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So far, the day has not been that bad, I thought as I sat in the two-man canoe, as I paddled towards the coast. Seated in front of me was my Canadian-born fiancée, Patricia. She was paddling more expertly, clad just like me, in a blue-colored wetsuit. This weekend trip had been her idea, and I had tagged along, however reluctantly. I was with her for the day, approaching an isolated beach on Florida's eastern coast. The weather was nice and warm, and we had just finished a dive in the ocean, at the site of a sunken centuries-old Spanish ship. The dive had not been that deep, but had been quite a new experience for me. Patricia glanced back at me, allowing me to once again see her long reddish-brown hair, narrow, freckled face, intelligent blue eyes, and pouty lips. My heart sank at the thought that I might have missed on seeing her in her "natural habitat."

Born in Calgary, Alberta, Patricia was my fiancée, whom I first met during my undergraduate years at a university in southern Florida. I remember the first time I met her in my history class, how she walked in the classroom for the first time. I was immediately smitten by her slender body, long and straight red hair, and freckles. She sat right beside me, and, somehow, at the end of the first day of class, I worked up the courage to ask her out for a date.

Despite growing up on the Canadian prairies, Patricia had developed a fascination for the ocean. Specializing in archeology, she had learned in Florida how to do underwater exploration. She was very much an ...

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