Now it told her that Mark had tired of her, that he’d sneaked out because he hadn’t wanted to hurt her feelings or because he was scared to tell her that he didn’t really care that much about her, after all.
She hated that she couldn’t stop the wheels in her mind from turning, but the more she tried, the louder her insecurities became. She told herself she just needed to get busy. Maybe she’d clean her condo, put her hands to work, and then when Mark resurfaced, she’d figure out what was going on.
Still, a nagging doubt lingered.
Where was he?
* * *
MARK RANG GARRETT’S doorbell several times in a row. He’d gotten his friend’s text message that morning. Come over. Urgent.
Usually, Mark never heard from Garrett, Dave’s brother. He hadn’t even talked to him since before Dave had broken the news he was bailing on helping him restore the Timothy.
When Mark had asked Garrett what it was about, he’d simply responded, The race.
Garrett, a bachelor, opened the door to Mark.
“Good. It’s you. Come in.” Garrett was a younger, leaner version of his brother, Dave, with sandy blond hair and clear blue eyes. Garrett was five years younger than Dave and almost as good a sailor. He held open his front door and gestured for Mark to come in.
“I was surprised to hear from you,” Mark admitted as he walked across the threshold into a small condo overlooking the ocean. “I assumed you were in Dave’s camp and wanted nothing to do with me.”
“Look, first off, man, I want to tell you that Dave bailing, that was his idea, not mine.”
Garrett’s condo was decorated with surfboards hanging on the wall—boards that Garrett sometimes used—as well as brightly colored upholstered furniture and a big round leather ottoman in the middle of his living room. But it was a signature bachelor’s pad. The condo was a mess, with empty pizza boxes lying on the kitchen counter and dirty clothes on the floor.
“I heard about Katie, so I get it.” Mark stepped over a pair of dirty board shorts to get closer to the kitchen. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”
“Okay, so...just that I’m not bailing. I’m not with Dave on this. I want to sail for you.”
“What?” Mark couldn’t hide his surprise. “But why not with Dave and Edward?”
“Because I know they’ve treated you badly. And I don’t think it’s right. We promised to sail with you first.” Garrett narrowed his eyes. “Anyway, the point is, we promised you. We should stay with you. That’s what I told Dave.”
“But won’t he need you? To race for Tanner?”
“Edward’s got other friends.”
Edward had plenty of sailing buddies. Dave might be the best, and Garrett the second best on the island, but there’d be plenty of others Edward could call on. Tanner Boating had a loyal sailor following, even if that following didn’t extend to Mark these days.
“You’d really do that for me?”
“Yeah, and I’ve got a third and fourth, but we still need a fifth. But might be hard to find one, this close to race time,” Garrett said.
“I have a fifth. But she’s a novice. Are you up for helping her learn?”
Garrett shrugged. “I’m game if you are.”
* * *
WHEN MARK GOT back to the condos with Garrett in tow, he found Laura furiously vacuuming her condo. She cut the switch and glanced up, seemingly surprised to see them.
“Who’s your friend?” Laura asked, a bit cool.
“Our third sailor, and he’s going to bring two more soon,” Mark announced proudly. Laura stood there, apparently still unsure. He got the feeling he’d done something wrong, but he didn’t know what it was. “Garrett, this is Laura. Laura, Garrett. You still up for sailing?”
Laura hesitated a beat, which wasn’t lost on Mark. Yesterday, she was so excited about sailing she could barely contain herself, and today she was a little lukewarm. “Uh. Sure. Yeah.” Laura gave Garrett a weak smile. “You’re Dave’s brother.”
“Yes, that’s right. But don’t hold me to anything that jerk does.” Garrett shook Laura’s hand as she laughed a little. Mark could see whatever tension was in the room loosen a bit. “I dragged this guy outta bed this morning to tell him I’d join your crew, if he’ll let me.”
Laura suddenly looked happy. “Oh! So that’s where you went!”
