Possessions (59 page)

As nervous as she was, Katherine knew what sailing meant to him. “I think I'll enjoy it, too,” she replied.

And as she steered the boat, looking alternately at the misty outline of Treasure Island and then at Ross, bracing his feet to pull on the mainsail halyard and then turning the winch to raise the huge sail to its full height, she found her nervousness fading. The wheel was solid beneath her hands; the compass told her she was on course. She surveyed the gangway leading down to the cabin, the benches with blue cushions on three sides of the cockpit, the side decks with thin steel railings shining dully in the fog, the bright aluminum mast where Ross stood, tying the halyard—and began to relax. Ross had shown it all to her before they cast off, naming and explaining everything, moving lithely and confidently around ropes and railings and jutting obstacles that seemed to leap out just in time to trip Katherine. She had been tense and anxious, and he had said gently, “We sold Craig's boat after the accident. This one is quite different.”

“If you've never sailed—” Katherine began.

“—all sailboats seem alike,” he finished. “But try to remember that this is mine. It was new when I bought it and its only history is the one I make for it. The one you and I make,” he amended.

You and I.
As Ross stood at the mast, looking up at the tall sail that had billowed into a white curve, Katherine watched his face—absorbed, serene, content. The wind blew his dark blond hair, his lean body was as taut and graceful as the sail. It was as if he had become a part of his boat, and she wished she could share that with him.

“—the motor!” he shouted.

“What?”

“Turn off the motor!” He pointed to the key and she reached down and turned it. Instantly, the engine stopped, and silence, like a clear glass bell, enclosed them. Ross grinned. “I always wait for this,” he said in a conversational voice. “So quiet you can feel it.”

Katherine felt it. The only sounds were the whisper of wind in the mainsail and the soft slapping of waves. “I'm going to put up the jib,” Ross said. “I could use some help. Lock the
wheel when I tell you; then come up here and pull on this rope.”

He went forward and fastened the jib to the slanting cable at the bow. “Ready,” he said. Katherine locked the wheel, climbed to the deck and pulled hand over hand on the rope. When she realized she was pulling the jib up the cable, where it caught the wind and snapped into its own curve, she felt a surge of exultation. The rope scraped against her palms, she pulled harder against the force of the wind in the sail, and then Ross took over, winching the sail tighter and fastening down the rope. With both sails in place the boat was picking up speed. “Four knots,” Ross said. “Do you want to keep the wheel?”

“Yes.”

He put his arm around her and they smiled at each other. “Head northwest until we're past Treasure Island; then we'll go around Alcatraz, straight to the Golden Gate Bridge.” He sat on the bench behind her. “I'll watch your technique.”

Katherine laughed. They floated in the fog, completely alone. Nothing on land seemed real. Herman Mettler receded to a character in a play; Craig to a figure in a painting. Even Ross's evasiveness about his trip seemed unimportant in the vast silence of that shrouded world. All that mattered was her happiness at being with him, cut off from land.

Ross took the wheel when they were beneath the bridge, keeping to the center of the channel until they had passed the headlands. And then they were in the ocean, turning to follow the coast. Within minutes the fog began to come apart, as if torn into large pieces. They sailed through the ragged openings, long tendrils of mist swirling about the boat, and then, suddenly, the sun burst through, flooding them with gold. Katherine gasped with the beauty of it and Ross reached out to her. She stood within his arms, facing forward as he held the wheel, his lips in her hair. “Thank you,” he said. “For sharing this with me.”

The waves were tipped with gold beneath a cloudless sky; the boat skimmed through the water, alone in the sun-filled, sea-scented air. Katherine turned within the circle of his arms and kissed him. “Thank you for letting me be a part of it.”

His lips smiled beneath hers. “You're a part of everything
I do. Haven't I told you that? But there is a problem, at the moment, of seeing where I'm going . . .”

“Oh, that.” Laughing softly, she ducked under his arms. “What can I do? Tie a rope or untie one or hook something . . . ? How can I learn if you don't give me assignments?”

