Authors: Alex Ames
“Were there any bad feelings between you?”
“Not bad, considerably cooler. We met now and then, of course. The wooden boat world is a small one. There were races, trade shows, that kind of thing. We said hello. He was aware that I had become a mother. Later, I helped my father transition Folsom Boats into Franklin’s hands. My second husband was also a boatbuilder, more so on the business side than on the design side. Time went by. The sixties and the seventies. Our company was suffering. Fiberglass hulls became the norm, fewer and fewer wooden boats in demand.”
“I understand fully. My company is suffering, too. Wooden boats are popular, mythical . . .”
“But an economical niche,” Vera said. “What is the euphemism the banking people use? Yeah, we rightsized! We specialized in rowing boats, went mainly into repairs for bigger ones.”
“Norman, my firstborn, Vicky’s father, had moved to Nantucket to set up his own sailing boat company. Called it Folsom Fine Ships and Sails, even though his surname was a different one, Wallace. It was more . . . contemporary, wood, fiber, whatever, as long as it sailed well and looked good. But the name Folsom ensured recognition. After my Franklin died in the early eighties, I moved from Maine to Nantucket to be close to Norman, his wife, and my only grandchild. Into this house.”
“And now we are connecting your former lover John with Josh Hancock?” Rick asked.
Vera laughed a short-breathed rattling breath. “So right and yet so wrong, young man. But I’ll tell you anyway.” She gathered her thoughts. “1986. Along came a young man, spending his summer on Nantucket. He was in his late teens, went to acting school but came from a well-off family. Acting was his passion, at least that’s what he said.”
“Called Josh Hancock, I presume?” Rick asked.
“Right. He was a big boy then, with a big mouth, nothing more than determination. My granddaughter Vicky had also come home from college for the summer, and both of them found each other on the same sailing team.”
“Led by John?”
“No, he never had been part of the Nantucket scene. He stayed in the Maine area, creating his wonderful boats as a nobody. But Vicky and Josh hit it off. Well, that’s what I think. Vicky never talked much about these things at home, least with her grandmother.” She held up her finger. “And now came the coincidence. Josh and Vicky kept seeing each other now and then. She went to college in Boston, he was at Strasberg in New York, a weekend here or a holiday there, whenever they had the time.”
“I understand Josh became quite a sailor.”
“Yes. He was a natural, especially in competitions. Josh quickly stepped out of the regular training, where he had met Vicky, and joined one of the talent pools in the 470-class competition. By the time he started acting school, he was already an Olympic team alternate. And this is how he met John.”
“How come? I thought John was a builder?”
“I don’t know, young man,” Vera said. “As I said, I wasn’t following John’s career any longer. And this was all before the Internet, remember. But as he had been building racing yachts, the Ferraris of wooden boats, he might have had a soft spot for coaching. He was in his late fifties by then—maybe a change of direction in his life?”
“Interesting, Josh and John connected. And Josh of course presented his girlfriend Vicky Folsom?”
“Yes. The trials for the 1988 Seoul Olympic sailing competitions were held right off Long Beach. Vicky told me about this later. John knew immediately who she was. The name of course, plus the fact that she looked exactly like me. And he actually asked Vicky whether it would be all right to contact me.”
“Did he have any renewed intentions?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Come on, young man, in your sixties, you don’t feel the same passion you did in your twenties. Both of us were young then, and turned into seniors.”
“Did he visit you?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“What happened then?” Rick asked.
“Life happened again. Josh got his big acting break with the
Firestorm
franchise, overnight superstar. John never contacted me. Vicky went her way. Never married.”
Rick looked out the window. “A strange unfinished story. There seems to be no closure nor happy ending for anyone.”
Vera looked at the grandmother clock in the corner, then back to Rick. “I don’t want to worry you, young man, but this is the way any life will turn. Except maybe when you are stuck by lightning and die at the very moment you kiss the love of your life.”
