The Great Escape

Chapter Nine: Cora's Story Cont'd.

"Apex Investigators, how may I help you?"

"Mary, this is Cora Peterson." Cora was calling the private investigators the day after Callie and Chloe had called her to tell her about their weekend with Tim in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. True to their promise to Tim, they did not reveal much of their conversations, but they did confirm where he was, and where he was headed. They had also told their mom how good he looked: bearded, tanned, and muscled up. Cora was a bit nonplussed by that info but decided that the Goldens needed to know everything she knew. "Mary, I know where Tim is, or least was, this past weekend." She proceeded to relay all the info the girls had told her.

"Cora, this could be really helpful, especially knowing he changed the name of the boat. The Great Escape, uh? A bit of symbolism there. Ahh, wait, that was totally inappropriate, and I apologize."

"It's okay, Mary. I get it. What can we do with this new information?"

"Well, we can concentrate on the coastal marinas in Georgia and Florida, and, if you approve, offer a reward to anyone who reports The Great Escape currently in their marina. We can get someone, an investigator in that location, to quickly confirm it, and keep an eye on the boat until you decide what to do."

"What to do? I'm going to fly down there immediately and go throw myself on Tim's mercy, that's what I'm going to do."

"Okay, it's certainly not my place to second-guess you, but...."

"No, Mary, it's not. If Tim sees me and says he hates me and never wants to see me again, then I'll tuck my tail between my legs and slink home. And wait for divorce papers I guess. But at least I will have tried. Tried to tell him I'm so sorry and I miss him and...," Cora broke into sobs. Mary waited patiently at her end; there was a rhythm to the arc of cheating spouses' stories, she was thinking.

Cora eventually regained control. "Okay, Mary, sorry about that; it's just hard, you know?"

"I do know, Cora," Mary replied. "I don't want to tell you how many bad domestic situations John and I have dealt with. But let's concentrate on just your situation. What do you think about the reward idea?"

"Well, I guess it's a good idea. But how much are you thinking?"

"It doesn't have to be that much. Most marinas are small businesses, and a thousand dollars could be plenty to get them to be on the lookout for The Great Escape."

"Okay, done. And you'll call me as soon as you hear anything?"

"Absolutely." And Mary did call Cora with news, but not for two weeks. A long two weeks for Cora. She thought about driving to Georgia and stopping at each marina on the coast, with pictures of Tim. After looking at a map, she realized that was futile, and she also realized, from what her daughters had said, that Tim must look different from her old pictures of him. So Cora went to work, went home, ate, slept, tortured herself for her stupidity, and woke up every morning missing her husband.

Finally, the call came.

"Cora, this is Mary Golden, from Apex. We have a sighting of The Great Escape. It's in a marina in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, and believe it or not, JetBlue has a nonstop this evening from Albany to Fort Lauderdale."

"Oh my god, Mary, oh... thank you, thank you. I'll be on it." Mary gave her the marina address, and Cora raced home from work, threw some clothes in a backpack and Ubered to the airport. Then, flying down the east coast toward Florida, she got the jitters. She had rehearsed what she would say to Tim, but now all her planned words seemed inadequate. I mean, she thought, what can I say, I cheated on him, and he caught me and left. Maybe he won't even talk to me. Maybe he'll just walk away from me. Maybe....

"Ma'am, please bring your seat up, we're landing shortly." Cora jumped in her seat when the flight attendant touched her shoulder. She had fallen asleep, and now they were landing in Fort Lauderdale. The flight was a bit late; it was just after midnight when Cora emerged into the humid, warm Florida night. She was exhausted from stress and, she admitted to herself, she was actually scared to see her husband. She saw a shuttle bus to a chain hotel, and she climbed aboard. No reservation, but the hotel accommodated her, and she spent a restless night listening to the room air conditioner working hard.

The next morning, with only hotel coffee to sustain her, Cora Ubered to the marina. She was giving the driver a cash tip when she saw a man emerge from the marina entrance. He was running and without even seeing his face, she knew he was Tim. She stood stock-still, torn between calling his name and fearing that he might see her. As he ran into the distance, she made her way into the marina to look for The Great Escape. Surprisingly, she thought, the marina had no gates or guards, so she wandered freely, looking at the boats. She found Tim's boat, smaller than she expected, and stared at it for a while.

