Off Track: An Off Series Novella

by Glen Robins

  Rob and Lukas are shell-shocked. They sit in silence, too stunned to speak.

  I stand and wave my hand at the air, fighting my emotions.

  “Maybe we should continue tomorrow,” Lukas says.

  “That might be best,” I say. I show them to the dinghy. Rob has experience with boats, he tells me, so I allow him to drive it to the docks of the resort. He promises to come back after breakfast in the morning. “The best fishing is at sunrise,” I tell them.

  “That’s when you’ll see us next, then,” says Rob as he fires up the motor.

  I watch as they disappear into the blackness of the night. I turn away and listen as the tinny reverberations of the little motor and the rippling of the water from its propeller slide away toward the shore.

  Chapter Three

  Five Years Before Meeting Collin Cook

  Cayman Islands

  I didn’t sleep well that night. Too many thoughts of what I had lost ran through my mind. Parts of my history had not been examined for many years because the emotions were still raw. It felt like I had just fallen asleep when I heard that little motor whining its way toward me and the Admiral Ristier. Morning had come quickly, and my guests were true to their word, so I knew I must be true to mine.

  I hurriedly jump out of my bed and prepare myself, hoping to hide the fact that I had barely slept at all.

  Rob drives the dinghy and Lukas holds a bag in his hands as they approach. I have gone topside to greet them and help them tie up.

  The two men bring me a hearty breakfast that includes a croissant filled with scrambled eggs and bacon, fruit, and coffee. They have similar items packed in Styrofoam boxes that come out of the bag. We eat together as we discuss our plans for where to fish. Once breakfast is consumed, we set about to pull up the anchor and get underway.

  The sails unfurl and the wind catches them and tugs us forward. I point us south by southwest toward one of my favorite fishing spots. We arrive there twenty minutes later and drop anchor and set out our fishing lines. We talk about bait and casting and lures. I tell them our first order of business is to catch a goodly amount of bait fish. We will use those to attract the bigger ones.

  After we get started, the questions come, but I am ready now, ready to tell the most painful part of my life’s journey. The three of us stand at the stern, spread out. I cast from the middle position while Rob and Lukas cast to the sides, Rob on the port side and Lukas on the starboard.

  Lukas apologizes that he and Rob had caused me to dig up painful memories. I wave that off and say, “That’s all right. It’s good to talk about these things sometimes.”

  “How did you manage to put your life back together after something like that?” he asks.

  “Well, I’ll tell you, it wasn’t easy. I struggled for months. Time moved very slowly at first. Thoughts of that little boy—she liked the name Timothy, so we named him that—running on the beach, throwing his arms around my neck each time I came to visit him, begging to hear the stories about my adventures, all but consumed me. It’s the little things you miss, you know? Reading to him at night, letting him steer the dinghy as he sat in my lap, teaching him about the boat, and the ocean. Hearing him say, ‘I love you, Papa.’ The way he looked up at me and would smile his crooked little smile. The joy when we were reunited after several days away. Things like that.”

  I pause, take a few deep breaths to let the storm inside me blow over. I have never told anyone these things, except for their friend Collin. It is very difficult, but I feel a kinship with these two similar to Collin.

  “Take your time,” says Lukas.

  My composure returns and I pick up again.

  “Memories of my beautiful wife and her troubled soul and my inability to help her through her difficulties ate away at me like a cancer feeding off pain. The only thing that saved me was my first love—the sea. The sea had given me much: hope, food, a way to make a living. Now it gave me a reason to live, a place of sanctuary, and an appreciation for the severity of life. It had taken something dear to my heart. I had to bow my head in respect, though I was angry. Angry at the sea for taking away my Timmy. Angry at God for allowing another tragedy to hurt my family. Angry at Clarissa. Angry at myself.

