The Window Washer - 6. Chapter 6

I somehow managed to make it across the courtyard, and through the gate. I was relieved when the gate closed. It created a safety barrier between Rob and me.

I drove away thinking very uncharitable thoughts about Robert Mitchell, and about his family, and about the bloody Porsche. So much for being “part of the family,” I’d just been tossed out like yesterday’s trash. Rob made it very clear. IT’S OVER.

Rob wanted respect. Well, he’d get respect. I would respect him mightily. I would rot in hell before I contacted him again. IT’S OVER.

I got to the airport and bought a seat back to Vancouver on United Airlines. There was no way on God’s earth that I was going to fly Alkasa.

When I got home and saw Rob’s car I wanted to get a sledge hammer and pound it to a million pieces.

You get the picture. Jerry Hardwick was one pissed off accountant.

This nasty mood lasted until I arrived at my apartment and turned the deadbolt on the door.

Then the realization of my loss hit hard. It was as if a policeman had come to my door and delivered news of death. Shock, disbelief, then a sudden, hard acceptance of reality. Rob was gone. Forever. Every cell in my body screamed in pain.

I dragged myself to bed and curled up in the fetal position. It was the first of many, many sleepless nights.

For the first week I never left my apartment. When the food in my refrigerator ran out I ate canned tuna. When the cupboard was bare I ordered in pizza.

No one had my new phone number so I lived in a self-imposed exile. Alone, with alternating moods of anger and self-pity.

Then one day remorse arrived.

If only I hadn’t fucked up. If only I had seen the warning signs. If only I had told Rob about the money sooner. If only I hadn’t gotten mad. If only, if only....

But it was over. I could flagellate myself forever, but it wasn’t going to bring Rob back.

I was miserable. I had money but nothing to live for. No job. No husband. No future. Nothing.

I did the one thing that would bring me a sort of solace. I started running again. I ran to the point of exhaustion—well past the endorphin high. I ran like that every day for a week and gradually my head began to clear.

They say the final stage of grief is acceptance. For me that came with the realization that life as I knew it was over. I had to start again. Forge a new life. Only I had no idea, whatsoever, what to do....

Finally, I phoned Jennifer and told her I was back in Vancouver, alone. I told her about the sale of the business, but I wouldn’t talk about Rob, saying only that it was over. She asked me to dinner. I refused. I offered to buy something for her and Paul. She thanked me but politely declined. She asked about my plans for the future. I told her I didn’t have any.

I called Janice. She told me there were no hard feelings at the office. The BigSoft guys had offered generous incentive bonuses to the staff that stayed. I offered to help her financially and she told me that wasn’t necessary.

Finally, I contacted my parents.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Jerry, something’s wrong,” she said. “I can tell.”

“We sold the business,” I said.

She called my father to pick up the extension phone, and I filled them in on the details—including how much money I had received. They congratulated me heartily. Mom asked about Rob. I told her simply that it was over. Thankfully she didn’t press for details.

They asked what my plans were. I changed the subject.

“I’d like to do something nice for you two,” I said. “Buy you a new house, or car or something.”

“Jerry,” Dad said, “What you have may seem like a lot of money but it will go pretty fast if you’re not careful. Hang on to it. At least until you know what you want to do.”

“Please....” I begged. “This money is like a curse. Nobody wants anything to do with it. Buying something for you is the only thing that would make me feel good right now.”

They heard the desperation in my voice and agreed to think about my offer.

My parents may not be perfect, but they are kind. Dad phoned the next day and said they would like to buy a recreational vehicle.

“So we can be snowbirds,” he said.

“Dad, that’s great. Perfect. I’m really pleased.”

“Jerry, thank you.... Your mother and I are really excited.”

It was the first time in two weeks that I didn’t feel like a condemned man.

I began to think I should do something for myself. A treat. To cheer myself up. I thought of, and dismissed, a number of possibilities. A new watch. I didn’t need one. A new car. I liked my current one. A new apartment. Hard to beat place I had. I didn’t need or want anything.

I thought about going on a trip. I’d only ever been to Mexico and Hawaii, and California. But the thought of flying was just too painful. Too many bitter memories.

The only thing I really craved was solitude. So I could lick my wounds in peace.

The next day I set off on my usual run. When I got to the waterfront, I didn’t turn left, as I invariably did, to pick up the seawall around Stanley Park. I turned right. That took me past a hotel, a floating restaurant and a large marina.

As I passed the marina, a sign caught my attention. It was a sign I’d seen many times before without really noticing, but that day it struck a chord.

Suddenly, I knew, with absolute certainty, what my future held.

I stopped running, turned around, and walked down the marina ramp.

