Ocean Dreams Part 7: Kick A Man, While Down

FAIR WARNING THIS IS FICTION, and ADULT Themed. NAUGHTY WORDS AHEAD. NOT my usual garden stuff. Nor photography. ADULT fiction.
PLEASE take a moment and catch up!
PART ONE: Ocean Dreams: Part 1: Heart Ripped Assunder
PART TWO: Ocean Dreams: Part 2: Picking Myself Off The Deck
PART THREE: Ocean Dreams: Part 3: A Mystery To Me
PART FOUR: Ocean Dreams Part 4: Can We Talk?
PART FIVE: Ocean Dreams Part 5: My Own Marina
PART SIX: Ocean Dreams: Part 6: Trust. Respect. Love.

From the end of Part 6

Trust was shattered. I had none left for her. She no longer respected me. That much was true. Now, it was a matter of letting the love go. Slowly, over time, I am sure my torn heart would recover… or not. But for now, I would go forward, with a dark heart, slowly, slipping away.

Marina and I were moving forward in life. Sailing on to new waters. New Adventures. Maybe we’d heal together. Maybe we would heal apart, and simply be friends, but for now, we were moving forward, each day, sailing closer to whole. Further from broken.

---

I didn’t like the look in Marina’s eyes. I mean, I was really struggling as it is, but seeing her come into the pilot house an hour before her watch, I was worried. Then, she said, “we need to talk.”

Any guy who has been through either a divorce, a bad breakup, or a cheating wife, knows nothing good EVER comes when I woman starts with that sentence. Nothing.

“It’s been more than a week, and you haven’t spoken to your kids. You need to, and soon. I have no idea what she is saying to them about you, but you need to be a father." She saw my face, and quickly said, "I didn't say husband, not a husband, but definitely a father. People in my life do NOT abandon their kids. No matter how old the kids are.” Marina looked me in the eyes as she laid that out for me.

I nodded. “Not sure if I told you, but I did email them, that first day or so when I woke.”

“Good, that’s a good start, but you need to talk to them.” It’s important that they know you’re NOT abandoning them; they did nothing wrong; they are still loved by you, and their mother…” I snapped my head up, “Sorry, but no trash talking their mother. You need to be the better person here. Period.”
I nodded again, it seemed to be the right thing to do, and NOT interrupt, while she was on a roll.

“So, soon as we hit dockside, you need to call them. Both. Pick the time when you know they’re free, and speak with them. Soon.”

That settled, I nodded, and asked, “I will. You’re right. I’ll let them know, I love them, their mom loves them, and nothing that’s going between their mother and I is about them.”

“Good man.” I smiled as she said that.
“Anything else you wanna talk about?” I asked, softly. I was almost afraid to ask.
“Sure, let’s talk about the next week or two. We should plan some routes, get serious about weather planning, and maybe make some calls, then get some reservations at some moorings between here and say, DC or Virginia. That should get us a week or two, right?” My neck could NOT help itself, it started that nodding thing… she clearly was going to make some decisions for us, for the near term.

Once she was satisfied, she headed back down to the galley, and left me alone with my thoughts in the bridge chair. The boat is mostly cruising itself, all I did was keep a watch on other boat traffic. On the engine gauges, too, and make sure the autopilot kept us on course.

Later than day, we were both in the pilot house when we got closer to our next stop: Tom’s Harbor in New Jersey. As nice as my boat is, it’s a trawler, meaning it is NOT a go fast boat. It cruises comfortably at 7 knots, can do 9 in a pinch. But 7 is the sweet spot for engine, fuel, and comfort.

That means, any long voyage and a trip like Cape Cod to Florida means several stops over a few weeks. The business of docking is fairly straight forward and once again, Marina stood, looked me dead in the eye, and said, “Get the marriage savers” with a big smirk. Honestly it hurt less, and I couldn’t help but smile at her. We donned our radio headsets and again, I went on deck, while she piloted my boat. So far, other than the first week when I bought the boat, when we had a captain aboard teach us, the boat, and systems, I was the only one docking her. I just didn’t trust any one else.

It turns out my Waif, Marina, was my co captain, and easily handled her. I still am not sure to this day, who is a better boat captain.

Time.
It was time. Docked along side, and all settled, I fired up the Starlink, and went to my email. There were dozens from my wife. Fuck That, Fuck Her. Soon to be ex. I skipped those, and found a few from my kids. My son. His first email was full of worry and concern, after I had sent him my note, telling him I loved him, and his mom and I were dealing with a serious issue. Next, an email with an entirely different tone. He was pissed at me for abandoning his mother, and for running away. He said nothing she did was her fault, and implied that I was a coward for not letting her have “this.”

What??? Did she tell him what she did? and he condoned it? Was he OK with her affair? There was another email from him. It gutted me. He told me, if I couldn’t stay with his mom, then, he was done with me. It took me another half hour before I could continue and read the messages from my daughter.

My daughter’s first email also had a worried tone. She was ‘very concerned,’ ‘please don’t do anything rash.’ ‘We can figure it out.’ ‘Just come home safe, dad,' ...more of that vein. She sent a couple more. Each more worried that I hadn’t responded. She was clearly worried that I might hurt myself.

In some ways, that gutted me too! Did she think I’d really hurt myself? Abandon her?

It was Time.
I needed to speak to them. I took a deep breath, settled my head, and turned my cell back on. I saw a million texts, my phone was full of voice mails, mostly from my wife. I almost deleted, ALMOST deleted all her voice mails. I saved them, for later. I wasn’t going through them now. Nor any of her texts.

I needed to speak to my daughter first.
That call was an emotional roller coaster for SURE. At first all she did was cry, and kept saying “dad…” or, "daddy" and crying more. Finally we settled enough to speak. I made sure she knew I loved her. Nothing would ever get between her and me. I would always love her. At the end, ...she asked, ...begged me to come home. I had to break her heart a little more, and let her know, “Not now. I need some space. What your mom did hurt me. Absolutely killed me. And I needed some space, before I can make some decisions.”

In the end, I told her, I would call every few days. I’d make sure she knew I was safe and alive.

Now, for the harder call.
It was like talking to an iceberg. My son would NOT let it go. Kept saying “I need to get over it. I need to be back home. Support mom.” On and on he went. I am ashamed to say we argued. We really butted heads. In the end, He crushed my soul one last time. Just when I could not sink to lower depths, He said, “so you can’t come home right now? Can’t support mom? Just gonna run away? I didn’t want to tell you like this, but a couple years ago, right before I left for college, know what mom told me? She said, you weren’t really my father. There's no way you are...”

Silence. “What? What did you just say?”

My son laughed a little. “I said, she told me, you weren’t my real dad. She said you couldn’t have any more kids after an accident, when my sister was little, so, she went out and got pregnant. She said she told you all about it, and you were fine with it. What kind of man is fine with his wife doing that? Proves to me that you running away, again, you’re a COWARD. Not a real man. Not my father.”

I couldn’t breathe. He kept on, “I met him once, you know. He’s nice…“
I could not understand anything my soon was saying. Not a word. I know he was talking but I couldn’t understand.

Marina found me, sobbing on the floor of the aft salon, sobbing uncontrollably. My phone was on the couch, and I was on the floor. Sobbing still.

Broken. Finally, and fully.

All Images and Video by Bluefin Studios unless specified.