He took her hand. “There is a moment of perfection in sailing, when the wind and water are in harmony with the boat. A wise sailor never interferes with that. We'll have a lesson some other time. When you're ready for lunch, you'll find sandwiches and beer in the refrigerator; until then, there's nothing to do but relax. And talk. Do you want to tell me what happened with Mettler?”

“Later. Do you mind?”

“Of course not.” He pulled off his jacket. “Would you toss this in the cabin?” He watched her take off her own and lean into the gangway to drop them on one of the bunks. “Katherine.” She turned to him. “Do you see a time when everything is in harmony for us?”

“Now,” she said swiftly. “If we can just be together, one day at a time . . .” She searched for other words, but at last said only, “It's perfect. Now.” And that was the closest they came that weekend to talking about the forces that drove their lives on land. Katherine refused to let Mettler interfere with their serenity, and whenever Ross thought of Elissa he put her aside. She'd been there for the two years Craig knew her and the year since he had disappeared; there was plenty of time for Katherine to hear about her.

They ate lunch in the cockpit, their voices mingling with the wind and waves and the calls of curious, swooping gulls. All afternoon they followed the cliffs that came to the water's edge, taking turns at the wheel. Occasionally they passed a small beach, or rocks with sea lions sunning themselves. As the sun dropped lower, a fiery streak of orange blazed across the water and the breeze quickened. Katherine threw back her head, her skin red-gold in the brightness, the cool air caressing her throat. She heard Ross pull in his breath and at the same moment she felt unsteady with the heavy pull of wanting him. She put out a hand to support herself. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I'm fine.” She smiled at him. “I was just thinking how much I'd like to make love to you.”

A slow smile lit his face. He held out his arm and Katherine moved inside it. “We'll dock at Drake's Bay,” he murmured, holding her against him. “There's a cove I remember from years ago . . .”

It was dusk by the time they dropped anchor and stowed the sails. They worked together, Ross giving instructions, Katherine memorizing each step, and as they moved about the boat the shared tasks were another kind of love-making.

In the cabin, Katherine lit kerosene lamps and pulled shut the blue-and-red curtains on the small windows above the bunks, while Ross prepared dinner by transferring food from the refrigerator to the oven. Together they set the table between the bunks with a checked cloth and pottery dishes, and Ross poured wine and served a platter of tiny crabmeat cakes and stuffed mushrooms. He touched Katherine's glass with his. “To primitive living.”

She laughed. “If the Pilgrims had lived this primitively, you couldn't have dragged them off the
Mayflower.
”

“And none of us would be here,” Ross said, taking their dinner from the oven. He handed her a plate. “Chicken breast with Dijon sauce, wild rice, and glazed baby carrots. I warn you; I did it all myself, without Carrie's help or advice. If it's inedible, we go over the side and catch whatever we can find.”

Katherine shook her head. “It's wonderful. You'll spoil me.”

“I hope so.”

The small cabin was snugly enclosed within its curtained windows, softly lit by flickering lamps reflected on mahogany paneling. As they finished their coffee, Ross said, “Do you want music? Our primitive home has a radio . . .”

“No,” Katherine said. “I want the silence.”

He held her face between his hands and kissed her eyes, the tip of her nose, the corners of her mouth, the small hollow of her throat, holding his lips against the pulse that beat there. Katherine's arms tightened around him, then she pulled away, laughing into his eyes. “Close quarters. There's the table, but . . .”

“You've discovered the primitive part,” he said. “You have
to get rid of the dinner dishes before you can make love.”

They piled the dishes in the sink, lowered the table and extended the double bunk over it. “Better,” Katherine said and they undressed each other and lay on the bed, their mouths meeting, tongues exploring as their hands explored their bodies, sliding slowly along warm hollows, the hardness of muscle, the softness of hair.

“Dearest Katherine, I love you,” Ross said, his mouth on her breast. He murmured “I love you” on each nipple, taking them lightly into his mouth. His hands slid beneath her hips and Katherine turned so that he barely had to move to lie on her and enter her; effortlessly, they flowed together and the sharing of the day became the sharing of their bodies, until Ross heard Katherine cry out beneath his mouth and in another moment, clasped in her smooth, throbbing warmth, he let himself go, his cry meeting hers.

