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“You did and that to me means you’re caring and considerate of your mum’s feelings. You’ve remained close, yes?”
“Very much so.” He released another long exhale. “That relationship has remained a sore point between Hans and me. We came to an agreement. An unwritten family one. Since Hans lived over here, he would take care of Dad and I would look after Mum. If they needed help, especially health wise, we would provide that support.”
“Hans refused?” I questioned. It must have infuriated Stefan to have his brother renege on the deal when their father fell ill. “He hasn’t visited at all?”
“Once. When we didn’t know if Dad was at death’s door or not. Since then, he’s stayed in Stuttgart, two bloody hours away. I have to fly in, sort out the insurance, find a caregiver and make sure Dad has the care he needs.” He splashed the water with his swinging foot, sending up spray.
“Is your brother married?”
“Yes,” groaned Stefan. “I know. Married, young son and full-time job. While me, I’m the one who has no commitments. Yes, so no problems. I just pop over at my expense and miss a key rehearsal, cancel my lessons, while my brother is unable to negotiate time off from work.”
I could see both sides of the argument. Stefan’s self-employment gave him flexibility, but it also meant loss of income and time. “It’s all resolved now, isn’t it?”
“Sure,” he said.
However, I detected a lack of conviction in his voice.
He scrambled to his feet. “Let me show you the inside of the boathouse.”
* * * *
“Oh, no.” I backed away from the oversized dingy. “I’ve never gone sailing before. I’ll be sick.”
Stefan pulled back the tarpaulin cover. “Nonsense. There aren’t tides and the surface isn’t rough. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
I folded my arms across my chest, hunching my shoulders. “Err, not here.” I grimaced. I must have looked like a cowardly child, because my posture merely made Stefan grin.
The inside of the boathouse was clean and tidy. When he’d unlocked the main doorway and opened it, a bracing draft had hit my face. A wind tunnel effect, Stefan explained. Once he’d shut the door, the air stilled. The building housed another jetty, shorter than the other. It began under the covering and stuck out into the water. Moored to the jetty, safely protected by the roof, floated the little yacht with its mast folded down.
One wall had simple shelving for storing various equipment—a small petrol can, ropes, paddles and life vests—the other wall was painted with whitewash. Concrete covered the ground beneath my feet, forming the foundation for the wooden shelter. The building was clean and sturdy, if a little shabby in places, and a few cobwebs hung in the corners of the roof.
I couldn’t dissuade him from his plan. Stefan stepped up to the challenge of persuading me and countered all my flimsy excuses. “You can swim, and in any case, you’ll need to wear a life vest.”
He prepared the boat for launch, checking the rigging and mast, unfolding the triangular sail and adjusting the rudder. “Look. It has an outboard motor, so we can’t be stranded if the wind drops. And we have paddles, if the motor fails.” He laid two long paddles in the boat.
I watched, fascinated by his safety checks and explanations of the different features of the vessel. Most of it went over my head.
“All you have to do is—do as you’re told. Move where I tell you, when I tell you. I’ll lash you to the boat if you like.”
I swallowed back a sense of dread. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
His face lit up with delight, which made me glow inside too. As soon as he had my reluctant agreement, he slipped a vest over my shoulders and fastened me up. He hummed a tune as he dragged the boat along the jetty, out from under the shelter of the boathouse. At the farthest end of the wooden pier, he retied the boat to a post. He beckoned to me with a wave. “Bring the rucksack.”
I collected his bag and, with Stefan gripping my elbow, I stepped into the unstable boat. He untied the mooring, climbed into the boat then, with a shove of his foot, set us adrift. I grabbed at the side of the dingy and clung on as if we were entering stormy waters.
My fears were unfounded. Stefan calmly went about sailing the vessel, moving the rudder with one hand and redirecting the sail with the other. He asked me to duck underneath the boom from time to time, switching sides as he tacked the yacht farther into the middle of the lake.
I zipped up my jacket, grateful for the extra layer of warmth. I missed my sunglasses and squinted in the sunlight. Eventually, he tied the sail into a fixed position, allowing the boat to float, and let me take in the lake. I leaned over, dipped my hands in the cold water and shook droplets across the surface. Glancing up, I saw the Alps—they remained crystal clear—and all around the lake, houses emerged from behind the trees, and there were other boathouses too. I watched neighboring sailing boats cut a path through the water, white sails shimmering in the sunlight. Stefan pointed out various features, including a nearby castle where Ludwig, once the king of Bavaria, had lived and died.
“He drowned near here—or was murdered—depending on your viewpoint. Sad man.” Stefan frowned.
His glum features hovered, until he caught my pensive expression. “Sorry. Morbid topic.”
He sat next to me and we held hands, the vessel gently rocking beneath us and the wind whipping across our faces. I’d called him sad once, not dangerous, and my opinion remained unchanged. He seemed quick to melancholy or being lost in thought, contemplating the world about him in silence. I hoped that, with those strong emotions swirling about inside his head, he composed music. Happy or depressed, many composers wrote in a state of high emotion, inspired to turn those sentiments into something tangible. I wondered if communicating via music came easier for Stefan than words did. Ironically, I didn’t have the courage to ask. He’d spoken so little of his composing habits.
Stefan cleared his throat. “I want to thank you for coming out here to Germany. Being with me and saying what you did on the jetty. I don’t see myself as caring, not especially…” He darted his eyes away from my admiring gaze.
I pressed my palm against his farthest cheek, forcing him to turn and look at me. I said nothing, but simply leaned forward and kissed his lips, a gentle expression of my own gratitude.
