A Town Without Honor Ch. 02

"I'd love to. Whatever I can do. I can never repay you for putting our boy through school. Take care of yourself, okay?"

I assured her I would, and less than ten minutes later I was meeting with Ben.

It was a nice visit, catching up, seeing what he was up to. I was a little hazy on my own recent history, letting him know I'd had a business, but I was out of that now, taking a break from the rat-race. He asked about Beth of course, and I admitted we were separated. He said all the appropriate apologies and told me about his wife and kids. He was happy, doing well.

I was jealous.

Talking to Ben wasn't like talking to Roger or Anna. We didn't have the same rapport anymore. It was a nice visit, and I told him we'd have to keep in touch.

I stayed in the hotel and took advantage of their concierge service. The next day I had access to a local attorney to do my paperwork, a banker from a branch of my Miami bank to handle finances, and a mechanic to tune my bike. A few calls, some signatures, and Aunt Jean was set up.

My next call was to Dave, my father-in-law.

"Honor! Where are you? You sure stirred up a hornet's nest."

"I bet. I'm sorry, but it was too soon. I wasn't ready to deal with everything. I thought I was. I'm on the road again."

"What happened? I can't get a clear story from either of them."

I didn't want to hurt him, but I needed to be honest. "I saw the kids and Carol. It was nice. Really. We were all going to have dinner together, and Beth and I were going to talk. When I went to speak with her, she was sitting on the same damn couch where I'd caught her cheating on me. All of a sudden, I couldn't see her, just the image burned in my brain of her straddling my best friend, naked, bouncing merrily away, on that couch. I lost it. I'm sorry. I had to get out of there before I did something I'd regret."

"Son-of-a-bitch! She still had the couch? What the hell was she thinking? First thing she should have done was get rid of it, the beds, and anywhere else she played her slutting games. Damn it!" He sounded angrier than me. "You going to be okay?"

"I think so. I had to get away. I'll be on the road a while. I'll try to stay in contact. I'm sorry, Dad. I really thought I had it together."

"Don't apologize. You're trying. I'm not sure I'd even do that much. You're a better man than I am Honor, but I guess we always knew that. Best damn man I ever knew, 'cept maybe your old man. He'd be proud of you, you know. Not about this mess, but about the things you've accomplished, taking care of your family, all that."

"Thanks. Let me know if they need anything, or if something serious comes up. Otherwise, I'll probably be out of touch a bit."

"Do what you have to. Take your time. Be careful."

* * *

I cruised up through coastal Maine, touring some of the shore towns, eating fresh lobster from a co-op. Two whole lobsters and the best damn lobster roll I ever tasted. I ate until I couldn't move, the best I'd been fed in at least a month. I hugged the coast on old Route 1, making for the Bay of Fundy. A couple of days with tour boats, seeing the Old Sow whirlpool, Hopewell Rocks, some of the more interesting sea caves, viewing the world's highest tides, and I'd had enough of nature for a bit.

Using commercial touring services, I was rarely alone. Often with young couples and families, each was a harsh reminder of what I'd lost. I spent a lot of time with an older couple, celebrating their retirement and 40th wedding anniversary. They were easy to talk to and I found myself sharing a little of my problems. They didn't offer much advice; they acted more like a sounding board. I found I was able to tell most of the story without exploding. I was sorry to part ways.

I called home twice, during the day to avoid speaking to Beth. I was perhaps too curt with Carol, avoiding any conversation, insisting on speaking with my children, and sharing my adventures with them. It pained me every time I hung up.

Aunt Jean was active, worth every damn penny. She took care of Mom getting her monthly check and got the house closed. She also sent Beth a bouquet of flowers and an apology for the way I left so abruptly. Her idea, not mine, but I gave her minimal grief over it. She meant well.

A day later I was on Prince Edward Island. For a reasonable fee, at least compared to some of my latest adventures, I was fitted with golf clubs, took some lessons, and for a week, I found out I was a lousy golfer on some of the best courses in North America. It was good for me, getting matched up with strangers twice a day, and spending a few hours chasing a stupid little white ball around. It's beautiful country, and I found I preferred staying in the local Bed and Breakfasts, over a normal hotel. Most of the owners were charming company, and I spent a few evenings sitting on the porch, noodling away on the guitar while telling my story. Funny how easy I was finding it to open up to strangers. Not totally, I always held back, but I was sharing more of my life with these people I'd never see again than I had with anyone except my Mother and Beth.

