sailing to? Our courses would cross several miles apart, so I reached for my monocular to get a better look. Some people aren't familiar with monoculars, but it's just one half of a binocular. Truth is, they are easier to use on a rolling sea and I quickly focused on the other boat. There was a man about my age at the helm and a woman coming topside through the cabin hatch. She put two mugs on the cockpit sole, exited the cabin, and picked them up again carrying one to the man who appeared to be her husband. I wonder what that is like, to be sailing with your spouse and sharing the experience with your mate, your partner? They were briefly studying me, or probably Voyager, but were too far away to see me watching them. I suppose that they, like me, were just admiring a passing boat. I smiled and for a moment I let vanity overtake me. I knew that Voyager was a handsome boat and briefly considered flying the spinnaker, but I was quickly disabused of that notion. A spinnaker would be an encumbrance if the wind shifted quickly, or I needed to change course.

I waved, but I was too far away for them to notice. They seemed to be talking and I saw the man laugh. For the first time since I left Whitehall Bay I felt truly alone. Until now, I had been a solo voyager, but now I was something else. I was uprooted. I was separate and apart from everything and everyone except Voyager and for just a moment I wondered what it must be like to share a life with a woman who wanted only to be with me. I shook those thoughts from my mind and reminded myself to turn on my cell when I reached port so I could speak with my kids. I needed to hear their voices and explain my decision. I hoped for their support, but only time would tell how they would respond. Sheila was, after all, their mother. There would be at least a measure of loyalty to her. For the first time, I began to wonder what price I might pay for my new life?

I scanned the water ahead of me. There were a few more boats leaving their harbors to sail or fish, but this was a Thursday early in the season, so it would be far from crowded out here. Before long I would be in Buzzards Bay and by late morning there would be some additional company crossing my path.

The image of the man and his wife sailing south lingered in my brain. They looked happy and I could remember a time when Sheila and I seemed much the same. Before the kids were born, we were carefree, and it seemed as if every day was a honeymoon. When the kids were born, life was even better. When they were little, I helped Sheila after work, so she didn't need to do it all. The kids grew and we read them stories at bedtime. Then they started school, and we helped them with their homework. It was all the little things a family offers a parent and I loved all of it.

I never felt that I was growing old or that time was slipping away from me. At every age it seemed that I was the perfect age living the contented life. When did things start to change? I suppose when Sheila went back to work, she was more distracted. I didn't blame her at the time. She'd been a stay-at-home mom for seven years. She needed some freedom and a chance to be an adult again.

Freedom. What an odd word. I thought that the chance for her to go back to work and have adult conversations again was freedom. She thought that having sex with another man was freedom. Now I wonder if we ever agreed on the meaning of that word or the value of our life together.

I was making good time and I wondered when and where I would rendezvous with Craig. Hopefully, I would know tonight. The solo voyaging was exciting, but I had to admit that I was looking forward to some company now. Maybe with Craig aboard we'd be able to show off a little and fly the spinnaker.

There's another expression that used to mean something else - showing off. I kept pictures of Sheila and the kids on my desk at work and on top the cabinet behind my chair. Every few years I would add another as the kids grew. I had a beautiful family and that was showing off! I did pack those photographs when I put my things into storage although I entertained the idea of cutting Sheila out of them, but she was also a part of my past and there was no rewriting that. I wondered whether I'd like my new office and I wondered if the kids would cooperate with a photograph of just the three of us to sit on my new desk.

Jack had been great. He ran my company's office in Annapolis. When I went to him to tell him what was happening with Sheila, he took off his boss hat and put on his friend hat. He never once made me feel guilty about wanting to leave. Instead, he sat with me and helped me plan. When I told him I needed to leave town and start new, he was the one that told me about the opening in Portland. It was the same company doing the same work in a different town. For me, it was a lateral move.

"Bill, you know I don't want you to go. I want you to stay here, spit in her eye, and find the prettiest girl in town to take your arm, but you know I went through a divorce for much the same reason as you and to this day I wish I'd just left town and not looked back. I see that damn cheating bitch and her new husband everywhere I go. You never get used to it."

I just sat there nodding my head. He had lived it and I saw before me what that choice offered. I wasn't going to live that way.

"I know the guy who runs the Portland office. He's good and he's a standup guy. You'll like him. If you want, I'll arrange an interview."

I didn't need to think about it. "Make the call, Jack. Tell him I can fly up and interview anytime that's convenient to him."

An hour later Jack was in my office. "You have an interview Tuesday morning. Carol is getting your flights and hotel now. I suggest you stay over at least Tuesday night and look at some apartments. No point in trying to find a house right away. It's best to get the lay of the land first."

I flew up Monday night and back home Thursday. By the time I returned I had a new job, a new apartment, and a place to berth my boat. Things were looking up and for the first time since Sheila dropped the bomb, I felt like I was taking charge of my life. Thinking back, I'd told Sheila I needed to leave town for work, and she never questioned it. She never asked where I was going or how long I'd be there. I suppose that, as much as anything else, told me my marriage was dead.

Now I was following a parallel course north, although I was moving more slowly than that jet plane that took me to Portland a few weeks earlier. I checked the map and the satellite navigation and saw that I was approaching the shipping lanes out of Providence. I didn't really expect much shipping here, but there was enough to keep my mind off the past. I climbed off the floor of the cockpit, fetched myself a fresh glass of iced tea, and sat where I had an easy view in all directions. It was time to pay attention.

