The fourth article was about Happenstance . Eight pictures of the boat had been taken from various angles, inside and out, all detailing the restoration. The boat, she learned, was fairly unique in that it was made entirely of wood and had first been manufactured in Lisbon, Portugal, in 1927. Designed by Herreshoff, one of the most noted maritime engineers of that period, it had a long and adventurous history (including being used in the Second World War to study the German garrisons that lined the shores of France). Eventually the boat made its way to Nantucket, where it was bought by a local businessman. By the time Garrett Blake purchased it four years ago, it had fallen into disrepair, and the article said that he and his wife, Catherine, had restored it.
Catherine. . .
Theresa looked at the article’s date. April 1992. The article didn’t mention that Catherine had died, and because one of the letters she had was found three years ago in Norfolk, it meant that Catherine must have died sometime in 1993.
“Can I help you?”
Theresa turned instinctively toward the voice behind her. A young man was smiling behind her, and she was suddenly glad she had seen a picture of Garrett moments before. This person obviously wasn’t he.
“Did I startle you?” he asked, and Theresa quickly shook her head.
“No . . . I was just looking at the pictures.”
He nodded toward them. “She’s something, isn’t she?”
“Who?”
“Happenstance. Garrett—the guy that owns the shop—rebuilt her. She’s a wonderful boat. One of the prettiest I’ve ever seen, now that she’s done.”
“Is he here? Garrett, I mean.”
“No, he’s down at the docks. He won’t be in until later this morning.”
“Oh . . .”
“Can I help you find something? I know the shop’s kind of cluttered, but everything you need to go diving you can find here.”
She shook her head. “No, I was just browsing, actually,”
“Okay, but if I can help you find something, let me know.”
“I will,” she said, and the young man nodded cheerfully, then turned and started toward the counter at the front of the store. Before she could stop the words, she heard herself ask:
“you said Garrett was at the docks?”
He turned again and kept walking backward as he spoke. “Yeah—a couple blocks down the road. At the marina. Do you know where that is?”
“I think I passed it on the way here.”
“He should be there for the next hour or so, but like I said, if you come back later, he’ll be here. Do you want me to leave a message for him?”
“No, that’s okay. It’s not that important.”
She spent the next three minutes pretending to look at different items on the racks, then walked out after waving good-bye to the young man.
But instead of going to her car, she headed in the direction of the marina.
* * *
When she reached the marina, she looked around, hoping to spot Happenstance . Because the vast majority of boats were white and Happenstance was natural wood, she found it easily and made her way to the appropriate ramp.
Although she felt nervous as she started down the ramp, the articles in the shop had given her a couple of ideas of what to talk about. Once she met him, she would simply explain that after reading the article about Happenstance, she wanted to see the boat up close. It would sound believable, and hopefully she could parlay that into a longer conversation. Then, of course, she’d have some idea of what he was like in person. And after that . . . well, then she’d see.
As she approached the boat, however, the first thing she noticed was that no one seemed to be around. There wasn’t anyone on board, there wasn’t anyone on the docks, and it appeared as if no one had been there all morning. the boat was locked down, the sail covered, and nothing seemed out of place. After looking around for any sign of him, she checked the name on the back of the boat. It was indeed Happenstance . She brushed aside some hair that had blown onto her face as she puzzled over it. Odd, she thought, the man at the store had said he was here.
Instead of returning to the shop right away, she took a moment to admire the boat. It was beautiful—rich and textured, unlike the boats that surrounded it. It had much more character than the other sailboats docked on either side of it, and she knew why the paper had done an article on it. In a way, it reminded her of a much smaller version of pirate ships she had seen in the movies. She paced back and forth for a few minutes, studying it from different angles, and wondered how run-down it had been prior to the restoration. Most of it looked new, though she assumed that they hadn’t replaced all the wood. They had probably sanded her down, and as she looked closer, she saw nicks in the hull, lending credence to her theory.
She finally decided to try Island Diving a little later. It was obvious the man at the store was mistaken. After one last glance at the boat, she turned to leave.
A man stood on the ramp a few feet from her, watching her carefully.
Garrett. . .
He was sweating in the morning heat, and his shirt was soaked through in a couple of places. The sleeves had been torn off, revealing tight muscles in his arms and forearms. His hands were black with what appeared to be grease, and the diver’s watch he had on his wrist looked scarred, as if he’d used it for years. He wore tan shorts and Top-Siders without socks and looked like someone who spent most, if not all, of his time near the ocean.
He watched her as she took an involuntary step backward.
“Can I help you with something?” he asked. He smiled but didn’t approach her, as if he were afraid she would feel trapped.
Which was exactly how she felt when their eyes met.
For a moment all she could do was stare at him. Despite the fact that she had seen a picture of him, he looked better than she expected, though she wasn’t sure why. He was tall and broad shouldered. Though not strikingly handsome, his face was tan and rugged, as if the sun and sea had taken their toll. His eyes weren’t nearly as hypnotic as David’s had been, but there was something compelling about him for sure. Something masculine in the way he stood before her.
Remembering her plan, she took a deep breath. She motioned toward Happenstance.
“I was just admiring your boat. It’s really beautiful.”
Rubbing his hands together to remove some of the excess grease, he said politely, “Thank you, that’s nice of you to say.”
His steady gaze seemed to expose the reality of the situation, and suddenly everything came to her at once—finding the bottle, her growing curiosity, the research she had done, her trip to Wilmington, and finally this meeting, face-to-face. Overwhelmed, she closed her eyes and caught herself fighting for control. Somehow she hadn’t expected this to happen so quickly. She suddenly felt a moment of pure terror.
He took a small step forward. “Are you okay?” he asked in a concerned voice.
Taking another deep breath and willing herself to relax, she said, “yeah, i think so. I just got a little dizzy there for a second.”
“You sure?”
She ran her hand through her hair, embarrassed. “Yeah. I’m fine now. Really.”
“Good,” he said as if waiting to see whether she was telling the truth. Then, after he was sure she was, he asked curiously: “Have we met before?”
Theresa shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so.”
“Then how did you know the boat was mine?”
Relieved, she answered, “Oh . . . I saw your picture down at the shop in the articles on the wall, along with the pictures of the boat. The young man in your shop said you would be here, and I thought that as long as you were, I’d come down to see for myself.”