They lay still, their lips touching, until Katherine said lazily, “Is the boat moving?”

“Rocking.”

“Not floating away?”

“No. Don't worry; we won't go anywhere.”

“I wish we would. So far nothing could follow us.”

“Someday.”

His voice was so low Katherine was not sure she heard it. “What?”

He raised himself on one elbow and looked at her in the soft light. “You're going to make a wonderful sailor.”

After a moment, she said, “And then?”

“Then, with a good set of sails, there won't be any place we can't go.”

She smiled faintly. “A lovely dream.”

“Katherine. Tell me you love me.”

She touched his lips with her finger. “I'm afraid to. I'm almost afraid to think it. I was so settled; I never thought of myself as falling in love again. It's as if, when I think about you, I become someone else—I move farther away from the person I was. And I get frightened: who am I now, and what do I want and how can I dream of you and long for you and still feel bound somehow to Craig . . . ? And,” she added, trying to speak lightly. “I haven't loved-—I mean, fallen in
love—for ten years. I've forgotten what it's like to be pulled out of myself, toward another person. I like it—I think—but it's confusing. It's all so new—and so
enormous—
”

Ross leaned over her. “Thank you.” He kissed her slowly, lingeringly. “As long as that's true, the words can wait.”

Katherine ran her finger down his throat, to his chest. “I love the way you feel.” Her fingertips brushed the skin of his hard, flat stomach and the softness of his groin. “Your body is so wonderful—you move on the boat like a lion, smooth and graceful, never looking at your feet . . .”

“That's to show off. Sometimes I take a flying leap that way. And if we're going to talk about wonderful bodies—”

“We're not going to talk,” Katherine said. Sliding out from under him, she kissed his lips, then followed with her mouth the path her fingers had taken, down his throat to the blond curls of his chest, his narrow waist, the smooth skin of his stomach and groin. She held her lips to that soft hollow; her hands slid up his thighs, and she felt his fingers encircle her breasts as she ran the tip of her tongue along warm flesh and clustered hairs and then took him into her, deep into her throat, so that he filled her once again. A low moan broke from him and she exulted in arousing him, giving him pleasure, even as she lost herself in the sensuality of enclosing him in her mouth, feeling with her tongue the solid smoothness and ridges, the hot, throbbing life of his penis. Her hands held his buttocks, pulling him against her, pulling him to the back of her throat where small murmuring sounds rippled, like the pleasure spreading through her. Then, abruptly, Ross pulled away. Sliding down on the bed, he entered her, fiercely, insistently—one body, not two, with blinding streaks of passion joining them like jagged lightning, raising them higher and higher until they stopped, balanced on the thin edge of pure feeling, and then fell, through a dark echoing tunnel, to lie motionless, gazing at each other with small, wondering smiles.

“I never realized how long I've gone without love,” Ross said at last. “More than a year . . . Married, but alone.”

“Both of us,” Katherine said. “In different ways . . . Ross,” she said drowsily. She touched her lips to his. “I love you.”

He cradled her in his arm, their faces together, and they slept.

They woke twined about each other in a tangle of sheets. “Playing hard to get,” grumbled Ross. “One minute you say you love me; the next you set up an obstacle course.”

“Love conquers obstacles,” Katherine said, her eyes bright, and together they pushed the sheets off the bed. She lay back, her slender body open and waiting for him to lie on her and begin the day with love. “But is there an obstacle to breakfast?” she asked a little later. “And sailing again?”

“I knew you'd make a good sailor,” Ross said resignedly. “All they're interested in is sailing and food.”

“When tempted,” Katherine pointed out. “I make time for other things.”

But they waited for breakfast until they had motored away from the fog that was a regular feature of Drake's Bay and had put up the sails. Then, heading south, at ease in the sunny cockpit, they divided oranges and rolls and coffee, and watched shifting shadows on the cliffs along the coast and wheeling sea gulls, gray and white against the deepening blue sky. All day they sailed in a haze of lazy talk and timeless, contented silence.