Message in a Bottle - Nicholas Sparks [39]
“You’re welcome. It’s nice to have some company once in a while.”
She smiled at his answer, wondering if he meant it. “Do you usually sail alone?”
He leaned back as he spoke, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Usually. It’s a good way to unwind after work. No matter how stressful the day is, once I get out here, the wind seems to blow it all away.”
“Is diving that hard?”
“No, it’s not the diving. That’s the fun part. It’s more or less everything else. The paperwork, dealing with people who cancel their lessons at the last minute, making sure the shop has the right amount of everything. It can make for a long day.”
“I’m sure. But you like it, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do. I wouldn’t trade what I do for anything.” He paused and adjusted the watch on his wrist. “So, Theresa, what do you do?” It was one of the few safe questions he’d thought up during the course of the day.
“I’m a columnist for the Boston Times.”
“Here on vacation?”
She paused only slightly before answering. “You could say that.”
He nodded, expecting the answer. “What do you write about?”
She smiled. “I write about parenting.”
She saw the surprised look in his eyes, the same look she saw whenever she dated someone new. You may as well get this over with right away, she thought to herself. “I have a son,” she went on. “He’s twelve.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Twelve?”
“You look shocked.”
“I am. You don’t look old enough to have a twelve-year-old.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said with a smirk, not rising to the bait. She wasn’t quite ready to betray her age. “But, yes, he is twelve. Would you like to see a picture?”
“Sure,” he said.
She found her wallet, took out the photo, and handed it to him. Garrett stared at it for a moment, then glanced at her.
“He has your coloring,” he said, handing the picture back. “He’s a good-looking boy.”
“Thank you.” As she was putting the picture away, she asked, “How about you? Do you have any children?”
“No.” He shook his head. “No kids. At least none that I know of.”
She chuckled at his answer, and he went on: “What’s your son’s name?”
“Kevin.”
“Is he here in town with you?”
“No, he’s with his father in California. We divorced a few years ago.”
Garrett nodded without judgment, then looked over his shoulder at another sailboat passing in the distance. Theresa watched it for a moment as well, and in the silence, she noticed how peaceful it was on the ocean compared to the Intracoastal. The only sounds now came from the sail as the wind rippled through it and the water as Happenstance cut its way through the waves. She thought their voices sounded different from the way they had on the docks. Out here they sounded almost free, as if the open air would carry them forever.
“Would you like to see the rest of the boat?” Garrett asked.
She nodded. “I’d love to.”
Garrett rose and checked the sails again before leading the way inside, Theresa one step behind him. When he opened the door he paused, suddenly overcome by the fragment of a memory, long buried but shaken loose, perhaps by the newness of this woman’s presence.
Catherine sat at the small table with a bottle of wine already open. In front of her, a vase with a single flower caught the light of a small burning candle. The flame swayed with the boat’s motion, casting long shadows across the interior of the hull. In the semidarkness, he could just make out the ghost of a smile.
“I thought this would be a nice surprise,” she said. “We haven’t eaten by candlelight in a while.”
Garrett looked to the small stove. Two foil-wrapped plates sat beside it.
“When did you get all this on the boat?”
“While you were at work.”
Theresa moved around him silently, leaving him to the privacy of his thoughts. If she had noticed his hesitation, she gave no sign, and for that, Garrett was grateful.
On Theresa’s left, a seat ran along one side of the boat—wide and long enough for someone to sleep comfortably; directly opposite the seat on the other side was a small table with room enough for two people to sit. Near the door were a sink