The One That Didn't Get Away

As a brunette, you might think on occasion, I'd be leery of the blond. As a runner, you might think that I'm envious of the Speedo clad women in the pool swimming next to my husband three days a week. And as an early to bed, early to rise kind of girl, you might think I fear the night owlettes. As it is, I have no fear of other women. And I have no doubt that to my husband, I am the only one. That no honey can out-sweeten his honeybee.

On Valentine's Day 2008 - the first gushy holiday that Peter and I celebrated together - I expressed my jealousy toward my rival in a cartoon drawing that later was replicated as the Save the Date for our wedding. The picture mentioned my fiercest, and I believe, only competition - the Blue Marlin.

Yesterday, the twelve hour fishing tour, turned to thirteen then fourteen hours. I watched the sunset over the cove, and still no sign of the boat coming into the dock. I knew with Captain Tim on board, nothing could have happened on the high seas, but I did suspect something else. That Peter was being seduced. Not by the sunrise that they saw. Not by the Wahoos that they caught. Not even by the Mahi Mahi that shimmied and shined through the water and onto their boat. It was far worse. It was my rival. The Marlin. 

Somewhere between Tortola and Anegada, sometime after noon, Peter fought with an 80-pound Marlin and reeled it in. And like the Sirens to Odysseus, the Marlin's beauty, power, and majesty called to Peter. He got close. And then closer. And he saw the iridescence, the magical glow that its stripes exuded, the reason it reigns as queen of the Caribbean Sea.

But Peter let it go. He had already caught his prize. And she was making the jerk slaw for the Wahoo tacos back at the house. I guess I need not fear the Marlin. To Peter, not even the ultimate trophy fish can compete with me.

In all seriousness, I am so proud of Peter for reeling in the big one. And for bringing home enough fish with Tom and Scotty to feed fourteen for a week.

Lo.