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Click my picture to go back to the first page
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CHAPTER ONE
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SAILING
The icy December rain pelted my eyes as I tried to keep my 500
foot yacht from slamming into the jagged Nantucket rocks. Despite
my efforts, the howling night winds, raging sea, and dense fog made
steering almost impossible. This was by far the worst storm I had
encountered in thirteen years of sailing. Standing at the helm, forced
to endure Maurice’s mocking glances, I watched helplessly as twenty
foot waves crashed continually around the yacht. One good hit would
surely plunge us into watery graves.
“This is all your fault, Maurice,” I screamed, grabbing him by
the head and flinging him into the sea.
“What have I become?” I yelled. I could not believe what I had
just done. Maurice was my trusted confidant. He was an eight-inchtall
toy cow, a present from my deceased grandmother and the only
childhood toy I had ever received. When I pressed his stomach, he
would moo three times.
Standing there soaked and battered, it dawned upon me that I had
become what I despised, a scapegoater.
“No more!” I yelled, howling at the heavens. “I will not lose my
Inner Peace.”
The waves kept tossing the yacht in the air and throwing it back
at the dark blue sea, completely disregarding its value.
My yacht was the fruit of years of suffering. The abusive
childhood, the years of manual labor in a dank warehouse. I will
never forget those seemingly endless hours spent dragging heavy
boxes and stocking filthy bins with ballet shoes, my lungs filling
with soot from the sealed vents, while my hands mingled in blood
and dirt at the age of ten. Yet, none of that mattered now as the sea
prepared to cancel all bets.
My yacht was my sanctuary. It was the only place on Earth where
I felt truly safe. It had cost me nearly five million dollars to build
and every detail was to my specifications. The bow was that of a
nineteenth century cutter ship. It was sleek and sharp, enabling it to
glide through the waves with almost mocking simplicity. The cabin
was designed to resemble the banquet room of a seventeenth century
French chateau, sabers and all. The bathroom had a marble tub with
gold fixtures and was showered in fresh cut lilies and red roses.
Even the dinghy had golden oars and diamond engravings. However,
none of this mattered now as God prepared to once again destroy my
only source of joy.
The waves pounded the deck, tore apart the waterproof doors,
and rushed into the hull. Leaving the wheel, I started up the pumps
and ran down into the cabin, searching for something to block the
doorway with.
It was a situation of my own making. I should have hired a crew,
but I had let my distrust of humanity get the better of me. At worst I
thought they would kill me in my sleep and sell the yacht, at best I
figured they would defecate in my breakfast. No, I had bought Inner
Peace to escape them, bringing them along would have defeated the
purpose. Nonetheless, right now I could have used them. “No, matter,”
I told myself. “Self-reliance has always been my forte.”
I was determined not to lose the yacht. After losing my darling
Sara, I vowed to never again care about something to the extent that
God’s taking it from me would have any effect on me. Nevertheless,
having taken Sara, God was after my final pleasure, my yacht which
I named Inner Peace. The sky thundered ominously, each hot flash a
reminder of God’s absolute control.
The cold black sea poured into the cabin, quickly shorting out
the engines and flooding the pumps. With the power totally gone, I
realized the yacht was doomed. As the water started to fill the cabin,
I blindly waded around searching for the armoire. Nearly cracking
my head on it, I rummaged through the top draw, grabbing some old
photos and letters from Sara. I had told myself I was over Sara, naively
believing that the greatest betrayal of my life could be forgotten.
Unfortunately, with each pounding wave it all came roaring back to
me. My yacht, my plane, my beautiful estates; White Acre, Black
Acre, Green Acre, and Blue Acre. They had all been designed to
make me forget.
Emerging from the cabin, I put the photos and letters in a pouch
on my life vest, climbed into the dinghy and started up the motor. As
it pulled away, I watched the ocean pummel Inner Peace, tossing it
up into the air one final time before slamming it down in an explosion
of wind and water. Enraged, the waves knocked me to the side of the
dinghy, like a spoiled child playing in the tub. When I looked up
Inner Peace was no more. The motor of the dinghy quickly flooded
and died leaving me to God’s fury.
The lightning lit the sky an eerie crimson as I reached into my
life jacket and pulled out a photo of my long lost Sara. Gazing upon
it, I realized that the sea could no longer shield me from my misery.
Throughout my life, the sea had always been my protector. I could
swim freely or go to the bow of Inner Peace and look up into the
purple and orange sky as the wind washed through my hair, seemingly
cleansing my soul.
Now the sea was no longer peaceful and every wave battered me
with her memory. Suddenly it dawned on me how both the sea and
Sara were alike. They were both part of God’s ultimate game and I
had been too stupid to realize it. There was a time when Sara had
made me feel as happy and carefree as the ocean breeze in my hair.
Just being in her presence or hearing her voice filled me with pure
euphoria. That is true love. That is an experience most people will
never have and could never understand. Sadly, just like the sea, that
sweet gentle breathtaking woman had turned on me with just as much
fury and far less of a warning.
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