And so, with a deposit paid and their bags packed, they flew from L.A. to St. Thomas, in the U.S. Virgin Islands, eager for the honeymoon to begin. They caught a late ferry to Tortola, in the British Virgin Islands, and arrived just before dark to find a maintenance worker rather than the charter-company owner waiting for them. The owner, it seems, had left the island for the foreseeable future. They also found that their boat didn’t look a thing like the 2005 Beneteau 463 that they’d seen in the pictures and had been assured they were renting. No, the boat they found “looked worn and tired.” Its refrigerator required bagged ice to keep things cool, and the GPS had the screen of a circa-1980s computer. The boat lacked the promised dodger and AC and, as they were soon to find out, leaked like a sieve. Their captain, who’d accompany them for the first couple days while they regained their sea legs, was apparently a beaut, too. They described him as drinking beer from dawn to dusk, when he’d switch to hard liquor. He joined them for every meal ashore, talked incessantly, and further padded the dining tab with orders for more wine.