Cora knew she was a smart woman, but, she wondered as she stared at The Great Escape, how daring was she? Pretty fucking daring at this point in her life, she decided. With one more look toward the marina entrance and seeing no one there, she walked casually, oh so fucking casually she told herself, to The Great Escape and jumped on board. The entrance door was unlocked so she walked, still casual as a mouse in a room full of sleeping cats, into the main room. The salon, she corrected herself. She could see straight ahead and down into the main cabin, a place to be avoided for now. Just to her side and down was another, smaller cabin. The aft cabin, she told herself. She ducked down there and stood very still. The cabin was small, with a small marine head. Oh thank god, she said, almost out loud, as she pulled up her dress, and sat to pee. She hadn't even realized how much she needed that, she thought, as she wiped and stood up. No flushing, she decided. But a great place to hide. Barely room for her and her backpack, but it worked. Of course, if Tim checked on this aft head, she was toast, but it worked for now.

Cora was still standing in the aft head when she felt the boat rock a little. Barely breathing, she listened for footsteps, for motor sounds, for anything that would tell her what was happening. So suddenly that she jumped and almost cried out, music boomed out of the boat's speakers. As she held her breath and listened, she realized Tim was playing one of Bach's Brandenburg Concertos. She started crying, as silently as she could, as she remembered hearing the same music, on Tim's and her sailboat, just the two of them, enjoying the music and each other. She remembered one particular time, listening to that music in the boat's cabin, taking each other's clothes off, Tim massaging her breasts with oil, her sucking and stroking his cock. She continued to cry, frozen in place, scared of her future.

Chapter Ten: Cora's and Tim's Stories converge.

Tim was happy to be leaving Fort Lauderdale. He liked the place, and enjoyed touring along the canals, but it was past time to head further south. His boat was good again, he had done his morning run and exercises, paid the marina for his stay and had reservations for brunch at a nice waterside restaurant about an hour south along the waterway. As he maneuvered away from the dock, he turned on his Baroque music channel. The first Brandenburg Concerto began to play. He loved that music, although it brought a hint of sadness to his morning. He and Cora had enjoyed that music on their old boat, back in the old days. That's how he thought about his time before he left Albany: the old days, the days when he was happy and ignorant. Fuck that kind of thinking, he told himself, I'm happy now. I really am, great boat, great weather, great.... What? He knew he had promised his daughters to reach out to Cora and get to some kind of closure with her. Maybe later today, when he docked for the night, but now he was looking forward to brunch.

He spotted his brunch restaurant, off to starboard, and slowed down to ease up to its dock. A young man, looked like the boat valet, was standing on the dock as Tim eased alongside.

"Hello, sir. Do you have reservations?"

"Yes, Tm Peterson, for eleven o'clock." The valet confirmed the reservation and made ready to throw a line to Tim, who turned from the captain's chair to start the mooring and stopped, staring open-mouthed at... at....

It was impossible.

"Sir, sir," the valet was yelling. Tim jumped, saw he had drifted away from the dock, signaled circling to the valet, and did circle around to stop at the dock once again, all the time keeping one eye on his navigation and one eye on the apparition behind him in his salon. He did get tied up, tipped the boat valet, and finally turned to....

"Hello, Tim," Cora started. "I just want...." But then she started crying. In the "old days," Tim would have rushed to her side to comfort her, but, Tim thought, these are not the "old days." Today I have my boat, in good shape, a nice brunch to look forward to....

"Ah fuck," he muttered, "Cora, what are you doing here?"

"Tim, I found you and I came here so I could face you and tell you I'm sorry, sorry with all my heart, for what I have done, for hurting you, for being a bad, a horrible wife. I would do almost anything to make it all up to you. But, if... if you want me to leave, well, that dock is right there, and I will. I mean, I'll step off your boat, and it's beautiful by the way, and I'll go back to Albany and not bother you again."

They stared at each other, these two people who had lived together for almost 30 years, in all the intimacy, good and bad, that living together fosters. Cora trying not to be hopeful, she knew Tim could be a stubborn man. But, Jesus, he looked good, and for a woman who had not had sex now for almost two months, he really looked good.