On the dock was a small hut. Over its glass doors was the sign that caught my attention. “YACHT SALES” There was a middle aged guy in the hut working at a computer. I asked him if I could look at the boats. He took a look at my running gear and dismissed me with, “Sure, let me know if you have any questions.”

There were at least twenty boats for sale. Most were fairly large. About half of them were big, boxy, power things. They looked luxurious but didn’t appeal. The sailboats interested me.

I stopped in front of the nicest looking one. It was long and sleek. Its hull was white with blue lettering on the side. I looked at it for a few minutes and made up my mind. I just had one question.

I went back to the hut and asked, “That sailboat over there, the white one with the blue writing, will it sail across the ocean to Hawaii?”

“The Beneteau 423,” he said. “Yeah, it’s fully equipped for ocean sailing. You could sail single handed to China and back, no problem.”

“I want it,” I said.

“Yeah, you and five hundred other people,” he laughed.

“No, I’ll buy it,” I said.

He frowned. I could see he was struggling to stay polite. Clearly, I was a complete flake, but on the other hand....

“Don’t you want to know how much it costs?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Have a nice day,” he said.

“I’m not joking,” I said. “I’m buying that boat.”

He was an experienced salesman. He looked at me closely. He knew.

He put out his hand. “Dave Green,” he said.

“Jerry Hardwick,” I said, shaking his hand.

He motioned me to sit. I sat.

“Colibri will set you back over two hundred grand,” he said.

“That’s okay. What’s a Colibri?”

“The name of the boat. It means ‘hummingbird’ in French.”

“Perfect,” I said.

“Jerry,” he said. “You’re not a sailor. You don’t know the first thing about boats. What’s your plan here?”

I explained that I didn’t have to work anymore. That I no commitments and no ties. That I would devote full time to learning to sail. And when I was ready I would sail to Hawaii. Then after that I would decide where to go next.

“You may not have a sailor’s skills,” he said. “But you have a sailor’s heart.”

Then he took me to look at Colibri. He told me she was forty three feet long and then pointed out the navigation equipment in the cockpit. He took me below into the beautifully appointed cabin. It was all finished in mahogany and leather. There was a well equipped galley and a navigation desk with more instruments. It was bright and airy with large windows and skylights. There were two staterooms, one forward and one aft. And two heads. He showed me the Volvo diesel engine and the storage lockers. I loved what I saw, and I was leaning a whole new language.

Dave talked to me for nearly two hours. He was a skilled sailor and told me what I needed to learn. He recommended a local sailing school. He outlined the process of buying Colibri. He suggested I sublet a mooring slip that had come available for the next few months. He was exactly the mentor I needed.

Later, as I walked away, I realized that I had barely thought about Rob for two hours. I knew he would always sit like a rock on my heart. I would never stop loving him. He would always be in my thoughts. But my life had a focus now. I could move on.

As soon as I got home I called the sailing school and booked an appointment for the next day.

I phoned Jennifer and told her what I’d just done.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” she said.

“No, I am not out of my fucking mind,” I snapped. “What am I supposed to do? Sit around here until hell freezes over hoping Rob will change his mind. That’s not going to happen. He said it was over and it’s over!”

“Jerry, we need to talk.”

“Okay,” I agreed. “In a few days. There’s some stuff I need to do first.”

Next I phoned my parents and arranged to finalize the purchase of their new recreational vehicle. They had decided on a small fifth wheel that could be towed comfortably behind my father’s Toyota Tacoma. It was to be ordered from a factory near Vancouver. I promised to drive there in two days to finalize the payment. Again they told me how excited they were. I was pleased.

I told them about Colibri. They didn’t say much.

I had to drive to my sailing lesson the next day. It was the first time I had used my car after arriving home from Santa Barbara. I had to pass Rob’s car to get to mine. As I walked by it all the hurt and anger came flooding back. I felt compelled to touch it. When I did the anger evaporated and I was overcome by a longing so forceful my head spun. Fuck!

The sailing lesson took my mind off my troubles. The instructor, a guy in his thirties named Seth, was an experienced ocean sailor. He suggested starting out in a small boat so I could get a feel for the wind.

He took me out into the bay, explaining what he was doing the whole time. I learned more new nautical terms like mainsail, jib, boom, sheet, port and starboard, and tack and come about. Then after an hour of practice drills he had me take over. He sat back to watch.

“Aren’t you worried?” I asked.

“You’ll be fine, you’re a natural,” he said. “Just don’t hit any freighters.”

I began a navigation course. I studied hard.

A few days passed and I met Jennifer after a sailing lesson. She bought me a coffee then looked at me expectantly.

“Start at the beginning,” she said.

