As usual, God hadn’t heard his prayer. The small houseboat in front of him nearly swamped, pitching hard from port to starboard and twisting violently in the gigantic wave. The captain was doing his best to keep her steady but not really succeeding.
“Typical,” Cullen mumbled under his breath. “Thanks again, God.”
Cullen heard the captain of the houseboat hail
Knot Nice
, the Cabo yacht, on the VHF radio, and he smiled when the captain called the guy every name under the sun.
Knot Nice
is right.
Cullen had half a mind to hail the Coast Guard and report the maniac but figured unless they witnessed him operating his vessel dangerously, they really wouldn’t do anything but give him a warning.
When the danger passed and Cullen had made sure the tiny houseboat didn’t need assistance, he put his boat in neutral, and breaking his own golden rule, he left the helm and ran down below. He never ever left the helm while underway, but since he’d decided to make this trip alone, he’d have to fudge on that rule a little.
He just needed a few seconds to make sure there were no real catastrophes belowdecks. The saloon was a mess, with things strewn everywhere, but nothing that couldn’t wait until he docked later that afternoon. Cullen was about to head back to the helm when he spotted a pile of broken glass lying on the galley floor. Dread washed over him.
Cole’s vase.
Cullen closed his eyes and dropped his head in defeat. Then suddenly he looked up to the heavens and slammed his fist down onto the companionway steps. “Seriously, God? Of all the things to break?”
Angry and forlorn, Cullen again took the helm, but his mood was now drastically different. So far, his trip from Provincetown, Massachusetts, to Southport, North Carolina, had gone exceptionally well. And if he were being honest, he had enjoyed it more than he’d anticipated, but now he was just ready for it to be over. And luckily for him, today was the last leg. Southport was just about a hundred miles ahead of him.
He radioed the bridge tender for the Wrightsville Beach drawbridge, made the next opening, and was now cruising along at eighteen knots in an uninhabited stretch of the waterway. He looked at his watch.
Six more hours, Cullen. You can do this.
Diligently paying attention to the other snowbirds leaving the fast-approaching winter behind and making their way south for warmer climates, Cullen wondered about all the people onboard each boat he encountered. Who were they? What was their story? Where were they headed? For a quick moment, he questioned if they wondered the same about him. If they did, he’d bet his life they’d never guess his plight.
Occasionally someone would radio him, switch to another frequency, and chat about where
he
was going, along with their own plans, but almost everyone would compliment him on the name of his boat and his logo.
T-Time
had a unique logo—a T-shirt with a large
T
across the chest and the word
Time
next to it. It had been Cole’s idea, and everyone thought it had to do with golf, but it was really an homage to Province T’s, Cole’s T-shirt shop in Provincetown.
Being on the water had its usual effect on Cullen. His mood slowly improved, and he was finally starting to enjoy the unusually mild late October day. It was hard not to. The skies were bright blue, the winds were mild, and the currents were in his favor. He was even filled with a little anticipation for what lay ahead for him.
After spending the last winter in P-town, enduring the endless blizzards and blistering cold and navigating four feet of snow on the ground all season, he’d decided he definitely wasn’t doing that again. So he’d closed up the T-shirt shop on Columbus Day and headed south to spend the winter in North Carolina.
With just an hour to go before reaching his final destination, Cullen passed through Snow’s Cut waterway, and when he made the turn into the Cape Fear River, he was instantly reminded of the movie by the same name. It involved a convicted rapist who spent fourteen years in prison but eventually got out on a technicality and went in search of the prosecutor who put him away. He began to stalk the prosecutor and his family, who fled to their houseboat docked on the Cape Fear River and…. He forced himself to think of something else. That movie had scared the crap out of him and Cole, and he didn’t want to associate that fear or any negativity with his new winter home
or
with his memories of his and Cole’s time in Southport.