Better than Providence, there is Newport by the mouth of Narragansett Bay. Some people will argue with me, but I think of Newport and Annapolis as the sailing capitals of the East Coast. Okay, some will say that Annapolis is second place and if we're talking wealth then it's probably true. Newport was the traditional home of the America's Cup and like they say, money attracts money. However, I think that on a per capita basis, Annapolis has the greater number of dedicated sailors. There's a lot of one design sailing there and a lot of handicap racing, too. If you add to that all the professional watermen and amateur fishermen, and you have a lot of boats in a lot of marinas, and a lot of bars going full out late into the night.

I passed Newport well offshore and hoped that I might see a 12-meter yacht stretching its sails, but no such luck today. It was a Thursday and early in the season, so only the die-hard sailors were out. I guess that's what I was now. Well, why not? I had sailed a solo offshore voyage up from Annapolis and I was sailing on to Maine. That's when it hit me - I need to start a journal for Voyager. I'd document my offshore voyaging and record the miles and the wind and sea conditions. It would be the record of my new life. It sounded good to me, but I never did it. It was nothing more than a grandiose passing thought. I was always one to live in the moment and Voyager would be no different. Instead, I would content myself with watching the other sailors watch us as we sailed by and know that they envied Voyager's lines and the easy way she moved. That was more my style.

I was now well past Newport and making good time. The wind had veered to the northwest, and I had trimmed the sails for a beam reach. Voyager was really flying now! I entered Buzzards Bay and the seas lessened slightly. I was past the shipping lanes and there was time now to get a bite to eat. I had a strange craving for an egg salad sandwich, but all my eggs were raw. With no interest in boiling water as the ship rocked with the waves, I settled for a crunchy peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich. It worked so well that I had a second.

My appetite was returning, and I thought this was probably a good sign. Food hadn't appealed to me after Sheila had dictated her terms. Nothing much of anything appealed to me then. Now I was several hundred miles from home, and I was putting miles under the keel even now as I thought about it. I was well past the halfway mark and headed downhill.

As the afternoon wore on, I saw a few more boats come out, but there weren't many. I told myself that I was made of tougher stuff, and I laughed. I wasn't tough. I just didn't need to be at work. I decided that I'd thought about Sheila and the unbearable crap that I'd left behind me enough for this day, so I lay back on the cockpit bench and watched Voyager as she made her way up Buzzards Bay. She is a thing of beauty. The cutter rig allows me to tune the sails to the changing wind conditions, adding or striking sail, to keep the rig balanced and the helm neutral. A slight adjustment of a sheet, a few degrees on the autohelm, and Voyager would respond. This is what I'd been craving. When I did the right thing, I was rewarded. When I screwed up, she told me. We communicated, this boat and me. We had an agreement, a pact. I would take care of her, and she would not let me down.

I struck the sails outside New Bedford harbor and motored up the river. It was easy to find a berth close to town and restaurants this early in the season, and it was almost as easy to find a hot shower. I returned to the boat long enough to get my cell and read the text from Craig. He would meet me tomorrow night in Plymouth. There were messages from the kids that were full of questions and concerns. I would take my time and answer them tonight. Then once again feeling prepared for civilized company, I went in search of an Italian restaurant where I could get that pasta I'd been craving. I got a big plate of carbonara and a nice salad with a glass of chianti and walked back to Voyager a very contented man.

The sun was long down when I returned to the boat, but I felt like celebrating. I was over the hump, the boat was sailing well, and tomorrow night I would have company. After pouring myself a glass of bourbon I sat back to compose a message to my kids. There was a gentle breeze keeping the bugs at bay, so I sat in the cockpit with my back against the cabin side and gathered my thoughts as I watched the tourists strolling by. People watching had always been a favorite pastime of mine and I used to sit in the mall and watch the shoppers when I accompanied Sheila on her shopping trips. That was a distant memory! She really hadn't wanted me tagging along for some years now. It made me wonder when the cheating really started?

"Oh, screw it!" I thought, "And screw her, too!" I'd spent too many years worrying how she felt and what she needed. She wants a new beginning? Well this was mine! This was the beginning of my new life, and it would begin by sitting on my boat, sipping some bourbon, and gathering my thoughts. I know it doesn't sound like much, but that night it was enough.

The locals were heading off to home as I finished composing my message to the kids. I decided to keep it short and to the point.

"This is going to be hard for you to understand and I can't honestly say that I understand it myself. Your mother has decided to take a lover. His name is George. I've not met him, and I know nothing more about him, but I have no intention of sitting around while your mother spends her nights in his bed. So I've left your mother. It's no more complicated than that. I've tried to be a good husband. I admit that I'm not perfect, but then no one is. I have been faithful to her since the day we met and now I must stand up for myself and demand better than she is giving me. You know that I love you both. I am divorcing your mother, but I am not divorcing you. My commitment to you will never waver. I am moving to Maine, and I know that this will complicate your lives as your mother and I will no longer be living under the same roof or even in the same town. I do regret that this will have an impact on your lives, but I want you to know that in everyone's life there comes a time when they must do what is right for them. I hope your mother finds whatever it is she is searching for, but it will not be with me. Please think about what I've told you and get back to me when you are ready. I will always love you. I do still want and need you in my life. - Dad"