  “In the end, I had to bury that anger. I had to make peace with the sea because I knew it was constant and unchanging. It just does what it does, no thoughts about harming or destroying, no malice or mischief. The sea is just there to provide a place for fish to live and a place for man to sail. For me, it was also a place of solitude and reflection. Somehow, the sea helped me heal like nothing else could, even after it had taken away my Timmy.

  “Of course, I also had to make peace with God. He can prevent things like that, but He doesn’t most of the time. Pain makes us grow. He knows that. It makes us stronger unless it makes us bitter. He can help us through it if we let Him. I had read that somewhere and I believed it then like I believe it now. I did not want to be a bitter soul, full of anger and miserable thoughts. Carrying grudges, especially against God, is like dragging an anchor behind your sailboat. All it does is slow you down. In a storm, it will swamp you. I had to get rid of that. No room in my life for grudges, know what I mean?”

  I have avoided a break down by side-stepping the hardest parts of my story. I don’t tell them about the nights I laid awake sobbing or screaming at God or cursing the sea. I don’t tell them about the hole in my heart that is still there but covered over.

  My listeners are sober. Maybe they understand my anguish more than I suppose. They are quiet and introspective, but also empathetic. I can tell from each man’s eyes that each is reflecting on his own pains from his own past, so I wait a few moments to let that lesson sink in and to allow my own emotional storm to pass. I don’t want to elicit sympathy or sour the mood. That would not be good. But maybe they can learn something from what I have said. What good is telling my story if there are no lessons to be learned from it?

  Lukas finally speaks up. “I know what you mean. There are plenty of unjust things that happen to all of us, I suppose. You’re a strong man to move past something like that.”

  I look into Lukas’s eyes. I know he has had pain and loss, too. I hold his gaze, nodding slowly. I can see that he shares a similar scar. I want him to know that I sense his struggle.

  Lukas’s focus shifts to the distance. He speaks softly. “I spent much of my life hunting the man that took my Theresa. Now that he’s gone, I feel that justice has been served and that the world is a safer place, but I also feel empty. It’s been months, but I still haven’t processed it all yet. Defeating him did not bring back my Theresa and, so far, has not really mended anything inside of me. I have to let go of all the rage and all the blame. I know that, but it’s not easy. I have channeled that anger to keep me focused, to make me good at what I do. Now? I have to find a way to stay sharp and to pursue justice on a less personal basis, guess.” Lukas adjusts his gaze. He looks me in the eye and adds, “I’m glad you shared this part of your story.”

  “I had to. It’s part of what made me who I am.”

  Rob shifts his weight from one foot to the other and fusses with his fishing pole.

  It’s time for me to move on.

  “Other things changed, too,” I say. “My siblings were all grown and on their own. We communicated infrequently and gathered once a year for Christmas. That was it. Everyone was too busy trying to make a life. The oldest of my younger sisters moved to America and worked there. She said she was happy and liked to send us photographs of herself doing the things Americans do: drinking, dancing, attending sporting events. If you ask me, her happiness was nothing more than a show.

  “The two other siblings stayed in the islands. One works in the tourist industry, like myself and our father. She seems happy enough. She married a good man and moved to Saint Lucia. He manages one of the big hotels there and she works with him. The youngest of my surviving siblings worked hard to get himself into college where he earned a law degree.
He lives in George Town, is married to a nice woman, and has two daughters. His life is full of the good things, but he is very modest about it. He is also buried in his work.”

  “Your parents must be very pleased with the way their kids turned out. I mean, it sounds like most of you are all doing well and living good lives,” says Rob.

  “Our parents are now gone. They both died in the same week, just five days apart from each other.”

  Both men express their condolences. I thank them and apologize for being so abrupt about it. I clear my throat, soften my tone, and move on.

  “Neither of them had reached the age of sixty-five. Their bodies were nothing more than a collection of bones wrapped in leathery skin, worn out by years of struggle to survive, when we laid them to rest. I felt the burden of shame for the additional load I had placed on their weary and frail shoulders. My son’s death had changed them, took the light out of their eyes. It was a downhill slide from there to the grave.”

