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.