by S A Monk
Hanna reached across her chair to give the older woman a kiss. “I love you, Grandma. Dylan and I were so lucky to have you and Grandpa. Have I remembered to tell you that lately?”
“You don’t need to, sweetie.”
FOR TWO WEEKS, Hanna was the perfect patient. She went to bed early, slept in late, walked along the beach, getting her strength back little by little each day, and then left enough time each afternoon for a good nap. She needed that second week of rest, she discovered.
Bill Hurley was elated. He came out to visit and gave her an outstanding report. She failed to tell him she planned to go sailing by herself for a couple of weeks before she returned to work. She was sure he would never have approved.
But she felt good physically, and she really needed to be out on the water, sailing. It was her catharsis, her emotional therapy. It had been nearly four weeks since Nick had left, and she was still trying to find something that would alleviate the pain; something that would restore her soul.
The Emerald Mermaid waited for her like a patient lover sitting quietly in her moorage at Mynard Harbor Marina. It had been way too long since she’d taken her out— the last time being the weekend she and Nick had sailed to Seattle and back; the weekend they had made love for the first time since he’d come home.
Hanna had braced herself for the torment that memory would bring her as she stepped onto her sloop and saw him everywhere— at the helm, on the foredeck, at the winch, trimming the sails. Down below was worse. She saw him in the galley, cooking breakfast, in the head showering, and of worst of all, in the bedroom, sleeping in her odd shaped, trapezoid bed. When she went into the cabin to stow her gear away, her vision blurred so badly with tears, she could hardly see. Stumbling around the cabin, she put her food, clothes, and equipment away, trying to ignore the very real pain in her chest.
At her little desk behind the collapsible dining table where Nick had made his bed, she unrolled her navigational map and plotted her course. She had been given all the time she wanted off, but a couple of weeks should be enough. The trip around Vancouver Island was several hundred miles— over to Victoria, around the Gulf Islands, up to Nanaimo, then on through the very narrow, navigationally challenging Johnstone Strait to Queen Charlotte Strait, then up to Port Hardy, before heading around Cape Scott Provincial Park. The last leg of her journey would be back down long the western coastline of Vancouver Island. Would she sail into Quatsino Sound? She wasn’t sure, but she did intend to take it slow and make a few short stops along the way before she finally sailed home and resumed her life.
She was familiar with part of the journey. She’d sailed sections of it before, alone as well as with friends. The Salish Sea, as the entire waterway had been renamed in 2009, was not for novices, but she had good navigational equipment, and she was an experienced sailor. Right now, she needed the challenge and the peace this journey could bring her. The region was spectacularly beautiful. There were hundreds of small towns and villages, miles of deep blue waters, dotted with heavily forested islands where the trees came right down to the waterline. The wildlife was diverse and abundant.
Motoring slowly out of the marina, she stood at the helm, in her cockpit, enchanted by the freedom of it all. Sailing alone was a rare and glorious privilege, but only those who loved it truly understood the appeal. It was also a bit crazy and risky. She’d earned the right by putting in years of practice sailing the waters of the Northwest. Now, she knew much of it by heart. The vast network of channels, straits, and open bodies of water that made up the Pacific Northwest, especially the coastlines of Washington and British Columbia, was one of the geographical jewels of North America. Hanna had lived in the region most of her life, and the beauty of it never failed to bewitch her, particularly when she was on the water.
When she reached the open water of the Strait, she shut off the motor and hoisted her sails to catch the glorious burst of wind that drove her north to Haro Strait, between the Saanich peninsula on southern Vancouver Island and Friday Harbor on San Juan Island. She stuck her ear buds into her ears and punched in an Enya song on her iPod. Her foot tapped out the Celtic beat. Her fingers on the big steering wheel beat out the rhythm to Anywhere Is, Caribbean Blue, Orinoco Flow, and many more favorite songs. It seemed her beloved sailboat glided over the ocean like the mystic tempo of the music.