  Lukas interrupts me. “Captain, please don’t blame yourself for what happened. It wasn’t your parents’ fault your son died and it’s not your fault your parents died,” he says. There is concern in his eyes. I look at him, then down at my feet.

  “I know,” I say, “but it’s hard not to. So many things have gone wrong and so many of them seem to be because I didn’t do more.”

  Rob leans in and adds a comment of his own. “You know, we can all say that about things in our lives that didn’t work out well, but it doesn’t change the situations we all face. We all have stuff we wish we could do over.”

  These men are surprisingly compassionate. Either Collin rubbed off on them or vice versa. They are not like so many other Americans I have met.

  “Believe it or not, I have made my peace with it. My mind still feels the burden of guilt, however. Especially because of the way my siblings have distanced themselves from me.”

  “Are you not close with them?” asks Lukas.

  “Not really, no. We haven’t seen each other since our parents died and they never call me. If I call them, the conversations are short and strained.”

  “Well,” says Rob. “Lukas here doesn’t have any siblings, so he can’t relate. I have a brother, but we’re not close, so I feel you. I know what that’s like.”

  I nod my head in appreciation. “The last time I saw my siblings was when they all assembled here for the ash-spreading occasion. It caused some hardship for each of them and some complained more loudly than others at the beginning.

  “After they got here, we motored out to sea on my fishing boat, the Rusty Pelican, to spread our parents’ ashes in a place where the sun meets the horizon with no obstructions. Per our mother’s request, we anchored not far off the coast of Little Cayman, with Blossom Village still visible. We offered prayers and words of gratitude and praise for the good people they were. Our remembrances were similar and our admiration for each universal. We agreed that despite the challenges of life, our mother never lost the ability to smile as she served us. Our father, who had become much quieter and more withdrawn, was always gentle and kind, even at the end of his life when he was weak and bedridden.

  “My siblings remained appropriately somber until we reached the shore. Once docked and tied up, we congregated on the beach, not far from the house. I suggested we stay together, reminisce a while, reconnect, catch up. The idea seemed foreign to them. Nonetheless, they lingered for a short time.

  “The conversation was awkward at first. No one knew what to say. Standing there, checking their watches, while the silence grew heavier. So, I suggested we reconvene on the stern of my boat where there was ample seating in the lounge area. They agreed and we re-loaded ourselves onto the boat and circum-navigated the island at low speed. Once onboard, I excused myself and went into the salon. When I reappeared, I had plastic cups and a bottle of wine in my hands. Drinks were poured and toasts were given to our parents, to each other, and to our family.

  “After two hours of basking in each other’s company and sharing fond memories, the only family I had left dispersed, each heading his or her own way. I didn’t know it then, but that was the last time we were all together. It’s been many years now. Who knows what it will take to get us to reunite? Another funeral, perhaps? Could be mine.

  “Probably should have been.

  “Twice, maybe even three times.”

  Rob and Lukas look at me expectantly, but right at that moment I get a bite on my line. My pole bends, the reel spins, and the contest between me and a fifty-pound Wahoo begins.

  Chapter Four

  Four Years Before Meeting Collin Cook

  Cayman Islands

  It takes me twenty-five minutes to reel in that Wahoo. He’s a fighter. But I am nothing if not persistent and determined. Rob takes control of the helm and motors forward slowly to help wear out the fish. We drag him for a couple of miles, him fighting me the whole time. I yank and tug and reel the behemoth, each time bringing him nearer the boat. After the fish is finally worn down, I am able to pull him close to the starboard side, Rob lends me a hand and gaffs him. It is apparent to me that he has experience fishing. This is the first time I notice he is missing his pinky finger on his left hand. I had heard the story of how the man from whom Collin was running had cut it off. Now I was seeing the evidence. Regardless, his expertise with the gaffing pole allows us to quickly wrestle the thrashing monster over the gunwale and onto the deck where he then bludgeons the creature to death with the metal club I keep handy for just that purpose.

