Mitch woke up the next morning with a hangover. He left Lindy in bed and sneaked down to brew coffee. Cup in hand, he wandered to the living room. He stared down at the Bay, daydreaming that the red ketch, by simple luck, would round Angel Island to drop anchor in the cove. If she did, he would throw on a swimming suit and paddle out to her, fake a cramp to get aboard, if he had to. The boat would be as perfect close-up as she was from afar, and he, with his coming windfall, could make the owner an offer he couldn’t refuse.

Lindy padded up behind him. She wore a shorty nightgown and carried a cup of coffee. She awakened more beautiful than any woman he had ever slept with, if memory served. Barring the Navy nurse in Honolulu, who didn’t really count because he had known her before he was married, she had kept him absolutely faithful for twenty years. His Air Group shipmates would never have believed it.

She kissed him lightly and nodded toward the water.

“You’re still looking for that ketch.”

“If we find her,” he blurted, “or any decent cruising boat—”

“Cruising boat,” she repeated thoughtfully. “Let me say it?”

“Say what? Jesus, you are the sexiest frigging woman in the morning...” He wanted all at once to drag her back to bed, there and then. But she seemed to miss his vibes, or perhaps ignore them. She had been cool on the drive home from the airport last night, after his squabble with Bernie. “Where was I?” he asked.

“You were about to suggest,” she said, “in an offhand way, that if we find her we buy her. And some day sell out and move aboard.”

He was astonished. She was right.

“Well,” she continued, “weren’t you? And cruise away, leaving all annoyance behind?”

“Now, how did you come up with that?”

“I have to guess,” she said simply. “Nobody ever actually tells me anything.”

So they were talking, really, about yesterday. He apologized for his bolt from the blue and blamed it on the champagne.

“The news was good,” she shrugged. “I’m glad you want to leave him. But you have to admit, it was news, just the same.”

“I said I’m sorry.”

“Think nothing of it. If you split with Bernie, it’ll be almost like my own idea. If you don’t look at it too closely.”

“Let’s not,” he murmured. She stretched. God, what a build.

“So that leaves buying the boat, if we find her?” she yawned.

His mind was in bed with her. “Um? Yeah, if we find her.”

“Well, there again! I did say she looked slow. So, in effect, we talked about that too.” Her voice had a brittle edge.

“Jesus, honey, we’ve talked about buying a boat for years!”