The next few days were just as glorious as the first. The weather blessed her, anointing her with its gentle grace. White wisps of delicate feathery clouds floated on gentle summer breezes, beneath a great big blue bowl of open sky. The sails of her sloop filled with huge bubbles of wind every day. It drove her racing into the Strait of Georgia, past the city of Victoria, British Columbia, toward Nanaimo, on the island of Vancouver.
She passed other boats, ships, and ferries, but for the first time in weeks, she was alone— to think, to grieve, to strive for whatever peace she could find. The August sun tanned her face, arms, and legs. It reminded her of how wonderful it felt to be wrapped in warmth, the kind that was gentle, comforting, and enveloping. The kind of warmth she had felt lying in Nick’s arms, her wayward mind reminded her; snuggled next to him in bed or in a sleeping bag, or in his arms on the deck of her sloop. When she closed her eyes and lifted her face to the wind, she felt the gentle kiss of the salt air. It reminded her much too vividly of Nick’s sweet kisses.
It had been so easy to get lost in him— so easy to drown in the dream of him that had become a dazzling reality for a few short weeks. She’d loved him the best she could, but sadly it hadn’t been enough. He’d chosen to walk away, for good apparently. Now all she could do was put the pieces of her life back together.
The farther she sailed, the farther she wanted to go— to go and never return. She wanted to follow the mesmerizing blue sky and endless white capped water to somewhere new; somewhere unexplored and untried; to some place where she could lose herself forever; where desires and memories wouldn’t torment her.
At the end of the Strait of Georgia, the land reclaimed the sea. Hanna sailed on through Discovery Passage and Johnstone Strait. Now the true navigational challenge began. Hanna relished it. The Emerald Mermaid had to be steered through narrow channels of water that squeezed through little fingers of islands and peninsulas, densely forested, dotted with remote fishing villages, accessed only by boat or floatplane, sometimes by helicopter or four wheel drive vehicle. The rugged, inlet-riddled coastline of British Columbia was nearly inaccessible. Most recreational boaters stopped at the end of the Strait of Georgia. The journey beyond was exacting.
Beaches scattered with driftwood and windswept grasses slipped by as she sailed farther north through the tight passage. Seaside communities sat atop high wooden piers and craggy headlands. The weather got cooler during the day and downright cold at night. When she needed to sleep or rest or eat, she anchored in the shelter of a cove, a tiny marina, or a fishing village dock. Sometimes she did a little reading, sunbathing, or even napping on deck if the weather permitted. Before she climbed up under the thick quilt on her trapezoid bed at night, she always reviewed her navigational maps. And before setting out on the next leg of her journey, she always thoroughly checked all of her equipment, including her sails and winches.
Dreams of Nick plagued her nightly. Although they were painful to wake up from, they were delicious to sleep through as visions of his big naked body wrapped around hers played out in her head. She welcomed them and hated them. Just like she did the flesh and blood man, she supposed. Love and hate— a true double edged sword.
Every two days, or whenever she could get a signal, she used her cell phone to check in with Christine or her grandmother. She’d promised to call them regularly so they wouldn’t worry, and they appreciated it. During one call, Colleen told her that Nick had called. He’d wanted to know how her recovery was progressing. Colleen had told him what Bill Hurley had said on his last house call. She said Nick sounded pleased. Then her grandmother had told him about her solo sailing trip.
&n
bsp; He wasn’t pleased with that, according to her grandmother. But Hanna had been pleased. Let him worry!
Five days out, she finally emerged from the tight island dotted passage of Johnstone Strait to the more open waters of Queen Charlotte Strait, which formed part of the Inside Passage to Alaska. That day the skies were gray and stormy. The wind was blustery. A pod of orca whales suddenly appeared on both sides of her sailboat, blowing water through their blowholes and calling to one another. The wind was ripping through the sails of the Emerald Mermaid, and Hanna felt as if she was racing through the open waters. The black and white beasts beside her appeared to be racing with her, sleekly breaching the surface as they cut through the deep blue water in a nearly wakeless passage. It looked like a small family that had made the strait their year-round home. Hanna laughed in wonder, enchanted. She’d seen whales before, of course, but never so many, so close to her boat. It was an absolutely miraculous sight.