I understand the golf addiction, now. Beyond the beautiful scenery, the quiet mornings, and the good company. It's the one good shot. I hit a five iron onto a par three green, pure luck, the ball ending up only about two feet from the hole. I got my birdie, one of only three sub-bogey holes all week. I thought I was getting the hang of it with that one shot. I got the bug. I had the clubs shipped to Aunt Jean, and she put them in my garage. Turns out she also recovered my truck from the business parking lot, had keys made, had the vehicle detailed, and put it in my garage. A meddler, she was, but good hearted. She said she'd stocked my kitchen cabinets with non-perishables. She'd also lined up a landscaping company to deal with the yard. LuAnne got paid.

Thanks to Aunt Jean, my sister Peggy got a birthday card, and a day of pampering at the spa. That was nice of her; I was more inclined to give her an over-the-knee spanking. She was still my little sister, and she deserved it. Her telling me that nobody liked me still rankled. That Beth was more family than I was.

Carol got a new iPad, courtesy of yours truly, configured with Skype. Aunt Jean was angry with me for not talking to my daughter often enough. She was right, and I felt bad about it. After that, every day at 2:00 p.m., come what may, I logged into Skype and talked to my kids. Carol understood that it was private. The first time Beth stuck her head in the picture, I hung up. After that even if she was home, she let me have my 15 minutes. I posted pictures of my journeys on Flickr, and Carol shared them with Marie.

Before leaving PEI, I called Carol.

"Honor! How are you doing?"

"Better. I'm sorry I ran out like that."

"Dave explained it. I'm so sorry. I didn't know. Things are different here, I promise. Can you come home?" Carol was practically begging.

"Not yet. Obviously, I wasn't ready. The first trip I spent alone all of the time. This time I'm socializing a little bit, learning to be human again. I'm afraid it may be a bit of a journey."

"The pictures are beautiful. They send Beth into tears every time, seeing the places that should have been yours together."

"I don't mean for that to happen. It's for Marie and Billy. I want them to have some connection to me. I never intended them for anyone else."

"I know. We just can't help it. The flowers were nice. That helped."

I didn't tell her I had nothing to do with it. "I just wanted to check in. See how things were doing."

"She's doing a little better. It was bad the first couple of days after you left. Business is still a disaster. Is there any way you can help?"

"Maybe. I'll think about it. I'm not sure I really want to. Not one person at that damn company stood up for me. Not one. Basically, I paid them to betray me. When I think of standing in front of all my employees and ninety percent admitted to know what was going on, without a single one telling me, my blood pressure goes through the roof."

"What about the other ten percent?" she asked. "Can't you do it for them?"

"They're probably just liars. More likely they knew, but were afraid to admit it." Perhaps I was a bit cynical.

Carol was quiet for a bit. "Honor? I know it's a lot to ask, but could you just say hi to her? You don't have to talk about anything. Just a hello would help so much. Do it for me? She's my baby, and it hurts me to see her like this."

I wasn't sure I was ready for it, but I figured I'd give it a shot. "Sure, Carol. If she's there, put her on."

A few seconds later I heard her voice. That same voice that still gave me chills. "Honor? It's me."

"Hi, BB. Sorry I ran out. I didn't mean to."

I could hear her choking up. "Don't apologize. You came back. I got to see you even if it was just for a moment. I'm not even sure you meant to, but you left me your shirt in that bag. Thank you."

"I swear I tried, Beth. I need some more time."

"I know. I'll be here. Do what you have to. Take as long as you need." She sniffled. "I'm sorry about ... you know. I feel horrible. It did make for a nice bonfire, but Uncle Dan gave me some grief before I explained things. Then he and the rest of the fire department helped me get the guest bed out and put it on the fire. That was it, Honor. The c - c - couch," she sobbed, catching her breath, "and that bed. We were never in ours, I swear. I'm replacing it anyway, but I wanted you to know that."

I could feel the band constricting around my chest. "I can't talk about this, Beth. I have to go."

"I understand. I'm sorry to bring it up. I love you, Honor. More than anything."

