Virgin Mate

Cruising through the Crossroad of My Life

In 2011, I met the captain. It was the most difficult time of my life. God must have understood my need for an abundance of affection and adventure. That is exactly what the captain provided. My grief-stricken life was turned on end and would never be the same. Becoming Captain Tom Lombardi’s First Mate required physical and mental focus. But he also held true to the adage, work like a captain, party like a pirate, and over time I have learned his ways.

This story is taken from the journal I kept on our first journey together.

October 17,2014

Persistent chirping pulls me from a wisp of a dream. For a second, I forget where I am. There is a sensation of gentle rocking beneath me. Oh yes, I’m on a boat. The warm body stirs beside me and silences the alarm. I burrow my head into his armpit. My arm wraps over his waist. He pulls me in tight for a hug. “Okay, sleepyhead,” the captain whispers, untangling my body from his. “It’s time.”

“Here we go,” I mumble. My first day as First Mate. I sit up, now fully awake. “I’m ready.”

I met Captain Tom three years ago, six months after my son took his life. Tom was a sliver of light in the darkness. I followed that light to this moment, delivering the sleek 48-foot motor yacht, Rash Idea, from Newport, Rhode Island to Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Rash has two staterooms. Twin beds in the forward, and the back master, where the captain and I will sleep for the next five days. Between the staterooms lies the galley, dining and salon. It may sound romantic, but I know this will be a test of our relationship, as “learning the ropes” under my lover’s tutelage, will be under less than romantic conditions.

The captain is not an angel. Not unless God has a devious sense of humor. Tom is mostly a pirate. He is prone to offensive language and off-color jokes which creates awkward moments and apologies to the offended. But he has captured my soul and has held it hostage ever since. My career as a Newborn ICU nurse has spanned thirty-two years, but lately the hospital walls have been closing in on me. I become easily overwhelmed. A desperate urge to break free has eclipsed the joy I once felt at work. Grief will do that to you. And so, here I am, trying on a different life, hoping it will fit.

Tom cranks up the engines. I make my way to the bow, taking the lines from the dock boy releasing us to the sea. “Might be a bit bumpy out there,” he warns, handing me the final rope. I smile and shrug, as if it is no concern, as if I have been to this rodeo before. But my heart is pounding.

The “bumpy” sea soon develops into five-foot swells. A salty spray mists our faces and Tom quickly closes the convertible roof. Up and down Rash splashes in the swirling water. I attempt to distract learning various rope knots on the helm bar which is challenging feat while bouncing along.

The water finally calms in the lee of Long Island Sound. The New York City skyline, hazy in the distance, slowly comes into focus. The busy city appears different by water. All is calm and friendly. Tom points out the Empire State Building as Rash glides past landmarks. There is no bustle of the streets, no honking horns or throngs of people. We dock at Liberty Marina, taking quick showers in our separate heads. It has been a long day, and we are starving. As the sun slips down, the temperature follows. I hook my arm through Tom’s and briskly walk towards the warm light of a restaurant.

We toast our first day at sea over with red wine, followed by angel hair pasta and chunky meat sauce. Later, we roam outside in the chilly evening. The sound of music lures us from our warm refuge to an outdoor firepit and a rockin’ band. Behind us, the light of the Freedom Memorial shines up to the heavens. When Brown Eyed Girl starts up, I can no longer resist and jump up to join two other women dancing. The captain soon joins me.

As the sun rises, we depart Liberty Marina in a hopeful window of decent seas. The temperature is a brisk 53 degrees with a strong breeze. Cruising past the Freedom Tower, then Ellis Island, the chill doesn’t keep us from pulling back the roof and clicking a few selfies with the great lady of liberty who stands tall and proud in the harbor.

Offshore, there is rough water. We hug the Jersey coastline. “We’ll have to keep a foot in the sand and a foot in the sea,” Tom says.

Soon, there are treacherous shoals to avoid, and the captain maneuvers farther out into the erratic ocean.

“How high are the seas?" I ask. My voice is tight.

“On the way up — or on the way down?" The captain asks and laughs. I make a face and grip the back of my seat, bracing my bare feet against the floorboard. My abdomen stays tight for the next few hours which I assure myself must be a good workout.

We pull into a sweet little fishing village called Cape May. It’s early, but Tom says the Delaware Sound will be too rough to cross today. Is it just coincidence the Miami Dolphins are playing at the precise time we pull in? We quickly wash down Rash, then walk briskly to a local pub. We cheer our day’s rough run over cocktails and cheer our team on to victory.

The following morning, we are at our separate heads. I’m in the forward, attempting to brush my teeth, when the stream becomes a sputter. We have lost water pressure and our patience soon follows. A trickle of tepid water dribbles out of the faucet. Shouting across the galley ensues.

“Turn yours off!”

“Just let me finish”

“Enough already!”

“My turn!”

This becomes our morning ritual, but every night we cheer our good fate and snuggle close. The weather is deteriorating behind us with a nor'easter storm. Our home and final destination of South Florida is also plummeting with rain. A tropical system moving across the gulf will need to be closely watched. Unlike the weather above and below us, we leave Wrightsville beach with crystal blue skies overhead and the sun on our backs. I’m at the helm. The stereo has been set at either Lithium or Coffee House. Somehow it is now on The Bridge. Oldies are not my favorite, but I know all the words and belt them out happily.

“Stop mocking Chicago!” Tom yells from the companion seat. He has curled up like a cat for a few winks.