Tim didn't know what to think. He could kick her off, take her up on her offer to leave. And that would be the certain end of a long, long marriage. But in a way, she had already ended it, with her affair with Doctor what's-his-name. Could they create something new? Was Tim even interested in that? Tim still wasn't ready to face those questions, but an idea did occur to him. He too had not had sex in a while, and Cora looked good, as she always had to him.

"Take your clothes off," Tim said.

"What, what did you say?" Cora spluttered. She couldn't process the word Tim said.

"You said you would do almost anything. So this is an easy 'almost anything.' Take your clothes off." Cora did process his words this time and, like every woman all the way back to Eve, she knew she could win this battle. She stepped out of her shoes, pulled her dress over her head and paused a moment, in her bra and panties. She wished she had worn sexier underwear, but she could work with what she had. She unhooked her bra, with a hand behind her back like only women can do, and slowly uncovered her breasts.

Not bad breasts, Tim had to admit, but certainly not out loud. And actually pretty good breasts for a woman almost 50 years old. Cora watched him watching her and moved her hands to her panties. Thank god they're not granny panties, she thought, as she started the age-old slow tug at the waist band. Down, slowly down, over her hips first, still hiding the prize and then a quick tug and the panties were at her feet. She kicked them toward Tim and stood there. She knew she looked good, and she could tell Tim thought so too. Progress, she thought, and realized this little striptease for Tim was making her wet.

"Now jump in the water," Tim said.

"What, what? You want me to jump in that water, naked, with, Jesus, I don't know, crocodiles and alligators and...." Cora was spluttering her indignation. She thought they were making progress; her mind was already thinking about sex with Tim. Now, what the fuck?

"You're the one who said almost anything. Think of this as a test to see if you're telling the truth now, compared to your lying actions in Albany with Doctor Asshole. And by the way, no crocodiles in Florida, just alligators."

Alligators, alligators really? Cora truly did not know what to do. Yes, she wanted her marriage back, but at the risk of being alligator food? She had never before stepped foot in Florida; she was a New York girl, and alligators were monsters that maybe lived in the sewers and certainly ate dogs and small children.

Tim watched her. He had to admit, to himself, he enjoyed watching a naked Cora. She was so wrapped up in her decision making - should she jump in or not - that she seemed to have forgotten she was standing there naked. He decided to give her a little help.

"Cora, there are no alligators here, I mean not in the Intracoastal Waterway. Too much boat traffic and the water is too salty for them." But not too much help. "But you should know people are beginning to watch our little performance." Cora jumped and looked at the dock. Just the boat valet guy and what looked like two other teenagers. Well, fuck them, Cora decided, and fuck any fucking alligators. I can do this. She walked to the back of the boat.

"Tim, will you let me back on the boat if I do this?"

"Of course, look, here's the swim ladder." Tim had to walk close to her to unhook the swim ladder. No perfume smell, but the body odor he knew so well after 30 years. And arousal? He knew that smell too: intoxicating. He looked at her and she returned his look. Yep, she was definitely turned on. What the fuck, he thought. Life is just so weird. He unhooked the ladder and stepped back. Glancing at the dock, he saw that a few more people had joined their audience. Cora was unaware, instead concentrating intently on the water, probably looking for alligators, Tim thought.

Suddenly, Cora took two steps and jumped, a human cannonball into the water. A tremendous splash, applause from the onlookers as she surfaced. She looked at them, looked at Tim, and called out to him as she approached the swim ladder.

"Tim, do you have a towel for me?" He ducked back inside, grabbed a towel, and returned to the top of the swim ladder. Cora climbed up the ladder, to some applause and a few whistles from her audience. She ignored them and stood at the top of the ladder, in front of her husband, naked and alluring. Venus de-fucking Milo, he thought as he wrapped the towel around her.

"Show's over, folks," Tim called to the dockside onlookers. Cora walked in front of him into the salon and continued straight down into the forward cabin with its big bed. She stopped at the foot of the bed, turned back toward Tim, and dropped her towel.

"I don't know if you will let us have a future together, after what I did, but after what you just made me do, you need to fuck me, even if it's the last time," Cora told Tim.