“Sorry. Uh, yeah, I went to Garrett’s.” Mark fidgeted. He guessed he should’ve left a note. Now he realized why she was miffed. He’d up and left her in an empty condo. Nice move, Casanova. But she was focused on Garrett.
“Did Mark warn you I know nothing about sailing?” she asked.
“He might have mentioned that.”
“Think you guys can teach me?”
“It depends,” Garrett said. “How badly do you want it?”
* * *
AFTER SIX WEEKS on the boat, every day, day in and day out, Laura was beginning to think that maybe she’d signed up for too much. Her arms ached, her hands felt raw and her back muscles screamed for mercy. Maybe she’d been too quick to assume she could do this, even as Garrett and Mark tried to patiently teach her the ropes—literally. Garrett’s sailing friends, Tim and Gretchen, also helped, rounding out their crew of five.
Still, she hadn’t fallen overboard or let a line go this time, and she was slowly but surely starting to feel more comfortable on board. At least she’d learned all the jargon and could follow orders, which was more than her first day. And her base tan had settled in, so no more burns and no more peeling, even though she still religiously slathered on sunscreen.
She’d overstayed her initial trip, but instead of extending her condo rental, Mark had asked her to stay with him. It had been a delicious six weeks, passing in a blur, and she’d had the time of her life. They spent every day, shoulder to shoulder, on the open water.
Laura hadn’t even cared about cashing in another small 401(k). She’d worry about getting a job, about going back to reality, after the race. She both looked forward to the race, for Mark’s sake, but also dreaded it because it would mean facing up to the problems she’d been avoiding.
She’d have to make a decision soon—in the next week or so—when she planned to leave. Staying would mean taking more money out of savings. She hadn’t planned on draining all her retirement savings, but maybe she’d have to. Yet, the idea of going back to San Francisco made her feel weak-kneed. She wasn’t ready.
And then there was another nagging little problem.
She was late. Laura tried not to think about it too hard. After all, her period was never regular, not for as long as she could remember. She’d skip them all the time with no consequences. She hadn’t even known she was pregnant until week seven, only because a missed period was never cause for alarm.
This time, it was most likely just another skipped period, or maybe her body had not quite gotten back to normal after the miscarriage. Laura couldn’t even wrap her mind around the possibility that she might be pregnant. After that ill-advised first night, she and Mark had been religiously using condoms, and while she knew it was technically possible to get pregnant from one time, she felt her body, her defective body, certainly couldn’t do that.
She ignored the tenderness in her breasts, the dragging feelings of fatigue she felt every night. It’s just all the sailing, all the physical work, she told herself. Just like she told herself that her appetite, which never seemed to be satisfied, was just the sailing. That’s all it was.
Laura didn’t let her mind go there. She couldn’t. Not yet.
She thought of this as she hung on to the bow of the boat. Her empty stomach rumbled. She’d just eaten a granola bar but couldn’t seem to stay full. She sat at the stern of the boat.
“You are really getting good at this,” Mark commented, bringing her to the present. She almost jumped.
“I know so,” Garrett yelled from the bow.
Tim and Gretchen stayed silent, but she knew they also agreed. They’d been more than encouraging these last weeks.
Laura laughed. Maybe she could really help. Maybe they could win the race in four days.
Suddenly, she felt a surge of nausea that seemed to come out of nowhere. What the—She didn’t get seasick. But she was feeling a little woozy. The boat kicked up under a sudden wave.
“Whoa,” she said, feeling dizzy as she clung to the boat. Mark reached out and clutched her elbow.
“You okay?” Mark asked, concerned.
“I...I think so.” She smiled weakly, but she felt like hurling off the back of the boat. Just don’t throw up, she told herself. “I’m just feeling a little nauseous.”
“Seasickness?” he asked, looking sympathetic. “Happens to the best of us.”
“Uh...yeah.” Laura was beginning to think it wasn’t seasickness. All the clues added up. Could she be pregnant? God, she couldn’t be. Could she?