On the long and very straight stretch of the Cape Fear River, Cullen engaged his autopilot and relaxed a little, recounting his trip. His journey had started at first light seven days ago. He’d crossed the Cape Cod Bay, watching the impending sunrise while sipping on his morning coffee. Eventually the cliffs and white sandy beaches of Cape Cod Bay gave way to the rocky shores of the Cape Cod Canal, which then took him through Buzzards Bay, Rhode Island Sound, and into Long Island Sound, where he spent his first night in Montauk, New York. The next few days brought him to the Atlantic Ocean and eventually to the entrance to the Intracoastal Waterway at Norfolk, Virginia. From there it was smooth sailing toward Southport.
His mind wandered from his journey to his destination. Why Southport, of all the places he could have chosen? His only rationale was that he and Cole had made this trip two years ago, and the Southport Marina had been one of their stops on the way back up to Provincetown from Key West. While they were there, a production company had been filming the movie
Safe Haven
, with Julianne Hough and Josh Duhamel, and he and Cole had fallen in love with the charming little town.
On his and Cole’s last day, they had stopped at a small wine and cheese shop near the marina and picked up a few bottles of wine, several cheeses, and a loaf of fresh-baked french bread. They’d sat on the bow of
T-Time
and watched the golden sun disappear below the horizon as they consumed their bounty. At about nine o’clock that evening, they were just about to turn in for the night when the crack of fireworks filled the night air and bright colors suddenly adorned the sky. The fireworks continued off and on for almost three hours. They’d found out from a dockhand when they were leaving that the movie crew had been filming a fireworks scene, and they had apparently needed multiple takes. It had been a magical evening, filled with wonder and amazement. Cullen remembered being as happy as he’d ever been. Little did he know that night had been the calm before the shit storm.
SHAKING OFF
the memories, Cullen rounded the bend where the Cape Fear River ended and the Intracoastal Waterway resumed. To his portside was Bald Head Island and the inlet from the Atlantic Ocean, and directly ahead to starboard was the Southport Marina. The little town of Southport was finally in sight. He slowed to idle speed and radioed the marina for docking information.
The marina gave him his instructions, and he in turn informed them he was onboard alone and would need assistance at the dock. He put
T-Time
in neutral and once again left the helm to ready his lines. He wasn’t sure if he was pleased or not when they directed him to the main dock and a slip directly across from the slip he and Cole had occupied on their previous trip.
It was nearing three thirty by the time Cullen connected the boat to the power supply, water, and cable television, and checked all the lines, making sure his boat was secure.
Cullen then ventured down below to clean up the mess left behind by the captain of
Knot Nice
. He grumbled under his breath as he put all the waterway guides, magazines, books, candles, and the pictures of him and Cole back in their proper places. Then he looked in the direction of the galley. In his shaking hand, he still held one of his favorite pictures of Cole, who was arranging tulips in a small crystal vase and smiling up at the camera. The remains of that vase now covered the galley floor, along with the half dozen red and yellow tulips that always filled the vase when Cullen was onboard.
Distraught, Cullen dropped to his knees to gather the flowers. He mentally cursed himself for not doing a better job of securing the vase that morning when he’d left Beaufort. But in a moment of anger, he shifted the blame. “No! I wedged it tightly behind the sink where it’s made each leg of this trip unharmed.” He once again looked up. “God! I’m getting really tired of these constant tests. You’ve already turned your back on me, so why can’t you just leave me alone. When is all of this going to end?”
As he sifted through the broken glass, a shard tore at Cullen’s index finger. “Damn!” Blood was now dripping onto the galley floor. “Are you seriously trying to push me over the edge?”
When he reached for a paper towel, Cullen knelt on another shard of glass. “Damn it!” he screamed. “Please! Just give me a break!”
Cullen fought the tears welling up in his eyes. In the last year and a half, he’d been so angry—at God and everyone else—he hadn’t been able to cry. But no matter how determined he was to keep his emotions in check, on this day of all days, he lost the battle in a big way.
Today was the first of his planned attempt at leaving the past behind and finally moving on. But Cullen’s tears had a mind of their own. They freely escaped the prison that had held them at bay for so long. Tear after tear ran down his cheeks, dripping like melting ice and mixing with the blood on the floor.
