Waiting... On You (Force Recon Marines) (43 page)

Hanna shook her head. “I don’t know, Grandma.
The bottom line is that he still left, and he didn’t even tell me he was
going.”

Christine came back onto the porch
twenty minutes later and leaned against the railing. She’d overheard a little
bit of Hanna’s comments to her grandmother. She looked at her sister-in-law
with feminine sympathy. “You know, Hanna, he stayed by your bedside every day
and night until you came out of your coma. Is that the behavior of a man who
isn’t in love?”

“He felt guilty. He told me so when I
woke up. He’d promised to keep me safe, and he felt he hadn’t done that.”

Christine didn’t appear to accept that
as a reason for Nick’s behavior. “He loves you, Hanna,” she insisted. “I’m sure
of it.”

She didn’t know if she could afford to
believe or even hope her grandmother and sister-in-law were correct. Regardless
of what Nick Kelly had felt or didn’t feel, he had left her without a true
goodbye or explanation. His message was clear enough to her. He had a career,
and he had gotten back to it, without her.

“Think about it, sweetie,” Colleen
advised gently.

She gave her grandma a weak smile, her
eyes still glistening with tears. She couldn’t help but think about it, but
nothing would change the reality of it. “Advice is always so much easier to
give than receive, isn’t it?”

Colleen nodded in agreement. “That’s
because the one giving the advice is usually in a more objective position than
the one receiving it.”

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.

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.