Rick thought about Isabella, who had left him and the kids too soon, and his failing business and the changes that were upcoming. Fate, or life, had given him Louise—so much luck no guy should ever have, nor should ever get handed. Other people’s lives had similar disruptions and unfinished business, lost baggage or old regrets. John, in his twenties, was in love with a girl he couldn’t ever get. Never getting over it, something Rick knew from the diaries, dying as an old man in Portland, Oregon, schlepping along a rotting boat like a talisman. Vera with her choice to take another man, waiting for her life to end. Josh, the talented sailor, leaving young Vicky for a career that took him into different galaxies but didn’t make him happy, judging from his problems with alcohol and drugs in his thirties, then getting back on his feet again to become even bigger.
“You didn’t come here for the story; you came here for background information.”
“My hope was that you could offer me insight into the
Vera
and her construction. Plans, calculations, maybe photos?” Rick said.
Vera looked at Rick for a long time with her small eyes in a wrinkled face. “I wanted you to hear the full story. And maybe understand your own life a little better. You don’t need to say anything, because I doubt you know what I am talking about. But keep the story in your heart; there aren’t many people around to retell it. Bring me the box from the shelf, please.” She pointed to the bookshelf that held a variety of collected books and knickknacks. Rick dutifully got up and retrieved an old shoebox that was bleached and bumped. It didn’t seem to contain much because it was very light.
“Memorabilia?” he asked and handed it over.
Vera didn’t accept it. “No, you keep it. It is yours.”
“Do I dare to open it?”
“Sure. There is no poisonous snake inside.”
Rick lifted the lid. Various pieces of paper inside, newspapers and old photos. Rick’s heart beat faster as he unfolded the top-most newspaper page and immediately recognized the
Vera
. Never in his life could he have imagined the design of the upper deck and the mast and rigging formation. “This is . . . fantastic,” he whispered, carefully straightening the paper. It was an article from the early seventies from a regatta in Chesapeake Bay from a local paper Rick had never heard of. It didn’t mention the
Vera
by name, as it concentrated on the regatta event as a whole.
“Not what you expected?”
“I feel . . . humbled by looking at this boat. I have made some design variations on how the boat could have looked, but I was being stupid. Stupid and small. This is the most extreme and exciting design I have ever seen on a boat this size and that age. Look at this, there is no cabin whatsoever. The complete deck from the cockpit on one level and only some beams for improved mast stability. John had added these stabilizers in the middle, but that is about it. Any other designer would have tried to build a cabin. But no, this boat is a racing beast, so he stripped anything away that did not race! Just like an Indie racing car has no trunk. And look at the mast proportion. That is huge, much longer than any rule or calculation dictates. Bummer, we have to reorder the mast; we need a much longer one.”
Rick took out some of the other newspaper articles and photos that showed the
Vera
in various angles, focuses, or situations. Sometimes alone, sometimes sailing around others. Rick forcefully pulled himself away from the photos, carefully put them back in the box, and then looked at the real Vera. “How come?”
“Come on, the boat was named after me. Of course I had an interest in it. And therefore I collected the mentions in news. Had friends send me snapshots. Some of them were sent to me by John himself, plain envelope, no return address.”
“He was a persistent man, it seems,” Rick smiled.
“He was an idiot. He could have come and fought for me and our love. Why send some stupid photos or clippings? To torture me? To remind me of what a great designer he was? But enough, we have had our chances in life, we have made our mistakes and our choices. So take this box and rebuild the best boat ever designed.” Vera took a deep breath and stood up. “I am tired and need some rest. Pass me that blanket, please, and tell Vicky to prepare me a bowl of soup when you leave.”
Rick got up, too. “Thank you for your time, Vera. Take care.” He shook her frail hand, which was like touching matchsticks hidden inside a glove.
“Young man, take care of yourself. My life is almost over and yours mostly ahead. Be careful of the choices you make in your time, especially with your famous girlfriend.” Vera held his hand for a long moment.
“Good-bye, Vera. I’ll send you a photo when the
Vera
is finished.”
“That would be nice of you. Good-bye, Rick Flint.”
Rick stepped out of the house and walked around into the garden. Vicky was stuffing garden cuttings into a bucket and looked up when Rick came. “Done?”
“Yes. Quite a story. Your grandmother is a remarkable lady.”
She gave a small smile. “Yes, she is. You found what you’ve been looking for?” Her eyes fell onto the little box.