“I’m not mocking, I'm singing!”

Does anyone really know what time it is?

Does anyone really care? If so, I can't imagine why...

Yes, this fits my mood today, feeling peaceful and sure as I follow the captain’s orders — follow the GPS and don’t bump into anything. Simple enough. I click the degrees to keep us just out of the blue moving us farther offshore. Soon the little dips become deep until the captain, nearly knocked to the floor, jumps up to see what's happening.

The inlet cut is dead ahead and coming up quickly. It will be necessary to turn due east then directly west to make it around and into the channel. The wind is on our stern and with an outgoing tide, Tom warns me we may get wet. Translation: we’re gonna get our butts kicked! Over the oldies blaring and harsh ocean spray against the windshield, we splash against the tide. Tom quizzes me on song titles. I’m all knotted up. Is this the time for Name That Tune? But it distracts my nervous mind. A few songs later, we are safely in Winyah bay.

It is our fourth day at sea, and all is well. The conditions allow us to cruise comfortably offshore on auto pilot. The sun feels delicious. Our bodies had taken a beating over the past days with either bam bam bam or bam bam bang! Enough to check for loose teeth each evening. But this day is a good one. I feel it in my bones. I slip up to the captain, look up at him and smile.

“Hey, want to pull over and jump in the back seat?” There is no hesitation.

“Oh yeah!” Tom puts Rash in neutral.

“I’m just teasing,” I say, but maybe not. He kisses me deeply and leads me to the back deck. Our clothes are discarded on the way. We make love on the sun-warmed pad to the gentle rocking of the ocean and Marley on the stereo.

We are back in crew mode when Rash Idea has mechanical issues. She ran well at 24 knots all day but has now dropped to 15 at full throttle. The captain disappears to the engine room below to check things out. He returns to say everything seems okay, but even I can hear the engines straining.

The speed drops to ten knots. Fort Pierce is in sight, and we have three miles left to go, but the large swells bog us down. We have to climb up each hill, rolling side to side from the wind on our beam.

“C’mon girl! You can do it,” I whisper.

A boat speeds by, creating a wake that sets us in a pendulum motion. We are at the mercy of waves as the horizon tips back and forth.

“At least this is a good inlet,” Tom says, “No shoals to deal with.”

This doesn't help my anxiety. Rash wobbles towards the inlet. I look at my captain for direction.

“Do you think you can go up on the bow and unlock the anchor?" Tom asks. “Seriously?”

There is no smile on his face.

“If the engines go out, we’re going to have to drop anchor.”

“What?”

I don’t wait for an answer. Inching forward, gripping the bow rail, I move toward the bow. Rash Idea continues her rocking motion while I attempt to balance. I kneel at the anchor chain and work at the release. I’m able to release the pin, but as hard as I tug, I can’t release the extra cable lock. I glance up to see we are halfway through the inlet.

“I can’t get it,” I yell back at Tom.

“Never mind. Just get the lines ready. And throw out the fenders.”

I’m not sure what side we will dock on, so I set the loops in the center. Tom radios the marina that we are coming in on one engine.

Amazingly, we manage to tie up without a scratch. My legs are shaking as I head to the ladies’ room for a much needed long hot shower. Such decadence!

At dinner, I ask the captain about the need to throw anchor. Tom tells me if we lost the other engine, he would have lost all control. We would have been pushed into the rocky jetties. Or the outgoing tide could have pushed us out to sea. He takes a bite of his french fry.

“Oh…,” is all I can respond.

The phone alarm signals the final day of our journey. We rise and wash up at the same time, not even bothering to complain. Just being patient, waiting for the pressure to build. Spitting toothpaste, I scoop a dribble of water to rinse. My clothes are divided into clean (sundresses I never wore), slightly clean, and definitely dirty (clothes I have placed in a bag so I won’t even think about wearing them again). The dirty bag contains most of my clothes. I pull out shorts and t-shirt from the second pile.

Breakfast is eaten at the greasy spoon across the street. Tom uses the last of his favorite cinnamon tea. Yes, it’s time to go home. Onboard, both engines fire up. We cheer our good fortune, but it isn’t long before the engine alarm returns.

“We’ll have to reboot the computer,” Tom says.

“How’s that done?”

“I’ll turn off the engine and restart.”

“Like…while we’re running?”

“Yeah.”

I think about grabbing a fender, but he has already shut down and we are adrift. Tom cranks the starter, and that wonderful engine purr returns. There is more rebooting followed by the lovely purr as we cruise along. The captain decides to chance it and heads out the Lake Worth Inlet.

We enter a beautiful day; the sun is shining down brightly. Tom opens the convertible roof. A perfect final day at sea. If you don’t count the occasional alarm.

Port Everglades Inlet is less than an hour away. This is our final run. Even with the weather concerns, trickling water, and the plywood-hard bed, I will miss it.

The helm is warm in the direct sunlight. We stand up through the roof opening to feel the delicious cool wind in our faces. Tom strips down to his bare skin and jumps up on the open roof, legs dangling down into the helm.

“C’mon mate!”

I look around. Rash Idea is giving us a break, now running smoothly through the calm sea. I slowly pull off my shorts and shirt. I let go of my worry about the engine, other boats passing by, or low-flying planes, and join my captain on the roof. The sun and wind caress our bodies. The two of us, each at separate corners of the open roof, in nothing but our sunglasses, look at each other and smile, and I know then. I love this man. I love this life

This story is taken from the journal I kept on our first journey together.