I told her that I had fucked up royally. That I had missed the signs of Rob’s depression. I told her about the stressful sale of the business. About not telling Rob about the money until the sale was complete. How that had betrayed Rob’s trust. I told her about the fight we’d had. How I got hurt and mad. That Rob told me it was over.

“Wait a minute,” she said. “Rewind the tape. You did what?”

“I got a little mad,” I said.

“Jerry,” she said. “You don’t get a little mad. You get a lot mad. Remember that time you didn’t talk to your father for six months? What did you say to Rob?”

“I think I told him to stop. That he was hurting me. That he was being unfair. Something like that.”

“That fits,” she said. “You got mad at your dad because he grounded you and you didn’t think it was fair.”

“It wasn’t,” I said. “He made me miss your sixteenth birthday party.”

“Are you still angry at Rob?” she asked.

“I’ll be angry until the day I die. But not with Rob. With myself.”

“Do you still love him?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’ll always love him. Jennifer, I miss him so much....”

“Don’t you think you should call him? Maybe apologize for getting angry.”

“It wouldn’t be fair to him,” I said. “He made it very clear—it’s over. I need to respect his wishes.”

“So you think running off to sea will solve the problem?”

“I have no other options,” I said.

The sailing lessons went well. After about a week Seth suggested using a bigger boat. Not quite the size of Colibri but near. Seth would have me sail the whole lesson single handed. I was nervous, and I made lots of mistakes, but I enjoyed it immensely.

For several days we worked on man overboard drills. Seth would throw a dummy head into the water, and I would quickly turn the boat around and “rescue” it. My skills improved. One day Seth put a life preserver on and suddenly jumped overboard. I nearly shit my pants. I was shaking by the time I got turned around and picked him up.

“You could have drowned!” I yelled.

“Naw,” he said. “I knew you’d get me. But now know what it feels like in real life.”

With the sale of Colibri complete, Seth suggested we start using her for lessons. I suddenly realized what a huge responsibility owning a boat was. Up until then I’d been using someone else’s boat. They were responsible. Now it was my head on the block if I banged up another boat. Leaving and returning to the crowded marina was intimidating. For several days I was very anxious, but then I began to relax and my confidence grew.

“Am I ready for Hawaii?” I asked.

“Not by a long shot,” replied Seth.

Seth was terrific and very professional. If he knew I was gay it didn’t bother him. He suggested a cruise. So we took Colibri up the British Columbia coast for a few days. I did most of the navigating and sailing. We were never out of sheltered waters, but it gave me a taste for ocean cruising.

I was doing well mentally. The only fly in the ointment was Rob’s car. Every time I saw it I was overcome with anguish. At night I would think about it and have an overwhelming urge to get up and touch it. Sometimes sleep was impossible. The worst part was the knowledge that one day someone would arrive to take it away. Then the last connection to Rob would be gone. Absolutely, totally gone. I didn’t know when that would happen, but dreaded the inevitable moment. I kept praying, “Please, one more day....one more day.”

Seth suggested taking Colibri out to the west coast of Vancouver Island to give me some experience on the open ocean. He had commitments and couldn’t go, but Dave volunteered to go with me. I offered to pay him for his time but he refused saying that it would be a pleasure for him to get away for a few days.

While we were out on the open Pacific Ocean we were hit by a squall. I was concerned but Dave helped me trim the sails and assured me that Colibri was more than up for it. He said with her heavy keel it would take a lot more than that to tip her over. He explained that even if she lost her mast, and the engine failed, she would be okay until help arrived. The only thing that would sink her was if she broke up. He assured me that was extremely unlikely to happen. And Colibri was loaded with safety equipment.

Thank God I’m not prone to sea sickness.

I spent a lot of time talking to Dave when I wasn’t out sailing. One day we talked about solo sailing.

“Jerry, you’re a natural sailor. I think you can handle Colibri alone. But don’t you think it would be safer to have a first mate for the trip to Hawaii? It’s a three week trip one way.”

“I don’t know anybody who would go,” I said. “How would I find someone?”

“You can put an ad in the local sailing magazine. You’d get a lot of replies.”

“How would I know who to pick?”

“I’ve got a friend who’s a retired naval captain,” he said. “He does consulting work. He could pre-screen any applicants and weed out the dope smoking hippies.”

I promised to think about it.

I started to take Colibri out into the bay solo. It wasn’t difficult now that I’d learned to sail and had confidence in my navigation skills.

I invited Jennifer, Paul and Ryan over to the boat for dinner one night. It was cold out so we ate in the cabin. Ryan loved Colibri. He saw it as a big playhouse. He looked in all the cupboards and lockers. He jumped on the beds. He thought the heads were the coolest things he’d ever seen. He giggled when I started the engine for him. He was more than happy to go to sleep in Uncle Jerry’s little bedroom.

