Page 92 of The Kiss Keeper
Sailing trips on the lake, tying knots with his father, and nights spent in their little boat’s cabin, playing board games and laughing, danced in his memory and warmed his heart. Those years had been jam-packed with so much laughter and such profound joy.
He’d tried to forget, fearing that the pain of never experiencing real happiness again would be worse than the stoic numbness he’d forced himself to adopt. But loving Natalie had cracked open his hardened heart.
No matter what happened next, his life would be different.
He would be different.
He’d choose kindness over cash flow and sincerity over sales.
He would do better. Be better.
“I could use your help getting her back,” he whispered to his parents as a warmth filled his chest, but he didn’t have long to dwell on the sensation as the Camp Woolwich sign came into view.
The old motorcycle turned onto the camp’s bumpy road as they entered the property then passed the parking area near the lodge.
“Where are you going?” he called to the nun.
She maneuvered the bike onto the path that led to the waterfront, and then he remembered.
The vow renewal ceremony was tonight on Woolwich Island.
Across the cove.
Separated from the mainland by a narrow stretch of the ocean.
An island only accessible by boat.
“There’s one left,” the woman called, cutting the engine.
He took off his helmet. “One what?”
“Sailboat. The family’s gone to their island for the vow renewal. Bev told us about their plans that day we came for our art class. You know, the day where you wouldn’t pose naked for us,” she answered with a pout.
He stared at the boat. “I have to sail?”
“Unless you can walk on water,” the nun countered.
He maneuvered his body out of the tiny sidecar and stretched his long limbs, staring out across the cove. In the hazy twilight, lights from the island twinkled, winking at him, calling to him.
“You know how to sail, don’t you?” Sister Evangeline asked.
He nodded. “My parents taught me when I was a boy.”
“Then what’s stopping you?” she challenged.
Nothing.
The fear and sorrow in his heart made way for an ocean of love. He rigged the little boat, securing the lines and hoisting the mast just as his parents had taught him to do on Lake Michigan.
“I owe you, Sister,” he called, catching the wind as the boat glided away from the dock onto the shimmering sea.
“Well, you haven’t gotten her back yet,” the woman replied, but her wide grin let him know she was pulling for him.
And speaking of pulling, he needed to get his head in the game. As if his parents were right there with him in that little Sunfish, he pulled in the flapping sail. He hadn’t done this in over a decade, but it all came back to him. The rock of the boat. The feel of the line in one hand and the tiller in the other. He could almost see his father pointing, showing him how to pick a point in the distance, and he set a course for the little island with its beachfront littered with canoes, kayaks, and sailboats tethered to a weathered dock.
A peace settled over him. The same calmness he remembered, listening to his parents’ voices lull him to sleep on their overnight boat trips. That is, until the little boat glided in next to the dock, and he realized he hadn’t made a plan. In fact, he was flying by the seat of his pants.
What the hell was he going to say to the woman he loved?
