Furious Jeffrey Higgins (english love story books TXT) 📖

alarm if another ship was on a collision course. I hoped our path was clear, or if another vessel was nearby, that the crew monitored their radar. The rain continued for five minutes then stopped, but the fog remained. Thick white clouds hung close to the water. It reminded me of a Sherlock Holmes book—something in a cranberry bog—but I could not remember the title.

A foghorn blared twice in the distance, off our starboard bow. The sound resonated through the heavy air, like a monster moaning in the wilderness. It chilled me to the bone.

What now?

I flipped through the instrument panel and hit our air horn. One high-pitched yelp cut through the air. A moment later, the foghorn howled in response. The sound came from in front of us, off to port. Whatever kind of commercial vessel it was, it had seen us, or heard us, and knew we were there.

“What the hell is happening?” Brad yelled from below.

“We’re in the fog,”

“No shit. Where’s the ship?” He climbed the stairs and moved into the helm beside me.

“It traveled from starboard to port. I hit the horn, and it responded. I think it passed us.”

Brad turned to starboard and elected the radar screen. “He’s out of our path and heading south. It’s probably a tanker or a container ship. Wait, why are we headed west?”

“I saw a ship behind us and wanted to get away,” I said.

“What other ship?”

“There were sails behind us.” I looked aft. The sky to the east and south had cleared and there was no sign of the ship.

“I don’t see any sails.”

“Maybe I outran it or lost it in the fog.”

“Are you sure you weren’t imagining it? I think I scared you before.”

“Yes, Brad, I’m sure I saw it. I didn’t hallucinate a set of sails.”

He scanned the horizon. “If it was there, it’s gone now.”

“If?”

“There’s nothing there now. I’m going back to bed.” He went below.

I said nothing. Why had he been condescending? I had seen the ship. It had not been my imagination. It was probably a fishing vessel or maybe a family on a vacation cruise—not pirates. That would be absurd.

I shook the thought away but could not shed the feeling of dread. My fear of water had put me on edge since Bali, but there was something else too. I felt unsettled, as if I had left the stove on at home. I had missed something—something critical—and I could not put my finger on it. I wrapped my arms around my chest and watched the horizon. Whatever it was, I would figure it out soon.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

By nine o’clock, the pirate threat had not materialized. I had not seen any other boats, and with the wind behind us, I did not have to trim the sails or change course. I sat behind the wheel, but my mind drifted six months into the past and thousands of miles away. I thought of Emma—her smile, her laugh. She had been happy, which meant I must have been a decent mother. She would giggle and scrunch up her face when I tickled her. I hung onto the image of her smiling, before letting my mind go blank and focusing on the sensations of the sun and salty breeze against my skin.

I felt more and more like myself each day, but guilt gnawed at the edges of my consciousness. I had not been a good wife these past six months, nor a good friend. I had been lost in my grief, consumed by my tragedy, and I had not shown concern for the people around me. I missed Jessica. I missed Eric too. They both deserved apologies.

I went below, lifted the satellite phone out of its cradle, and dialed Jessica’s number. I wanted to hear her voice, and I longed for a piece of home. Boston was thirteen hours ahead, and I had to catch her before she went to bed. Jessica answered on the second ring.

“Dagny! Oh my God. How are you? Are you okay?” Her voice sounded tinny, echoing over the line.

“I’m fine. I feel better than I have in ages and I wanted to talk to you. Is this a good time?

“Jimmy was homesick for Jersey, so we’re sitting here eating hoagies and disco fries.”

“I’m on a boat at sea and that food still sounds bad.”

“I’ve been thinking about you . . . and Brad.”

“I didn’t think you ever thought about Brad,” I said.

“I don’t know if I should tell you this, sweetie, but I heard something about him.”

An icy wind blew through my chest. “About Brad?”

“I heard Dr. Emery talking after my shift last night. You remember her, right?”

“Yes.”

“She was chatting with Dr. Manson in the ER, and I heard her say a patient filed a lawsuit against Brad for malpractice.”

As soon as she said malpractice, I realized I had expected her to say Brad was having an affair. Subconsciously, I had been waiting to catch Brad sleeping around. I did not have evidence of infidelity, but I knew it, deep inside. Brad had cheated on me. I decided not to mention it to Jessica.

“Malpractice? For what?”

“I don’t know,” Jessica said. “I only overheard part of the conversation and I didn’t want them to think I was eavesdropping.”

“Did they say when it—”

The door to the stateroom opened and Brad walked into the salon. He met my eyes, and I turned away.

“What’s that, sweetie?” Jessica asked.

“I have to go,” I said. “I’ll call you in a day or two.”

“Are you upset? Was I wrong to tell you?”

“Not at all. I’m glad you mentioned it. Brad’s awake. I’ll call you soon.” I hung up.

Brad stood in front of me. “You know that’s like four bucks a minute.”

“Money wasn’t an issue when you spent twenty-four thousand to rent the yacht. Another twenty bucks won’t bankrupt us.”

Brad cocked his head. “Is something wrong?”

“Are we being sued for malpractice?”

Brad’s eyes widened. “Who were you talking to?”

“Answer the question.”

“Okay.” Brad expelled a long stream of air.