We drank a lot of wine that night. At one point Jennifer said she had something to tell me. Paul put his hand on her arm and warned her off. I wondered what the big secret was. “Maybe she’s pregnant,” I thought. But then realized she wouldn’t’ be drinking wine if she was. I soon forgot about it.

I slept on Colibri most nights by then. The rocking motion and marina sounds lulled me to sleep. I didn’t think about Rob’s car as much when I slept there.

I continued my daily runs, mostly in the very early mornings, to accommodate my sailing schedule. One day after a shower I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I was almost a stranger to myself. My six foot frame had become hard and lean from running. I’d lost at least ten pounds. My hair, normally well kept, had grown shaggy. My face had lost its roundness. My knife edge nose looked even more prominent. My brown eyes looked larger framed by dark circles. My face, arms and neck were deeply tanned. I had a heavy five o’clock shadow from not shaving regularly. I was starting to look like a pirate. I was morphing into a true sailor.

My parents came to town to see the boat. Dad loved it. Mom admired it but wasn’t quite so enthusiastic. I offered to take them out for a sail. Dad accepted right away. I could tell Mom didn’t really want to go, so I let her off the hook by suggesting she enjoy some shopping in the city. I got Dad to help with the sailing by pulling sheets and winding winches. He thoroughly enjoyed the afternoon. I took them to dinner at the restaurant by the marina. When they were leaving Dad hugged me and told me how proud he was of me. Mom told me I was too thin and I needed to eat more.

I spent a day ashore (I was sounding more and more like a sailor) getting my finances sorted out. I needed to invest my money safely and ensure I had access to it while I was traveling. I felt oddly disconnected from my money. What good had it done me? Except for Colibri I’d still be holed up in my apartment eating tuna.

In between sailing and studying navigation I read every book, magazine and blog I could on ocean sailing. Specifically solo ocean sailing. One hears horror stories about things gone wrong, but the truth is that many, many people—old, young, male, female—do it safely and successfully. I was a natural sailor, I was learning advanced navigation, and I had a great boat. The only thing I lacked was experience.

I agonized over the pros and cons of setting off alone. The prospect of solitude, being hundreds of miles from another human, looking out and seeing nothing but endless ocean all around, was appealing. On the other hand, someone to help if something did go wrong—especially on my first long voyage—seemed sensible. In the end I decided to follow Dave’s advice and find a first mate.

But it had to be a female. No testosterone. No sexual tension.

I contacted Dave’s consultant friend. I advertised and had the applications sent to him. He found two suitable candidates, both of whom were well experienced on the high seas. I interviewed them.

Number one was not suitable. She was experienced but had the sort of personality that grated.

Number two, Katie, was a winner. She was ex-navy, and tough as nails, but she had a sunny disposition. The type of person you could count on to watch your back. She suggested we go for a short cruise to get to know each other, just to be sure, before we committed to the three week crossing to Hawaii. We took an overnight cruise and got along well.

Weather patterns over the Pacific indicated that the best time to set out would be in about a month. Katie and I made lists of supplies we needed. I began to provision Colibri for the trip. I had a marine surveyor inspect the boat to ensure all the rigging and equipment was in good shape.

The marina where I had Colibri moored was private, but it was a busy little community. We seldom saw strangers, but neighbours came and went regularly. Sometimes people stopped to talk and offer advice. But most fellow sailors sensed my need for solitude and didn’t bother me. If I wanted to be left alone I wouldn’t look up from the task at hand and they would walk on by.

On sunny days I enjoyed polishing the stainless steel deck fittings. The railings, the wheel, the winches. It was a mindless sort of task and invariably my thoughts turned to Rob. Wistful thoughts of how it might have been if only I hadn’t fucked up so badly.

One morning I was really going at a particularly stubborn spot of corrosion on the port railing. I was facing away from the dock and I heard, rather than saw, someone walking along the planks. I was in a “do not disturb” mood so didn’t look up. The footsteps stopped at Colibri. I continued to polish, hoping that whoever it was would get the hint and move along. The person stood persistently. An awkward silence ensued. I was just about to plaster a fake smile on my face and turn around when I heard,

“Is this your boat?”

For a microsecond I felt annoyance. Then I recognized the voice....

I was hit with such a sudden wave of nausea that I doubled over and clutched my stomach. I took deep breaths to prevent myself from being physically sick.

I couldn’t turn around. Couldn’t face him.

I took a very deep breath.

“Are you....”

Another breath.

“Here to get....”

One final breath.

“Your car?”