  This is the largest catch ever from my sailboat.

  We spend a few more minutes admiring the catch, taking pictures, weighing it, measuring it, then packing it on ice in the fish hold below the stern deck.

  Sweat covers my face and I realize I have worked up a powerful thirst. Lukas, who had disappeared as we were dealing with the fish, must have read the situation. He appears with three ice-cold Coke bottles and a bottle opener in his hands and hobbles over to the lounge area and places them in the cupholders.

  “I say a short break is in order,” he says, grinning. “I believe you left off without expounding on that idea about how you should have died two or three times.”

  It doesn’t take much prodding to get me to keep telling my story. Lukas and Rob take their Coke bottles in hand, salute me for my catch, then sit back, ready to be regaled.

  I take a long pull on the cola, sigh with satisfaction at the cold refreshment, and start up where I left off.

  “A curse seemed to follow me after my parents’ funeral. I fell on hard times. The worldwide recession had much to do with that. Money was tight in other countries, so tourists stayed home. I had fewer and fewer customers, which meant less and less income.

  “To make ends meet and keep my crew employed, I found other things to do. At first, we repaired other people’s boats. That’s something I learned to do from my father and something I was accustomed to as the owner of my own vessel. My father did the same thing between the busy times. My crew and I advertised by word of mouth to the other boat owners in the marina that we would clean and repair and maintain boats. There was just enough work to keep me and my crew busy and out of trouble, but I had to use my own money sometimes to pay their wages. These were good men who liked to work. They also liked to drink and gamble when they weren’t busy. There was no shortage of trouble awaiting them if I did not keep them focused.

  “Eventually, that work dried up as money became scarcer, even among the leisure class. I had two boats at this point: A sailboat called Sir Henry and a fishing yacht named The Rusty Pelican. I had bought and sold several boats during the intervening years, upgrading each time. Sir Henry was a good boat. I lost it to pirates, which I’ll explain shortly. Forty-five feet long, berths for six people with a captain’s stateroom in the bow, two heads, and a serviceable galley. It was a nice boat and was equipped for fishing, though not as well equipped as this one. Collin really outdid himself with this one.

  “There were l
ong periods between jobs. During these times, I paid my crew to clean and maintain my two boats, even though they were as clean as they could get and needed no repairs. This drained my savings until I had nothing. Because work was so scarce, I had to sell my motor yacht, The Rusty Pelican. The man who rented it from me could no longer afford to make the payments. Demand for fish was down since there were fewer tourists, so prices were too low to maintain the income he needed, so he went and got a job somewhere else. I’m not even sure where. The money from that sale helped us, but it was not enough to sustain us long term.

  “Somewhere during that time, as cash became tight, I invited my crew to save rent money and live on the boat. It seemed a waste for them to pay rent when I had berths on the boat for all of us.

  “We were like a family, my four crew members and I, even before we started sharing quarters full-time. But this brought us together all day every day. Sometimes we got on each other’s nerves, but we eventually learned to get along. I met their families—mothers, fathers, siblings, an aunt or two, and Anthony’s girlfriend, Vanessa. On more than one occasion, he came to me when things weren’t going well. ‘Who am I to give relationship advice?’ I said. ‘I am not married, as you know. My wife left me. Seek guidance from someone who is.’

  “Anthony was wise, though. He said, ‘Yes, but what would you do differently if you could, now that you have learned from your experience? You and I are similar, so I want to learn from you and do what you would do now, not then.’ A very mature young man, I thought.

  “Well, suffice it to say that we, as a crew and as a family, sacrificed for each other and did what we had to do to get through the tough times. We knew it would be temporary, though it felt like an eternity.

  “Most of our meals consisted of the fish we caught with rice and beans. It was not gourmet eating, but we did not starve. What little income we made came from the fish we caught and sold at the market.