I could barely get the words out, my voice cracking. "I ... love you BB." I hung up. I knew it was true. There's no way her words could hurt that terribly, rending my soul into tiny pieces, shattering my heart, unless I still loved her. I hated her for that.

* * *

It was a setback. I thought I was getting better, but I had horrible thoughts the next day. I rode angrily through Nova Scotia ending up in Sydney, waiting for the ferry to Newfoundland. For a few hundred bucks I got a berth, loaded up my motorcycle, and spent about seven hours at sea. I enjoyed the solitude staring out at the water. We saw a couple of whales, some dolphins and what I think were flying fish. I had relatives in St. Johns, and before boarding, I set Aunt Jean to finding out what she could.

I had my chat with the kids, early, since I'd be on the water and didn't know if I'd have Internet access on the ferry. I warned them I'd be out of touch for a couple of days, but promised lots of pictures when I got to St. Johns.

Marie was not happy with me. "Daddy, Mommy's crying again. Why can't you make her stop?"

I didn't have an answer. "I'm trying baby girl. It's just going to take a while, okay?"

"When you come home. You'll fix it then?"

"I'll try."

"Good. Come home. Come home now." She was quite adamant.

"Soon, baby. I can't come home yet, but I'll try to come home soon."

"No, Daddy! Come home now!" she demanded with the tenacity that only a small child can have.

It took almost the whole call to make it clear it would take a little longer. It broke my heart to tell her no, but I didn't want to go back and find myself running for the hills again.

The ferry I chose leaves you on the wrong side of the island, but I liked that. It also dropped me off a short distance from a place that had interested me since my youth.

The Newfoundland dog fascinated me. Ever since reading of Nana in Peter Pan, I'd had an interest. I read about Seaman, the Lewis and Clark mascot, and Sgt. Gander the World War II Newfie dog that was awarded the Dickin Medal of bravery for engaging the enemy twice, and died carrying a grenade away from his men. I don't recall where I heard of Hairy Man, the Newfoundland dog that helped save 160 shipwrecked souls near Isle aux Morts, but the story was too powerful to ignore.

Ann Harvey and her father were fishing one day, in 1828, when they saw some flotsam in rough seas. They realized a wreck was nearby and 17 year old Ann, her father George, her 12 year old brother Tom and their Newfie Hairy Man set off in search in their punt. They found six men who had survived on a nearby beach and went to find the others. On a tiny island that would forever be known as Wreck Rock they found a large group. The waters were too dangerous to get near the survivors, and they could approach no closer than about 100 feet. They threw a billet of wood to the island, which the survivors tied a rope to. After that, the dog, Hairy Man, was sent to retrieve the wood and a rescuee. Over and over again.

The seas were so difficult, the weather so terrible, that five more people died on that island before the rest were rescued. Thirty had died before the Harveys arrived. Ten more passed away on land after the rescue. From the Sunday morning when they were found, until Tuesday morning, 163 people were saved. Little Anne Harvey and Hairy Man became legend.

I had to visit and soon found myself hiking down Harvey Trail, beautiful rolling terrain covered in moss, with vistas of the many small islands and the rugged coastline. I stopped by a local craft shop and purchased a copy of Ann and Seamus, a narrative poem that captured the event. For a few bucks, I had it wrapped and mailed to my daughter. The book is a fictionalized account, with the addition of a young Irishman named Seamus, who helped save his shipmates. It's a love story, and I didn't have the heart to read it all the way through. I hoped someday I'd be able to, without thinking about Beth.

In the craft shop, I read an inscription written by Lord Byron for his Newfoundland dog, Boatswain's tombstone in 1808:

Beauty without Vanity,

Strength without Insolence,

Courage without Ferosity,

and all the virtues of Man without his Vices.

I thought I could use a companion like that.

Two other lines, differentiating man from dog hit me especially hard:

Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,

Thy tongue hypocrisy, thy heart deceit.

An ode to my sweet Beth, the love of my life, Who knows thee well, must quit thee with disgust. Lord Byron had that much right.

It was a short detour, a few hours at most, and I headed out again for a more distant destination. It gave me some quiet riding time, and a long, lonely ride out to the northernmost tip of the island brought me to L'Anse aux Meadows, a Norse village from around 1000AD, the oldest and only verified Viking ruins in North America. I hiked the trail, along the boardwalk by the water, getting a feel for the area. It was a beautiful locale, but not much to see, other than some re-creations, including actors in Viking clothing, and a small museum. Still, I could envision those brave adventurers, a thousand years ago, setting out on their boats and establishing a colony at the opposite end of the world.