The weather cleared the next day. After spending the night in Port Hardy, at the far northern end of Vancouver Island, she headed out into the Pacific Ocean, around the northern tip of Vancouver Island, from Bull Harbor to Stormy Harbour. Around remote Cape Scott, she sailed into Raft Cove Provincial Park and dropped anchor for some rest before heading back out into the Pacific Ocean, then home toward the Strait of San Juan de Fuca.
The sun was out, and it was warm enough by mid-afternoon to put on her bikini and sunbathe on the foredeck. In the distance, the old seastacks that paralleled the rocky coastline stood like silent, timeless sentinels. The sound of a colony of seals on the rocks mingled with the piercing cry of an eagle. Envying it its freedom, Hanna watched the huge white-headed bird glide on the wind current overhead.
Her cell phone rang. Wishing the things had never been invented, she reluctantly answered it.
“Hanna?”
For one long, heart-racing moment, she thought it was Nick. The deep masculine voice on the other end sounded just like his. But it was his brother. When she realized that, her heart returned to its normal pace.
“Hanna? How are you? Where are you? How close to home are you?”
Patience, she reminded herself. She hadn’t talked to Lance since she’d left, although she’d left messages with her grandmother to tell him that she was okay. Lance was just concerned, after all. “I’m anchored in Raft Cove, about three hundred and fifty miles above Port George. And I’m fine. The sailing and the weather have been incredible.”
She thought she heard him let out a big sigh of relief. “You sound happy.”
“Well.... I’m good. Sailing is always good for me, you know. So what’s up?”
“Nick just called me and chewed my butt out good for letting you sail alone. He didn’t think it was a good idea so soon after your... well, you know... after what you’d been through. He was really upset.”
She smiled, immensely pleased Colonel Nicolas Kelly was upset. “Tell your brother to mind his own damn business.”
“You want me to tell him that if he calls back?”
“I sure do. I gotta go now, Lance. The sun is calling me. See you in a few days. And don’t worry. Everything is great!” And for the first time ever, she hung up on him.
Oh, she was going to feel bad about that bit of rudeness later. Lance was, after all, her close friend. He didn’t deserve her testy mood, but damn it, this was her time, and she didn’t want anyone intruding on it for a few more days. She needed this ! And what did she care what Nick thought? He’d walked out of her life with only a bouquet of flowers as a goodbye. He didn’t have the right to say anything about what she did from now on. He was a dream ended. And she meant to work hard at keeping him there.
CHAPTER 30
BY THE END THE WEEK, Hanna knew she was failing miserably at keeping Nick Kelly buried in the past. The awful chasm between feeling so happy, then so miserable was simply too great to breach.
Her sailing excursion had sadly only been a temporary bandage. Two days after her return, she went back to work. She had to beg off teaching an evening class at the University Medical Center at the beginning of September, though. She simply didn’t have the stamina to work two jobs yet. Even her normal sixty-hour work week at the hospital was beyond her for a while.
Since long hours and hard work could not be her catharsis for a broken heart, she finally tried dating to get Nick out of her system. She decided she would try very hard to become interested in someone else, someone who actually wanted her. Rewarding his persistence, she went out several times with Dr. Rick Penman. They even went sailing in her boat; well, she sailed and he sunbathed. But putting a man in Nick’s place on her Emerald Mermaid didn’t help to banish him. She only ended up comparing poor Rick Penman to Nick Kelly, and, unfortunately for her heart, there was absolutely no comparison.
In the weeks that followed his brother’s departure, Lance intensified his attentions, too. Hanna hadn’t been blind all these years. She knew Lance thought he was in love with her. For the first time, she tried to look at him as more than a dear friend.
She went on a couple of easy salvage dives with him, and puttered around his boat shop after her shifts at the hospital. Her car was still so unreliable, he took her to work and picked her up most days.
And when the Seattle Symphony began their season in early September, she and Lance attended the first concert together. Because the performance ended so late, they stayed overnight at a hotel downtown, deciding they’d also do some shopping the next day before taking the ferry back home.