“Yes, your grandmother was very kind to gift me this. It’s . . . beyond everything I had could have imagined. A masterpiece. But I gather you have heard her stories from her twenties many times before?” Rick asked.
“More than enough. There are waves of memory-lane moments with her. Sometimes she never talks about her youth, only about safe territory, my parents, the old company, stuff like that.”
“I had the impression that she has a very pragmatic viewpoint on her decisions and her fate in her life.”
“After all these years, I don’t know anymore what to believe and what not. Yes, she says that she made peace with everything and that her decisions had been good. On the other hand, she talks so much about the past it’s as if she’s trying to convince herself that it was good, even though she feels deep in her heart that she should have stuck with John.”
“Can I ask you a very private question? If you don’t feel comfortable answering a stranger, please object.”
“You know the life story of our family. You are no stranger anymore.” Vicky laughed.
“Do you feel you somehow received the bad end of the deal?”
“You mean because I take care of grandmother?” Vicky asked.
“And because of your former relationship with Josh Hancock,” Rick said. “Quite a contrast between Nantucket and Beverly Hills.”
She looked away, over the garden, and didn’t answer at first. “Not sure. It’s a difficult story. Josh was a great guy. I was madly in love with him. And he was in love with me. Both our hearts broke when he left. We’ll never know how things would have turned out had we stayed together.”
“Did you break it off, or did he?”
“Neither. Josh had gotten a great agent who sold him for the
Firestorm
casting. Josh was a virtual outsider, the fresh-faced outdoor type. Able to compete for the same roles as Mel Gibson, Bruce Willis, and Sylvester Stallone. A-material,” Vicky said, making quotation marks with her fingers. “He went to Hollywood to make movies. I was a senior in college, on my way to becoming a teacher.” She measured with her hands from left to right. “How different can your paths get, right? But you should know that. The boatbuilder and the actress.”
“But you had the chance to be with him from the beginning.”
“Look at Josh’s life. He is divorced how many times? How much is he around for his kids? He is an addict. Sure, he is super-famous and rich. But had I stayed with him without a college degree, without a skill of my own, where would I have ended up? The first ex-wife of Josh Hancock. Good for a few talk shows, an occasional interview, and maybe some C-class gossip whenever I am seen with another man. Thank you very much.”
“I see you learned the practical outlook on life from your grandmother.”
Vicky sighed and laughed. “Learned it from the best.”
Rick looked at her. “Would you mind if I told Josh of our meeting? What became of you? And your grandmother?”
“Wouldn’t he ask anyway? You are spending his money coming here, right?”
“Josh is very dedicated to sailing and to the
Vera
project. But when it comes to the history, this part of his history, he actually forbade me to come.” Rick shrugged. “He has his own demons to fight, I guess.”
“And I am one of them? One of Josh Hancock’s demons?” Vicky said.
“Could be.”
“If he asks, tell him I said hello.”
“But not otherwise?”
“No need to stir up the demons if they are not called,” Vicky said cryptically. “Good-bye, Rick Flint. Keep your own demons at bay.” They shook hands.
Rick briefly thought about Bella, quietly laughing at the scene from somewhere above, and Louise, who was probably preparing dinner for the gang right now. He felt homesick, but also slightly at a loss of what path his own life was going to take should the business finally collapse. He left the garden and returned to the street, walking toward town.
twenty-five
The Breakup
October. Louise found herself swallowed by the industry again. A two-week promotion tour, followed by four weeks on location in Alaska for an action thriller called
The Troublemaker
, in which Louise was to play the role of an animal activist who turns deadly. It was one of the last projects, yet the list of obligations still stretched out for more than a year and a half. The movie business planned far ahead. The planning started now for the blockbusters that would hit the market in three years. In the case of sequels or whole franchises, the planning horizon was even longer. Louise and Izzy had cut down everything, but the effect on Louise’s calendar was hardly noticeable. She spend a few days in Oxnard, enjoying Rick and the kids and a perfectly normal domestic life, but the next dates took her away for long stretches that became almost unbearable. And what drove her crazy was Rick’s inflexibility. He refused to leave the kids at home for a longer period of time, even with Hal and Agnes to take care of them, so that they might be able to spend a weekend somewhere on their own.