The thought sent another white-hot wave of nausea through her. Hold it together, she told herself. She glanced at the horizon and saw dark clouds headed their way. A storm?
“We’d better head in before that hits,” Mark said, and Garrett, Tim and Gretchen agreed. Laura glanced at the storm rolling in behind them as they turned the sailboat back to shore. The sun hung low in the horizon, so darkness would be coming soon as well.
“Is it a bad one?” Laura asked, feeling a little nervous as she remembered hurricane season approaching. The winds picked up, making it harder to hear. Her nausea retreated a little as adrenaline spiked.
“The radio says it could be,” Gretchen yelled over the gale.
In no time, the boat made it back to the marina.
“We might just have a shot at this thing,” Garrett said, sounding amazed as they pulled into their slot at the dock.
“You think so?” Laura asked, sweaty from her time in the sun and working the lines.
“You are a fast learner. We might do this. Really.” Garrett grinned and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Never saw a woman so determined to sail.”
“Well, I want Mark to win.” She glanced at Mark as he secured the boat to the dock.
“You care for him, don’t you?” Garrett asked suddenly. Laura stared at Mark, who was too far away to hear the conversation. She just nodded once. The nausea had gone almost as quickly as it had come. Maybe she’d imagined it.
“I thought so. I’ve got an eye for these things.” Garrett grabbed a line and hopped off to help secure the sailboat.
* * *
THAT EVENING, AFTER a quick dinner at the Rusted Anchor, Mark walked with Laura down Smuggler’s Cove, through a busy crowd of tourists. In fact, so many strangers crowded into the tiny port that there was barely room for cars to drive. The jewelry and souvenir shops were packed, and all the restaurants had long waits, even though the sky was crowded with angry storm clouds, ready to burst. The sun dipped below the horizon, not that anyone could tell with the darkening storm rolling in from the sea.
Mark glanced at the clouds and felt glad they’d turned in when they did. Being on the water with that kind of storm was never fun. A few light raindrops hit the sidewalk in front of them, leaving dark circles.
“Where did all these people come from?” Laura asked. “I didn’t think that many people lived on St. Anthony’s.”
“They don’t.” Mark felt a surge of annoyance as a man nudged his shoulder without looking up. “They’re on the cruise ships. The last one of the season.” The two tried to navigate through a packed crosswalk in the middle of town, even as the rain started to come a bit harder. Still a sprinkle, but held the promise of more to come.
“Why?”
Mark shrugged. “Hurricanes. The cruise ships will be headed up to Alaska or wherever it is they go. Not a good idea to have a big boat out in the sea when the storms hit.”
Laura frowned, looking worried. “How often do hurricanes hit?”
“Not often. But sometimes. We had a big one about ten years ago. Lots of flooding, a bit of damage. The Rusted Anchor survived, but some of the shops on the strip here had to be rebuilt.”
Laura held Mark’s hand a little tighter as a family with four kids surged past them, all wearing neon-colored baseball caps and shirts advertising other Caribbean islands.
“Anyone hurt?” she asked.
“No, thank goodness. And the tourists came back right away, so that was good. The winds blew pretty fierce then.”
“You stayed?” Laura asked, amazed. “Why didn’t you leave? Did you not have warning?”
“No, we did.” Mark remembered that time. It had been rough for those who chose to stay on the island. Many evacuated under orders by local police, but Mark had stayed. He’d boarded up his windows and he’d waited it out. He had just gotten Tanner Boating off the ground then, and he’d be damned if he’d let the winds rip apart his boats while he was safely snuggled somewhere in Florida.
“I had just started Tanner Boating. I wasn’t married then, so why not?”
“You could’ve been killed.” She sounded so concerned. He kind of liked that.
“I wasn’t.” He pulled Laura close, putting his arm around her shoulders. “I’m hard to kill,” he joked, and then instantly felt an inward cringe as he remembered trying to walk into the ocean just weeks ago. Too hard to kill, probably. He couldn’t even manage to do it himself.