At Hanna’s request they got separate rooms, and then stayed up half the night in hers talking— mostly about Christopher and how he had dealt with Lance’s absence. Interestingly enough, though, they also talked about Christine and her fatherless daughter, and how they were coping. Hanna discovered that Lance was surprisingly interested in Dylan’s widow.
Eventually, the conversation turned to Nick. Lance had questions about the nature of her relationship with his brother. It was hard enough to hear his name mentioned, let alone discuss their intimacy. Hanna tactfully avoided most of the questions. Instead, she got him to talk about his month-long captivity at Li Chen’s compound.
It wasn’t easy to hear about the abuse he’d suffered. She knew it was cathartic for him to talk about his experience, though, so she listened without interruption. But while he was speaking, she couldn’t stop herself from comparing him, too, to Nick. Except for his sandy blonde hair and his brown eyes, he looked a lot like his older brother. The shape of his mouth was similar, the shape of his nose and jaw. He didn’t have Nick’s scars, though. Lance’s good looks were unflawed. He wasn’t as powerfully built or as tall as Nick, either, but he was still broad-shouldered and solid. He was a handsome, strongly masculine man.
Hanna tried to image herself romantically involved with him. He cared a lot for her. He was a devoted friend. They both loved Christopher to pieces. They enjoyed many of the same things, particularly sailing. He’d make her a very good husband. They could raise Christopher together. Maybe have another child. She could keep her two jobs, remain close to their families, and stay in the Northwest, which she loved. And she liked Lance, better than Rick Penman or some of the other single physicians who had shown an interest in her.
But no matter how many good logical reasons there were for getting romantically involved with Lance Kelly, she couldn’t escape the fact that she didn’t love him, except as a friend. And if she forced herself to have a more intimate relationship with him, he would always and forever remind her entirely too much of his brother.
That wouldn’t be fair to Lance. Just the fact that she had compared him to Nick wasn’t fair. It made her feel guilty and selfish. If he knew, he’d be hurt. He deserved a woman who loved him for himself, not because he was a reflection of another man.
And as his wife, she would become Nick’s sister-in-law. God in heaven! That would never work! There just wasn’t any hope for her, she thought miserably by the end of the evening.
In thirty-four years, she hadn’t met the man who could fill Nick Kelly’s shoes. She was doomed to the lonely life of a spinster. That last thought was so pathetic, she cried herself to sleep that night, just as she had too many others in the past weeks.
On the ferry ride home the next evening, Lance commented on her obvious melancholy. “I thought maybe the trip to Seattle would cheer you up.”
Hanna smiled wistfully at the man beside her. “I’m sorry. I tried, Lance. And it was fun. I enjoyed the performance last night, and the shopping today.”
He laughed. “I doubt that. You didn’t buy anything but a couple of new CDs. I thought shopping was supposed to be a woman’s cure-all for the blues.”
She shrugged. “I guess I’m beyond a cure. I seem to have tried everything. All that’s left is time.”
He reached over and covered her hand as it rested on the rail. “Time is easy to give. I’m a patient man.”
“Oh, don’t be, Lance,” she implored. “I was patient, and it got me nowhere. Don’t waste your life waiting for impossible dreams.”
“Some things are worth the wait.”
“No, they aren’t.”
She looked at him and realized he wasn’t going to be persuaded, at least not yet. Stemming her tears, she turned back to the view of the Seattle skyline as they headed across the Puget Sound toward home.
A WEEK LATER, Hanna was no less depressed. She didn’t feel like sharing the usual Sunday activities with the two families. She deliberately slept in too late to go to church. Later that afternoon, she told her grandmother and Christine that she was too tired to go to Jessie’s for dinner. They took Katie and left her without argument, much to her relief.
She spent the day in her pajamas, and once she was alone, she went upstairs to her bedroom to retrieve the large flowered hat box that held all the letters and photos Nick had sent her over the years; twenty years of faithful regular correspondence. There had never been a significant lapse in his communication with her, until now. It had been over two months since he’d left, and she hadn’t heard a word from him, though he had talked to his mother and brother and even Colleen.