Emotionally exhausted, bleeding, and still majorly pissed off, Cullen sat back against the galley wall and gave in. His shoulders slumped forward in defeat and started to shake violently as he brought his hands up to cover his face. He cried. And cried. And cried.
How much time passed, he didn’t know. But after his tears dried and he regained some semblance of stability, he got to his feet. He felt lighter somehow. His knee hurt and his heart still ached, but the pain seemed almost manageable for the first time in a long time.
He’d cried for Cole only once, and back then he’d been so lost and alone, no amount of tears could have lightened his load. But now, with over a year behind him and his memory of Cole fading….
Wait!
A thought hit him.
Is this why I chose Southport? Not simply because we liked the town, but because I’m afraid Cole’s memory is fading? Did I subconsciously want to be somewhere with a connection to him? But I’m supposed to be moving on. Shit!
Confused, Cullen started cleaning up the mess by collecting what pieces of glass he could and placing them in a small cardboard box. He put the flowers in a cup with some water and swept up the rest of the particles.
“Good going, Cul,” he said out loud. Cul was what Cole used to call him. “You weren’t even here an hour before you lost it. Hey, but at least you figured out why you came here. Now to figure out if you should stay or not. This is supposed to be moving on. Remember?”
With no answers presenting themselves, Cullen decided to shower and get something to eat. After brushing his teeth, he studied his reflection in the mirror. His first thought was that he looked older somehow. His hair was still as black as coal, albeit with a little silver starting to appear at his temples. His crystal-blue eyes were still bright, and his Irish complexion was as fair as ever, but he looked older.
Maybe you just feel older, Cullen.
On the way to the flybridge, Cullen stopped in the galley and opened a bottle of pinot noir. He poured himself a glass and climbed the steps. He took a sip of his wine and looked across the main dock to the slip
T-Time
had once occupied when he and Cole were here together. Cullen imagined his boat there again, Cole bending over and neatly flemishing all her lines—something Cullen always paid special attention to now because Cole loved the look so much. It always amazed him how the simple act of coiling a line like a rattlesnake gave Cole so much pleasure. Cullen heard Cole’s voice in his head. “
She doesn’t look properly docked if her lines aren’t flemished.”
Cullen held his glass up in a toast to Cole.
You are no longer with me, my love, but I promise
T-Time’s
lines will always be flemished.
Then the realization hit him.
If I’m gonna try to move on with my life, I can’t stay here. I need to let Cole go.
It was all starting to make complete sense to him now. The fear of Cole’s memory fading was why his subconscious had brought him back here.
Cullen! You stupid fool. It was all a way to try and hold on to him. Well, that settles it. I’ll stay a couple of days, say good-bye for good, and move farther south. A place where there are no ties and no memories to hold on to.
With his mind made up, Cullen downed his wine and went in search of a restaurant for dinner. He exited the marina and followed East Bay Street along the shoreline, taking the same route into town he and Cole had run each morning on their prior visit.
Stopping when he recognized the spot where the movie set—a little country store—had been constructed, Cullen stood and stared at the piece of vacant land at the water’s edge. A great deal of the movie had taken place in the small fake storefront, and he imagined it still standing there with its fresh produce in baskets on the front porch.
In the last scene of the movie, the store had burned to the ground. He and Cole had stood on the sidelines with the other onlookers, watching the controlled flames fueled by propane canisters consuming the little structure. It had been bittersweet to watch the movie alone when it had finally been released.
Shaking off the memories, Cullen continued on. When he reached the waterfront, there were several options from which to choose. He decided on a little place called Fishy Fishy Cafe. It was nothing more than a hole in the wall, but Cullen had remembered having the best fish tacos of his life there, and he was hoping for a repeat performance. He seated himself at a small square table facing west, overlooking the waterway. He ordered a shot of Gentleman Jack, deciding to hold off on dinner for a little while. He had nowhere to go and was in no hurry. Besides, he had lots of memories to keep him company.