I wondered if any of them were trying to escape a cheating wife.

Naw, they were Vikings. They wouldn't put up with that shit. Fred would be fish food. They'd dump the slut, and rape and pillage their way to a few new wives, leaving big blonde babies behind. Ah, to have lived a thousand years ago ....

I stopped in Rocky Harbor, on the return, and got directions to a B&B, the Wildflowers Country Inn, which I'd seen great reviews of. No disappointment, although I was not the most social guest, tired and maybe a little cranky. By breakfast, I was feeling a little better, and a great breakfast, charming hosts, and excited guests lifted my mood. Rod and Lerley were so friendly, it made me feel at home, and I considered spending a couple of days, enjoying the hiking and company.

My purpose was to visit Gros Morne National park and hike the 'huge' 2600 ft. tall Gros Morne. Five hours it took, moving from deep inside a forest, up the mountain, across stony sections, and ending at some of the most beautiful vistas you can imagine. A patchwork of hills and ponds, with the ocean in the background, I wish I had time to explore it at length. Of course, those thoughts took me down the path of who I should be sharing it with if she wasn't a faithless, cheating slut. I took some pleasure in thinking about the fact that I was on the northeasternmost tip of the Appalachian mountain chain, which I'd been hiking several weeks earlier.

It was a long haul across the island, and Google helped me find another nice little B&B on the way. The Lilac Inn Bed and Breakfast in Glovertown was a gorgeous Victorian home, with the nicest owners you could imagine. Keith and Eileen stayed up chatting with me, bending an ear to my woes, and telling the most romantic story about how they'd met and gotten married. They shared a story about a 15 year old Dutch boy who went to sea after his mother died and his father decided to remarry. Aart ended up in Glovertown, living in the house where I was staying, where he met a local girl, Myrtle. They married at twenty and moved back to Holland. They had a picture of the couple at 90 years old.

Too much talk of love, in too beautiful a setting. A terrible place to be alone. I cried myself to sleep that night, wondering where my love had gone wrong.

* * *

I took some short detours through several fishing villages. Some of the most beautiful and picturesque places you could imagine. With names like Conception Bay, Placentia and Dildo, it seemed impossible to ignore them. I was interested in seeing the end-point of the first transatlantic cable. Passing through Dildo, I picked up a postcard for Harry and left with a smile on my face. After that, it was a painful ride.

I rode through consecutive towns of Heart's Delight and Heart's Desire, past Cupid's Picnic Area to my final destination of Heart's Content. Each new town sign was like a slap in my face. I only spent about half an hour at the transatlantic finish, my enjoyment spoiled. I took a different route back to the main road.

I arrived in St. Johns late and had little difficulty in locating the Sheraton Hotel Newfoundland, downtown, just off the harbor, and at the base of Signal Hill.

I hadn't made a call home in a couple of days, so I gave Carol a ring. She must have recognized the number.

"Honor! We've missed your calls, where are you?" she asked before I could even say anything.

"I'm in St. Johns, Newfoundland. Not much Internet access in the interior of the island I'm afraid." Before she could get into her pleas for me to return, I cut her off. "I was just calling to see if I could get a Skype call in with the kids," I told her.

"Of course! They'd love to hear from you. Any chance for a short talk afterward?" she asked, hopefully.

"Sure," I told her.

"With Beth?" she asked.

I took a deep breath. I really wasn't up for it. "I need to warn you. I've had a couple of rough days. Can we avoid any talk about, you know?"

"Of course. I'm sorry things aren't going better. I'll make sure she's on her best behavior."

She got the kids and started up our Skype session. It was a nice talk, and I told them about some of my adventures, about Hairy Man, and the Viking settlement. About the Lilac B&B and Suzie's room which was all pinks and lace, and a little girl's dream.

Marie talked about Montessori school, which surprised me. The new school year had started, and Beth and Carol had decided to send her off mornings. It was a twenty minute drive each way, but she sounded so excited it made my heart soar. I promised her a little gift in the mail and new pictures.

We spent a good half-hour talking before she started in.

"Are you coming home now, Daddy? Please?"

"Soon sugar. Soon, I promise."