They did fuck. Cora climbed up on the bed, on her hands and knees, put her head down and looked back at Tim. He was stripping his clothes off, and then he knelt behind her, already hard, and slid his cock all the way into her wet pussy. She reached back to stroke her clit as he pounded her, always a certain way to make her come. But this time, Tim reached down to her forearm, and pulled it away.

"No, you bitch, no orgasm for you. This is just for me." And he continued to pound her. She tried to hold still, but she felt herself pushing back against him, and then slamming back just as hard as he was pushing into her. Then she did come, and then had an even bigger orgasm as Tim yelled out and came hard inside her. He collapsed sideways onto the bed, still inside her, holding her close to him.

Chapter Eleven: Cora and Tim at the restaurant.

"Mr. Peterson, Mr. Peterson." Tim woke up, looked around. What the fuck? That seemed to be his go-to phrase lately, he thought, as he came more awake.

"What is it?" he called out.

"Mr. Peterson, it's Bobby, the boat valet. My boss says you've been using the dock for a while and you haven't come to the restaurant, so you need to pay a docking fee. Umm, I'm sorry to bother you."

"Okay, Bobby, tell your boss I'll be up to the restaurant in a few minutes, and the reservation should be for two instead of one. Got it?"

"Yessir, got it, thank you."

Tim turned to the sleeping beauty at his side, except she wasn't sleeping anymore.

"What's all the noise, sweetheart?" Cora asked, now sitting up and oh-so-casually arching her back a bit to lift her breasts a bit. She knew she was in a deep, deep hole with Tim, and she needed every feminine wile ever invented to maybe, just maybe, climb out. They had both fallen asleep after... after what, Cora thought. It certainly wasn't making love; Tim had just pounded her, and for his own satisfaction too. And he had called her a bitch. Okay, she deserved that, and more. And she had fooled him: two organisms, and really good ones too. After the sex she knew he had fallen asleep. She tried to lie there, feeling very good in his arms, and figure out her next step in winning him back, but she fell asleep too. Now they were both awake and he was telling her something; at least he was talking to her breasts, always a good sign.

"Cora, I'm going to brunch in about five minutes. You can come with me. I assume you're hungry. I recall that you're usually hungry after sex. And by the way, I know you came, even thought I tired to keep you from it, you slut. And don't call me sweetheart. You probably called asshole sweetheart." Whoa, Cora thought, a long way to dig out of that hole.

"Yes sir," she replied, aiming for just the right combination of meekness and sarcasm. And she threw the covers off so he would see her in all her naked glory. Couldn't hurt. "Put my dress back on or shorts?" she asked, standing there naked, and still with the arched back.

"Shorts are fine, and you'll need a shirt too. I think your performances are over for the day." Ignoring that comment, Cora headed to the aft cabin, where her backpack was. She grabbed a box of Kleenex on the way; she knew she needed something to use to keep from dripping. A few minutes later, she was back, dressed in shorts and, yes, a shirt, and even bra and panties. Some Kleenex stuffed inside her panties and a bit of warpaint on her face, she was ready to go.

They walked up to the restaurant, not holding hands but Cora was satisfied that they were at least walking side-by-side. Tim slipped Bobby a bit more money on the way and asked him to keep an eye on The Great Escape. Bobby tried to say something smart-alecky about Cora's earlier, naked performance, but Tim cut him off.

"Bobby, you want to keep your tip, right?"

"Oh, yes sir, yes sir. Uh, have a, uh, enjoy your meal." Tim and Cora were soon seated, both of them hungry. Neither had eaten since the day before so they ordered quickly, including wine for Cora. She thought she really needed a martini or two, but she refrained. Food arrived, they ate, they looked at each other. Cora knew she needed to take the lead in whatever serious conversation they were going to have. But then Tim jumped in.

"So, Cora, how many? How many times have you cheated? I mean, you totally fooled me with the asshole you have been screwing for I-don't-know how long, so you could have been cheating all the time we've been married." Now what? Cora wasn't ready for that question. Should she come totally clean? Concentrate just on trying to get over her affair with Mark? What was best for her chances?

Tim spoke again, like he was reading her mind. "Cora, don't try to figure out the best answer. How about just the truth, unvarnished, painful, embarrassing for you. I don't care about any of that. I do know, I am absolutely positive that you need to come clean, totally clean. Think about your affair with asshole: ultimately there really aren't any secrets."