He shook off the morbid thoughts, and that’s when he realized that since he’d been with Laura, he hadn’t really thought of killing himself or of sailing off to sea and never coming back. He knew on some level that was a fantasy. He doubted he could actually pull it off. Like the last time he tried and his body took over. He knew it was just his way of not thinking about the future without Timothy.
But the romanticism of leaving this world, of returning to Timothy beneath the waves, had faded to the back of his mind. When had that happened? he wondered. Instead, he found himself just looking forward to seeing Laura every day, with her beautiful smile and bright green eyes.
“You’ve changed my life for the better,” he told her, pulling her close. “You might have even saved...my life.”
“Saved your life!” she cried. “I doubt that.”
How little she knew.
“Laura,” he said, stopping her in the street, crowds of tourists streaming by them. He wanted badly to tell her how much she’d grown to mean to him in such a short time, how she had changed him irrevocably.
“Yes?”
“I...”
Her eyes looked so hopeful then. Was he going to tell her he loved her? Did he? How could he love her? They’d only just met. And he still planned to sail around the world or die in the attempt, didn’t he? Had his feelings about that really changed so much? Would it be fair to her to declare his love and then leave her?
“I am grateful for you. More grateful than you’ll ever know,” he managed, and even though the sentiment was real, the fact that he didn’t say I love you made him feel like he’d chickened out.
She smiled. “Aw, well, I’m grateful for you, too. You’ve really helped me see my problems differently, and made this...time-out I gave myself well worth it.”
“It is worth it,” Mark said. “I would’ve never met you if you hadn’t given yourself a time-out.”
Laura slipped her hand in his and they continued walking down the street. All the while, Mark wished he’d said more but was afraid to. Afraid of what it would mean if he actually said I love you out loud. He wondered if she felt the same or if, like she’d said, men fall in love sooner. Harder.
She glanced up at him and he smiled down at her, giving her hand a little squeeze. For now, they had the race to focus on. He could worry about his fee
lings—and hers—later.
The sky really opened up just as they got to the end of the storefronts and to his truck parked on the street. They ran the last few steps and Laura hopped in the cab as the rain started to flow.
“Wow, that came fast,” she said, shaking raindrops from her hair as Mark slid into the cab and turned the ignition.
“Better get used to it,” he said. “Hurricane season brings the rainy season, too. And with climate change...well, it seems that the season starts earlier and the storms are worse. Bigger. We’ll have lots more of this, maybe even more than sunshine.”
“Great. What about race day?”
“It’s been clear almost 70 percent of the time somehow. The organizers keep threatening to change the date, but so far, nobody wants to mess with tradition.” Mark steered the truck down the lane and onto the narrow two-lane highway, the rain pelting down now. He squinted through the window as his headlights barely made a dent in the sudden downpour. His windshield wipers batted back and forth urgently but hardly made a dent.
“How can you even see?” Laura asked, her hands gripping the handle hanging above her window.
“I can’t, really.”
“And there aren’t any lights on this highway.” Laura seemed worried.
“Calling it a highway is a stretch,” Mark said. “St. Anthony’s has always been a little rustic, and a little off the beaten path, until the cruise ships found us anyway. We don’t need no stinkin’ highways.” He grinned and Laura laughed a little.
Ahead, oncoming headlights flashed through the torrential rain and Mark heard Laura suck in her breath.
“Look out,” she murmured, even as the oncoming car seemed to recognize it was coming into their lane and swerved back. Mark adjusted the course of the truck, too, just to be safe, and the oncoming car sped on by, safely back in his lane.
“We’ll be home soon,” Mark promised her, hoping the rain would let up. The cliffside highway had been known to become a little unstable after serious rains, but he wasn’t about to tell Laura that. She was anxious enough as it was. One year, after the rainy season, a stretch of the outer part of the road fell into the ocean. Luckily, no one was hurt, and they fixed it quickly, but that was on his mind as Mark steered the truck around a tight bend.
Island of Second Chances Page 14
