for Europe,” and going through the motions of mothering and housekeeping with my mind thousands of miles away. Arnie changed his schedule to be home more nights while I was gone, and we began training a part-time nanny to pick up Robin from school, watch her in the afternoons, and cook dinner for them.
At last the morning of my departure came. I packed Robin’s lunch and saw her off to school, then sat with my bags, waiting for the taxi that would take me to Kennedy Airport. I felt heavy and exhilarated. It was a major crossroads, choosing the unknown and unpredictable over everything familiar. It also meant I was now a carrier of the great scarlet letter “A,” for abandonment. My mother had carried that letter, and look how well I survived. I assumed those I was leaving would survive just as well. How could I create harm with this choice?
Springtime in Paris may be romantic, but England in April is nothing but bloody cold. Right away, I had to buy wool clothing and rain gear, as Eddie and I traveled through England, Scotland, and Wales. We stayed in quaint bed-and-breakfast inns and made love while gazing out the windows at a life so different and so far away from New York or Chicago. I had hoped for something sensational with Eddie, something like the passion I had enjoyed with Steven or even the comfort and sense of family I felt with Arnie, but Eddie had far less experience with relational love than I had, and sex was disappointing. It didn’t matter much, though. I had other things on my mind. Adventure was the fuel that drove me as we got ready to sail the open sea. And London! The pubs and the people, the British Museum, Piccadilly, the double-decker buses, the birdman in Wellington Park—all of it gave me a joyous sense of aliveness as we geared up to meet the boat in Falmouth, on the southern coast.
On June 1, we set sail on the Seawatch, Captain Chuck’s forty-five-foot vessel. We had trained hard in the art of sailing, traveling through inlets and around the harbors near Falmouth, admiring the southern English countryside and learning from Captain Chuck how essential it was that we wear life vests, take orders, and pay attention at all times. In less than two hours we were outside of predictable waters surrounding the Port of Falmouth and on our way. In three nights and four days we would be across the Bay of Biscay. Then we would dock for a few weeks in Santander, Spain, and go on to sail the northern coast of Spain into warmer weather south toward Portugal.
From the start, the waters were rough. The boat rocked hard and the swells rose high around us, sending poor Eddie below deck to his bunk, severely seasick. It looked like it was going to be up to Captain Chuck and me to get us through. “Kern,” Captain Chuck said to me that first night, “you and I are going to have to split Ed’s watch. Can you do it?”
Eddie’s watch was six hours on, six hours off. I would have to take the wheel while Captain Chuck slept. I knew I had no option but to say yes. Our lives depended on my answer. “Sure, Chuck,” I said, as confidently as I could. “I can do it.”
That night, when the moon was high in the sky, Captain Chuck set the compass for our destination. My job was to watch those degrees on the compass, hold the wheel on course, and line the tall mast with a particular star. “Do a good job,” the captain said, bidding me goodnight before heading down to his bunk.
Enough adrenalin pumped through me to sail us to China as I sat alone that night, the icy wind whipping my face and threatening to send my wool cap and goose-down hood flying. I was too thrilled to be frightened as I kept an eye on the compass, the water, the sky, and the sails. The world seemed huge and amazing. The next two nights were the same, thrilling and mind-blowing. My two overstuffed duffle bags of “cute outfits for Europe” sat zippered in the hull, leaving me little space to lie down during my precious few hours of sleep time. But that was nothing compared to what went on for poor Eddie, who never left his bunk while Captain Chuck and I traded off guiding the Seawatch to our destination.
When the Port of Santander came into view, ecstasy surged through every cell of my being, my legs sprawled over the bow and encircling the carved Nordic sea goddess. I had helped guide us to safety. I had done it. I was more than a wife and mother. I was courageous. I helped save lives. I could be counted on.
And I had to start a new life.
When we got back to the States, Eddie planned to move to Aspen, Colorado. I would move to Colorado, too, with Robin, and live in the mountains near Johnny and his family. I’d see Eddie in Aspen now and then and do everything I could to find out what more there was to this life besides living in a container that wasn’t my size. I wanted to discover my potential, and I could only do that by moving forward, sails set on the brightest star in the sky. That had been my epiphany during my second night at sea.
I rehearsed my words: “Arnie, I have to get out of New York. I know you have no desire to live in the wild, and I’m burnt out on city life. I have loved New York with you, but I need to be free.” When that didn’t sound right, I tried, “I can be a better friend living closer to nature than I can a wife living in this container that’s too small for me,” and “I am questioning my ability to stay sane if I have to remain a housewife and mother.”
But back in New York I discovered it was easier to rehearse the truth than to confront someone I truly loved. My resolve quickly faded. Robin was bubbling over with stories about school and summer plans, and Arnie was as attentive to me as he’d been when we were first together. He seemed confident things would return to normal. It was easier to sail a forty-five-foot boat all night, responsible for three lives, than it was to tell Arnie I had to go.
Then one day, I hit bottom. A cop flashed his lights in my rear view mirror during rush hour as I drove home to New Rochelle. I didn’t understand at first that he wanted me to pull over, so I turned onto the East River Drive ramp. Traffic stopped in both directions as the police car somehow wound through it to pull me over. I was doomed. I had read about cops who harassed, even raped, innocent women like me, women who had done nothing more than make a wrong turn. Certainly this cop would rape me in the dark tunnel just ahead. I locked the car door and sat trembling as he approached. He banged on the driver’s side window. “Open the window, lady.” I let him knock a few more times. Finally, I rolled the window down just enough to reach out and smash my burning cigarette into his cheek. As he reeled in pain, I jumped out of the car and ran through the slowed traffic, begging drivers to help me. But this was New York. No one paid attention.
After the officer apprehended me and calmed me down, he wrote out two twenty-five-dollar tickets. By then he seemed okay to me, and I apologized for the big burn mark on his cheek. We talked for a few minutes about our kids at home, and I realized this cop was just a man, someone’s dad. I felt terrible. I knew at that moment I had to leave New York. The city was turning me into someone even I didn’t want to know.
That night I told Arnie I would always be grateful for our nearly twelve years together. In many ways, we’d grown up together, sitting in our matching armchairs as America the Beautiful changed in front of our eyes on the TV screen. We’d watched combat in Vietnam, race riots on city streets, civil rights marches through the South, Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech in front of thousands. We’d ridden the end of the Kennedy Era into the Sexual Revolution, seen the first man walk on the moon, had almost gone to Woodstock—too much traffic made us turn back for home, a decision we regretted later. We’d entertained friends, gotten high at rock concerts, never missed a New York Rangers or Giants game, adopted our daughter, and created a beautiful home for our family. I appreciated all of it.
Arnie said he understood. He’d expected this. But when I said I wanted to take Robin with me, he roared. “You will not take my daughter from this house!”
It was clear there would be no debate. My throat burned as I agreed to grant him full custody. I knew Robin would be in good hands with her father. He was stable. He adored her. He always had her best interests in mind. We would work out the visits.
Three weeks later the Jeep was packed, and Arnie and Robin stood on the doorstep as I forced myself to make this ride toward my rising star. I would break up my own family with only vague hopes of a better future halfway across the continent. Arnie’s eyes were cold. With one hand holding firmly onto our daughter’s shoulder, I revved the engine. Part of me wanted to run back and hug them both, to reassure them—reassure myself—but I couldn’t. I had to make this departure as smooth